Maverick
“Those who stand for nothing fall for everything.” —ALEXANDER HAMILTON
Yet another social media post fills my screen, a paid advertisement that reads: Reclaim your Manhood. Join the Brotherhood.
I scroll past it, fed up with the toxic masculinity this group of guys spew and have the audacity to call “real manhood.” Their ideas have been circulating for years, but have really picked up traction on socials in the last year or so.
They organized into an official social group that you can join online from anywhere in the world, and more than a few of my friends have bought into their ideas.
Another post, a video this time, fills my phone screen. The young man starts talking enthusiastically. “Are you looking for a community of like-minded men who understand what it truly means to be a man? The Brotherhood—”
I lock my phone and toss it on the bed, fed up with the algorithm.
No matter how many times I click not interested, my feed is full of this bullshit.
As far as I’m concerned, these guys are the most insecure men out there, constantly spouting off about being alpha, how women are inferior, and their godawful “tenets” that they live by.
I’ve seen their sponsored ads enough times to know them by heart, even though I couldn’t disagree with them more.
Control is power.
Never show weakness.
Pain breeds strength.
Brotherhood above all.
Their entire model is predatory, designed to make insecure boys feel better about themselves. Any man who believes in those “tenets” is emotionally immature at best and a misogynistic asshole at worst.
My dad is the strongest man I know, and he’s far from the typical definition of masculine. He doesn’t watch sports or drink beer or go hunting. He enjoys gardening, writes poetry, cries at sappy movies, and yet, he possesses a quiet strength, a humility that speaks volumes.
I get off my bed and head out to the living room, needing a distraction from the direction I fear the world is heading.
I find my mom in her chair, the steady drip of her IV and the beep beep of the monitor an oddly comforting sound.
After three years of battling cancer, chemo, radiation, surgery, remission and now recurrence, she’s been home on hospice for about a month.
She retired from the military as a nurse after twenty years of service, so luckily we don’t have to take out a second mortgage or start a fundraiser to cover the expenses.
Privatized insurance in this country is a joke, and the medical system isn’t too far behind.
But we’re grateful for the benefits and that she gets to be home during her final days instead of in some depressing hospital room.
We’ve all come to terms with the reality of her inevitable passing in our own way.
Mom was the first to accept it, and after so long fighting, I don’t blame her for being ready.
Dad has been by her side every step of the way, ever the supportive husband, though I know nothing can really truly prepare you to lose your life partner.
And, as an only child, I’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of loneliness throughout the years. Still, it’s strange to grieve someone before they’re actually gone.
I lean down and kiss the top of my mom’s scarf-covered head, looking at the hospice nurse who’s reading a book in the corner. “How’s she doing?”
The older woman gives me a sad smile. “Today is a little worse than normal. We upped her morphine to make sure she stays comfortable.”
I nod. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
She waves me off. “It’s my pleasure. She’s a lovely woman.”
I look at my mother again, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin; physically, she’s a shell of the woman she used to be. “Yeah, she is.”
My mom speaks, her voice hoarse. “Quit talking about me like I’m not here, kid.”
A cheeky smile spreads over my face as she cracks an eyelid to look at me. “Quit pretending to be asleep so your nurse will say nice things about you. I know you terrorize her when we aren’t looking.”
My mom feigns a scowl. “She never gives me ice cream.”
I bark a laugh. “You and I both know you’ve had more ice cream in the last month than you’ve had in your entire life.”
She smiles wearily. “Busted.”
The nurse gets up from her chair and places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll give you two a minute. Let me know if you need anything.”
I sit in the chair next to her recliner and she reaches for my hand. I lay my head on her chest and listen to her rattling breath as she plays with my hair. We sit there for an indecipherable amount of time, just enjoying each other’s presence.
Throughout her entire diagnosis—her entire life, really—she’s remained so positive. So much so that if you didn’t know her, you would never guess the horrible shit she’s been through. I crane my neck to look up at her, memorizing her face. “How do you do it?”
Her eyes remain closed. “Do what, sweetheart?”
“How do you stay so optimistic in the face of uncertainty?”
“Death is the only certainty, Maverick.”
I squeeze her hand. “You know what I mean.”
She ponders for a moment. “It helps to zoom out. I’m just one person among billions, and I’ve been incredibly blessed to have everything I could possibly need.”
“But if you could choose not to be sick, would you?”
She finally opens her eyes and looks down at me, tears lining her lower lids.
“Of course I would. I’d never willingly leave you and your father.
” She wipes a tear that’s dripping down my cheek.
“But I can take comfort in knowing your dad and I raised you to be a man who understands right from wrong. A man who will stand up for those beliefs, even when others don’t. ”
We’ve discussed the changes happening in the world at great length, staying up late into the night to talk through the negative implications of what the Brotherhood is trying to accomplish.
A bill was even proposed recently that would revoke women’s right to serve in the military, and Mom wrote a strongly worded letter to our local representative urging them to vote against the bill.
If she was healthy, she probably would’ve flown to the capital and organized a protest or something, then demanded to speak with the president himself.
“I’m just one person,” I argue.
“One person can always make a difference for someone.” She leans down and kisses my head, just as I had done to her.
She passes a few hours later in her sleep.
???
The funeral is small. Just a few family members and some close friends crowded into our living room.
She wanted to be cremated instead of buried, so Dad and I spread her ashes at her favorite place a few days ago—the coast where we took vacations when I was a kid.
Mom and I used to walk for hours along the shoreline looking for shells and marine life, so I moved the mason jar that houses our collection of rocks, shells, and sea glass from all those trips to the windowsill above the sink in the kitchen.
Now, every time I do dishes or get a drink of water, I think of those good memories and remember when she was healthy instead of how much she suffered.
My best friend since kindergarten comes up to me and shakes my hand, pulling me in for a quick hug. He thumps me on the back twice before leaning back. “Sorry for your loss, man.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Gabe and I met when we were five and have practically been inseparable since.
From t-ball, to awkward middle school years, to getting our driver’s licenses and playing on the varsity football team together, he’s the person I’ve spent the most time with in my life, aside from my parents. He’s like the brother I never had.
But lately, we haven’t spent much time together.
Aside from normal senior year busyness and my mom being sick, he’s started following the Brotherhood almost religiously, and it’s made things tense between us.
It’s all he ever wants to talk about, even though he knows I’m not a fan of their doctrine.
“Still planning on going to school in the fall?” he asks, taking a sip from his can of Coke.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maddie and I have been talking about taking a gap year to travel.”
Gabriel scoffs, shaking his head. “You can’t make decisions based on your current girlfriend’s stupid dreams, man.”
This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned Maddie being a negative influence on me. “It’s not stupid to travel and learn about other cultures.”
He holds up his hands. “All I’m saying is women are fickle, dude. She’ll probably change her mind before then anyway.”
I swallow my frustration. “We’ve made some pretty concrete plans. Not that they concern you.”
“You can’t throw away your entire future for some average pussy, bro.”
I step into his space. Gabe’s tall, but I’ve always been taller. I’ve probably got about twenty pounds on him, too. “Don’t talk about Maddie like that.”
He’s undeterred by my warning. “She’s not marriage material, man. It’s fine to whore around, but she’s not the woman you want as the mother of your children.”
“Who said anything about marriage or children?” I step back, shaking my head. “You need to lay off social media, bro.”
Gabe steps into my space now, a fanatical look in his eyes. “The Brotherhood isn’t just a social movement, Maverick. It’s a way of life.”
“Sounds more like a cult.”
He grabs my arm. “Listen, Mav. Shit’s about to go down, and I’d rather my best friend be on the right side of history.”
I step away, pulling my arm out of his grasp. “Trust me, I will be.”
My dad appears at my side, offering his hand and interrupting the tense moment. “Good to see you again, Gabriel.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Stetson.” Gabe’s response sounds more rehearsed than sincere. Then again, he’s always been good at schmoozing people.
Dad asks him a few questions about his plans post-graduation, but I’m barely listening. Shit’s about to go down. What the hell does that mean? If the Brotherhood’s about to make some serious political moves, I don’t want my dad—a man who is decidedly unlike those men—anywhere near here.