Brother, the middle child and most damaged of the three of us, says he's tried to talk to dad about our childhoods. Brother says we were hurt. Dad says, give me examples. Brother has a hard time remembering specifics. I don't.
I pull out folders of incidents: the time he told me to get out, then dragged me to the floor when I called his bluff and tried to leave, the time he made my mother cry on her birthday, the time I told him to stop being so mean to mom and he said what happens between a couple is their business and there's more to the story than what I can see, the time he was angry with me for something so he stood next to my bed, sated at me, then threw his glass of water into my face, all without saying a word.
The time he told me he understood when I was sad over losing a favorite toy. I cried and he said we attach importance to objects, he does it too, so he understands. When I told him again 3 days later that I was feeling sad again, he said, "I don't have time for this shit."
The time (all the times) he threw bottles, empty, half full, completely full, at our walls and my mother would hunch over, making herself a smaller target while she cleaned up after him. When it wasn't bottles it was video game controllers.
The time he spent years promising me if I got into college he would pay for it, then when I did get accepted he changed his mind because he "didn't want to anymore".
The time he hit my mother.
The time he pointed a loaded gun at my mother and told her he would kill her.
The time when we talked about how I moved out after her told my mother he would kill her. He asked, "was that real?"
And that's why my brother is right; my brother can't remember specifics but I spent years, meticulous, cataloging our pain. I present my evidence, supported by artifacts and diary entries: here's the day I wrote about leaving, here's the painting I ordered at 17 that says "I am not going home" and you asked me what that meant, here's the scars from when I cut myself for like twelve years because what the fuck else was I going to do?
Dad says, upon recommendation from his all-star legal team, "I don't remember."
The prosecution would love to rest. Prosecution's fucking tired.