#2thprose

Porky in his 30s talks to Lardna on the phone. She casually misgenders Agnes, and calls her "Picky." And Porky immediately starts ripping into her about what a sorry excuse for a mother she is, how she doesn't fucking deserve Agnes, she should be ashamed of herself for everything she's ever done to his sister, until Lardna's in tears hanging up on him. And Porky doesn't do it because he's suddenly become some kind of valiant trans ally. He does it out of raw spite toward his mom, gleeful to have another cudgel to wield against her. But, deep down, he's also painfully aware that Agnes is the only person in the world who's given him the slightest semblance of a second chance. And in his sick guts churns a vicious impulse to defend her specifically, at all costs - the sort of big brother instinct he hasn't felt since he was 12. And that scares him, too. Because he can't for the life of him tell whether it makes him selfless or selfish, grown up or childish.

Porky in his 30s talks to Aloysius on the phone. He casually misgenders Agnes, and calls her "Picky." And Porky tastes bile in his throat, wants to throw up, wants to shout him down, wants to drive halfway across the country and meet him in Florida just to punch the son of a bitch upside the jaw. But instead he chomps down hard on his tongue. And balls a fist. And says, "Hahah, yeah." Through those same gritted teeth. Did Porky do it because he knows Agnes & Aloysius are not on speaking terms, and Aloysius is a raging queerphobe, and outing his sister here would condemn her to his wrath and ire, and she doesn't deserve that, it's her big brother's duty to protect her from that. Or. Did Porky just do it because he's still deathly afraid of his father. He doesn't know. After he hangs up, he puts his fist in the wall, 'til his knuckles bruise, because he still doesn't know. He shaves his mustache off in the bathroom. His hands are so trembly, he nicks himself a couple times.

Porky in his 30s, and his sister has a kid now. And she's invited him to meet her. And he doesn't fucking want to. He puts it off for a couple years. He can tell Agnes is disappointed. He buries himself in his stupid shitty accounting business, and tries to ignore her. When he can't anymore, he tells her everything he touches turns to garbage. He's afraid he's gonna ruin the kid somehow. Frighten her, hurt her, traumatize her irreparably with his presence alone. Agnes tells him that's silly. "Just behave yourself, dude." The kid deserves a whole family, she insists. It's the least you can do. So Porky catches a flight to Seattle, and drags his miserable bones to her porch, and slowly, agonizingly smacks his trademark knock on her door. He has to greet Tracy, as if he didn't yank her hair and steal her things when they were little, and as if she didn't sock him in the nose about it, and as if they didn't both get hell from their folks for it. They've got an old cat, and he's allergic, so he has to take care not to sneeze his germs everywhere - especially not on his niece. But when the snot-nosed brat looks him in the eye, smiles, and calls him "Uncle Pat"? Something in his heart instantly turns warm and gooey.

Porky in his 30s, and his father's liver abruptly gives out. He attends the funeral. And it's all about Lardna, of course. All through lunch, and the drive there, and all the proceedings, she's been blabbering on about what a tragedy this is for her - even though they divorced when Porky was in middle school, and it was probably the best thing that'd ever happened to her. Prettyman supplies her with endless tissues and condolences, and praise for bearing such kind sentiments toward a man who gave her nothing but grief. Porky feels like a side of beef liver. He wants a drink. But the smell of liquor's been making him queasy. So he grumbles off to go smoke, instead.

He finds Agnes standing outside, like a deer in the headlights. Which surprises him. He'd assumed it was a given that she wasn't coming. She says she almost didn't. But now, she's not sure she can make it through the door. He scoffs. Tells her not to bother. They stand there in silence for a moment, Agnes takes shallow breaths, and leans against the wind. Eventually, she asks if he's alright. "What's it matter," he huffs. Snuffing out his cigarette. No sooner than he's crushed it under his heel, he's stunned by a sudden warmth that comes over him. Arms pulled gently around his too-tight suit. He blinks. 'Cause he hasn't been hugged, he realizes, since he was in middle school. It hits him like a wave. He's powerless to stop it. One second he's sneering, and the next he's bawling into her arms. Hiccuping and wailing, even. Like a little goddamn kid.

And Agnes is taken aback, of course. She mumbles, "woah, um," as she staggers. But she doesn't let him go. She pats his back. Tells him it's gonna be alright. He wants to believe her. He really, really wants to believe her.

She drives him to his hotel. For only the second time ever, he tells her he's sorry.