It is important that your brother likes me


I pick your brother up from work
every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. I plan for it.
I set the alarm on my phone to buzz
fifteen minutes before he gets off.
He is not used to all the things I do not like.
I take it for granted that everyone dislikes Will Ferrell and fast food and The Fallout Boys. I assume
that every living person is like me in these ways. I forget that some other types of people must be surviving
in order for these things to thrive.
There are huge groups of people who see movies
like “Dodge Ball” and “Blades of Glory”
and they probably didn’t feel like “Speed Racer” is raping their childhood.

I don’t mention these things
while your brother is in my car.
When he tells me his girlfriend is hardcore
because she listens to Rammstein, I don’t laugh.
I take your brother by Krystal’s and I don’t gag
when little flecks of onion fall onto my floorboard.

Your grandmother once asked if I was a Jew and I said no.
She made me introduce myself to your entire family
while we stood in a circle, even though I knew everyone
and we’d been dating two years. She yelled
at your grandfather to wipe his feet on the doormat
and to go outside and feed the dogs. It was the same way
I yelled at your brother for spilling chili in my car.
I think you are dating me on purpose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brandi Wells is a student at Georgia Southern University, soon to graduate with a BA in Writing and Linguistics and a BA in English. Her work can be found in or is forthcoming in The Saint Ann's Review, Hobart, Monkey Bicycle, and Wandering Army.