My Brother by Mark Marty Rathbun

Scott Rathbun

“Marty, you’ve got a goddamn Jesus Christ complex. Now, that is classified as a mental disorder.”

Scott Rathbun to his brother Marty Rathbun.

“I first met with my eldest brother Scott in his one-bedroom apartment, in an old tenement building by the railroad yard. Scott held a degree in psychology, and I thought he might have some useful input on the task ahead of me. Even though I was aware Scott reveled in driving Bruce [our other brother] to the edge, his level of disinterest in Bruce’s plight was disappointing. Although Bruce had been in the joint [mental institution] for three days by then, Scott had not even bothered to visit him.”

“What am I supposed to do? He’s not my problem.” he explained.

“I countered, “You’re a psychology graduate, Scott. You must have some idea how to deal with this.”

“Oh, the little savior marches into Portland to save the fucking day! I’ll give you my psychological evaluation: you’ve got a goddamn Jesus Christ complex. Now, that is classified as a mental disorder.”

“No, I didn’t ask what I could do, I asked what yon could do. You’re the second coming of Sigmund Freud, aren’t you?”

“If you think a merry prankster like yourself can suddenly walk in and perform miracles, you’ve eaten one too many peyote buttons.”

“For Christ’s sake, Scott! I just want to help, and I’m asking what you can contribute to the effort. And you are attacking me.”

“There is no help for a guy like that. He’s fruit loops, loony tunes, flip city. If I were you, I’d go back to granola munching and bear wrestling in the mountains.”

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