Oh, Brother!

“Brothers are knit together.” -Robert Rivers

One of the benefits of remarrying is you get to have two “best man’s”. In my first wedding, my younger brother, Tim was away on a mission, so I could not choose him, but he was able to be here to play that role, my second time around.

We were not taught to speak Spanish at home, but we did develop our own second language: movie quotes. So, I learned from a young age to master this form of communication. 

Before Tim, I was the youngest. I lounge alone in my mother’s shopping cart, looking up, being pushed around the supermarket, letting my mind wander. After, he came, l had to share the cart, and eventually, walk. 

While pregnant with Tim, (I remember) my mother being stopped in the store on the regular, as I’m sure she has been stopped for the 10 dispersed years that she has been pregnant in her lifetime. The regular questions. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” or “What number is this?” Or “When are you expecting?” That one bugged me. Expecting…what? I always wondered. Why didn’t people ever finish that sentence. My mum would give a number of months or weeks, so it kind of made sense, but seriously, “expecting” what? The baby? Is it that hard of a sentence to finish?

A phrase I would frequently hear, when they noticed me, as an acknowledgement of this cute, chubby toddler in the cart (like, hello? I’m right here), was “and this one will be replaced.” I had no idea what that meant but it never felt right. Maybe it was just the talking about me as though I weren’t there that I disliked.

Well, one time, I’d just had enough. I jumped up in my cart and shocked the mothers white when I shouted, in my best impression of Woody from Toy Story, “Nobody is getting replaced!”

 There was excitement and anticipation when we all went to meet our baby brother. Like Lady in Lady and the Tramp, I was aware of shifting attention with the arrival of the newest family member. There was something unsettling in all the excitement. 

Well, it didn’t matter, cuz he had my heart in an instant. And he had a soft spot for me (on the top of his head, that I was so fascinated by). By the time he started trying to walk, I was tackling him down—still covering him with kisses. I was frequently told by my older sister, Rebekah, that I was “smothering”. I liked smothering him.

I tried to learn to give him space as we got older but we were always placed in the same room and frequently the same bed! I stopped the kissing, but the physical touch took other forms. Wrestling, punching, headbutting (it still confuses me why we did that; isn’t it 50/50? But I remember getting mad at him, if he did it from behind because the front of his head was harder than the back of mine—that was my logic, but I think he just had a harder head).

One time we played with matches to melt army men, and we felt so guilty that we couldn’t sleep at night and went to confess to our mother how we had been irresponsible and dangerous. We felt so much better, after. We weren’t perfect, but I think we made each other better people. 

Because he was always big for his age, people often thought we were twins. We have both agreed multiple times that if we had been twins, life would simply be too easy. We would help each other be the best we could, and be together always and there would not have been the challenge of standing alone for what’s right. The challenge of nobody watching. 

As it was, we watched each other. As we’ve grown into adults, I’ve still never felt qualified to give him advice, and I also don’t see him as that qualified to advise me, but I give it anyway, and I seek it, too. I  think he feels the same way. We see the glow in one another, in spite of the dirt. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I could write so much more, and I will, but here is a poem I put together today, from a poem I wrote about 7 years ago. Needed a little tweaking and updating—that’s life.

My Brother is a Man

By Elias Orrego

My brother is a man,

in every sense of the word

He gets 12 o’clock shadows 

And five o’clock peach prickles

His big toe is as big as my face

on my watch

He ticks—

I turn away

But he’s still looking at me

Like the eyes on the five dollar bill

Every dollar he earned by his digging 

Or making.               Or planting 

              Or flipping a marketplace treasure

He’s installing drywall with no mask

No, no mask for him

                       For no fear

Of dropping 

            Or lifting that Rock

No fear of turning it over 

      Stone-faced as he’s pushing the stone 

The burning 

                             He’ll find what’s under it

Learning

The first one to find the car keys, 

       the first one to find the way

To guess the password, solve the puzzle

         Yup, that’s my brother—

                                      no, we’re not twins.

He is twisting, reattaching 

          That broken “Bop-It”

That car’s starter motor, 

Loose stair (so the kids and the elders don’t slip).

          That squeaky wheel on the computer chair no longer squeaks.

The moth that was tapping on the window and was too stupid to get out

                       is now out

And somehow, the computer unfroze

My cardigan hangs by his well-worn coat,

the one marked with green paint splatters 

               

             and greener grass.