**(NOTE: This is and attempt at emulation of the author Annie Dillard)
Character Sketch—Annie Dillard: Marvin Sunday
On Sunday—as every Sunday—my cousin would come to visit. Marvin was my arch enemy, yet he was family so I wasn’t allowed to feel that way about him. Everything was a sport to Marvin; he always had to prove his superiority/the competition’s inferiority. Practically every Sunday he had something to flaunt: a piece of knowledge, a new knock-knock, an unusual talent, an infinitely desired toy, etc..
Without failure, Marvin accomplished to one-up me every visit, despite all preparation and practice on my part. In contradiction to his absolute monarchy of adult attention, I managed to feat riding my bicycle without the training wheels. I recall the confidence I felt the next Sunday. Besides that pride, I remember adults watching me—for once instead of his majesty—and falling to the pavement. Post failure and check-up, I cringed in the voice of Marvin muttering, “Look what I can do.” He started to ride the bike without the training wheels—unsurprisingly, not falling/failing to show me up. The adults gave him, once more, the attention he deserved. Hearing the adults’ endless oh’s and ah’s made my jealousy curdle inside.
When we grew up, continuing the weekly visits, I eventually gave in to take my rightfully earned—forced—place as the Jane Brady of ‘the bunch’. Eventually, I felt karma might serve me justice and give him some real attention, justice might be served to me because of what he stole from my childhood spirit.
Sunday—now my worst day of the week—Marvin came over. “How are you m’ boy Marvin?”. Predictably answering, “Well, not much, I learned/started/got… (something new, worthy of pride and attention).” This Sunday he made the team of an overdone baseball team, the kind of little league team that takes it beyond seriously. Plus, he brought a new expensive aluminum bat. Habitually, Marvin just had to impress. So, he asked to go down to the park and practice his swing, “sure m’ boy…practice makes perfect.” He came back without the bat; instead he carried a plastic bow and arrow toy. “Where’s the bat m’ boy…” Apparently he gullibly traded it for the toy he now carried. The boy who once strolled on top of the adults’ abundantly blessed water of attention now carried his own kryptonite; Samson had been tricked by his fair Delilah. No one guessed his gullibility with the amount of skill he had. I couldn’t help the elated peace that reintroduced itself to me.
Undoubtedly, ‘m’ boy’ made a return as an abused dog repeatedly returns to its master—loyalty to competition for the ultimate cause of attention. My equality to him would never last—such as my existence in his circle. To this day, I achieve to my ability without pressure/need for attention, I’m individual/separate to expectation, without gaining acceptance by breaking the prospects of the adults.
