The Red Mug

The red mug is lying on the floor, broken into many pieces. It fell from my brother's hands. A question of mine caused this.

I asked him how he would feel if a woman wrote, "Be a man and a better man." Before he could pronounce "good," the mug slipped from his hands. It didn't make a sound. I bent down to pick up the pieces of the red mug that had broken. My brother's voice changed.

He asked me who I had said those words to.

I was washing the dishes, and my face was pressed against the wall so I couldn't look my brother in the eye. I replied that it didn't matter much to me.

He told me that he had. He took both pieces of the mug in his hands, walked towards me, placed both pieces on the sink, and got into a position where he could look me in the eye. He started talking to me, and his tone changed.

-Who did you say those words to?

-It doesn't matter if I don't remember. I want to know how you would feel?

-They are words that break you. They crush you. Who did you say that to?

-It doesn't matter who they were said to. Maybe they break you because you are a good person.

-Is the person you said those words to a bad person?

-I don't know that, and I don't want to know.

-You know what I think. That sometimes you get so involved in your work that you think of people as tools for experiments.

I angrily looked him in the eye, slammed a plate into the sink, and told him it wasn't true.

-No! I don't accept that. You all look at me like a woman who has chosen her job. Like a woman who is incapable of loving. You think of me as a woman who analyzes everything. And these analyses have destroyed her ability to love. But that's not the case.

There was silence. My brother's body moved a little farther away, but not his eyes. He was looking me even deeper in the eyes.

-If you knew how I would feel, you should tell me who you said those words to?

-Someone who, a few minutes after kissing me on the forehead and telling me that I should ask my friends who speak badly of him what that means, went to a bar and got drunk and touched a girl he works with in the back. Well, I told that person. I said that person.

-And what did this person say?

-Nothing. He just blocked me, and I can't write to him anymore.

I understand, but I can't tell you how I would feel. You're not hurt; you're asking for answers.

And you know what? Sometimes, it's better not to know. Don't get too deep into things.

I had only two dishes left to wash, and when I finished, I wanted to end this conversation.

-Let me ask you the question again. How would you feel if a woman had said that to you?

-I would be offended. It would break my ego. Maybe it's just a word for you. For us, that word is a lot. You break like the red mug broke in two. And it takes time.

- Time for what?

Sometimes, men don't answer because we don't want a woman to see our worst side. And sometimes it's hard —you have to face it and respond.

- I know he once told me that he wasn't my student and that I shouldn't push him to do things he didn't like.

-It happened to me too. I left too.

-No, you're not as bad as him. You're my brother, I know you.

-Yes, I'm your brother. You know me as a brother—no more. As a brother, I'm proud you said those words and were protected. But as a man, I feel irritated.

-And I'm in a state of not understanding, it's a strange state. I know we know each other within specific frames.

Our frame is that you're my brother and I'm your sister.

I had known my brother as a man and he as a woman. I shook the water out of my hands, but thoughts didn't. They still went on.