TheBanyanTree: To my brother

[Monique Colver]

Writing things down in case I forget them and.

The day you were born I wasn't there, I was probably at home, where I spent much of my time. Mom hated me hanging around the house so much, I was a constant thorn in her side. So she was there when you were born. I do remember smuggling alcohol in to her. Dad said, "Put this under your shirt," So I walked into the maternity ward looking like a 13 year old slightly pregnant girl, the shaker under my shirt clinking with ice, because gin and tonics needed to be served cold.

You were not breast fed.

Dad and I went into Mom's room and she was sitting up, looking her normal self, as if she hadn't recently pushed you out. The gin and tonic helped I think. 

Next thing I knew, you were at home. There was one bedroom at the end of the hallway that I'd previously shared with our sisters, but they were moved out and on with their own adult lives. The room was long, and when you moved in you got the half on the door side. A divider was put up in the middle of the room and I was on the other side. We each had a window, but my side was dark, just the right place for someone like me. Yours was bright and smelled of baby powder. 

One time I had you on the changing table, changing you. Your Mom was out, so I was in charge of you. The boys and Dad were all watching TV in the family room. I turned to get something, a silly move on my part, and you rolled over and fell on the floor. I was so upset! I'd rather bash my own head in. Dad came to check, but when I picked you up and put you back on the table you acted as if nothing had happened. 

It was my job to keep you safe, and change diapers, and feed you, and entertain you, and I was very concerned about doing it all properly because I loved  this tiny creature so much. Sure, you had a Mom, but I was the stand in. 

When we moved to Hacienda Heights I had my own room, and you had to room with someone else. I'd never minded rooming with you. We'd spend so much time together anyway. I'd take you to pre-school, pick you up from pre-school, take you to the store with me, entertain you while Mom waan't there. You were always asking me why. Why this, why that, why. So many whys, and I didn't always have answers. But you forgave me.

I was there when you fell and hit the side of your head on the glass coffee table, right next to your eye. Chaos ensued. Fortunately Mom was there too, and we took you to the ER. She drove like a bat out of hell and I held you, compressing a towel against the cut. I don't remember you crying, but you might have been. About forty years later I fell on my face and had a cut right next to my eye. I still have my scar, how about you?

I was there when Dad brought you home one day and said you'd fallen out of his truck when he was turning a corner. You were banged up, but just a little, so we put bandaids on you because you demanded them. You lay on the couch and demanded canned mushrooms to help you recover from the trauma. At 4 maybe? Whatever you wanted, you got. 

That was usually the way. You were the youngest, and you were, as far as I can remember, the best child ever. 

I watched you learn to swim, I let your instructor in and after your lessons I'd give him a beer while he hit on me. 

One time I tried carrying too much down the stairs at once, and of those things was you. I tripped and fell the rest of the way, and all I could think to do was hold tight to you and keep any part of you hitting the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I landed on my knees, and your Mom was right there, ready to kill me if you had as much as a scratch. But your head was still against my chest , you were fine, and may have enjoyed the ride. 

My knees never recovered, not really, especially the right one. It's never been the same, but it was a small price to pay to keep you safe.

We were careless with you in a way that isn't done anymore. You would ride in the car standing on the passenger seat from the time you could stand. One day we in the car with Mom, the boys in the back seat, you and me in the front with Mom driving, you standing between us as usual. Maybe you were 4? We pulled into the driveway and Mom, one foot in a cast, accidentally accelerated instead of braked, and the car went right through the garage door support between the garage doors. It all happened so fast, and my left arm went out to keep you from hurtling through the windshield. I'm sure Mom's right arm went out too, it's instinctual in moms to protect their babies. 

When I moved out at 18 you were five, and you were the one I missed and cried about for so long after. No one else really cared that I left , but the way you'd greet me when I came back to visit and want to be with me, even wanting to sleep with me, told me that you missed me too. 

I have always been proud of you, and even if you don't remember all the fun and terrifying times we had together I always will, until I remember nothing at all.


Monique
Sent from my iPad