TheBanyanTree: To my brother

[Pam James]

beautiful Monique...

On Sun, Apr 7, 2019 at 5:50 PM Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com>
wrote:

> 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