Where Art Thou?

For many years I was the older sibling, ruling playtime with an iron fist. My brother, the submissive youngster that he was, three years my junior, put up with more than most, always confident that his sis must know best. We had wonderful times, of course, building small cities under the protective cover of cotton and rayon, conducting improve concerts in the backyard for neighborhood patrons. He confided in me, telling me his deepest secrets, his most fundamental worries. I cherished them like jewels.

As we grew up, he started to realize I was not as tough as I pretended to be. Soon he was gathering his own voice, finding his own interests. No longer could he be persuaded to play dolls with me, to be dressed up in flamboyant clothing. No longer was I that older sibling, wise beyond my years. Our relationship changed suddenly, as if overnight, and my dictatorship was overthrown. Over time we began to level out, teetering on matched spirits, equal forces. We became best friends, enjoying many of the same musical interests, sharing a love of computers and design.

Like any family, we had our rough patches, fighting over who was the master of Duke Nukem (him), or who the higher belt in Tae Kwon Do (me), arguing over which friends I thought were bad influences on him, which boyfriends he denounced. Yet through it all, there was an unmistakable bond, absent between any other family member or significant other. After all, we had been through everything together since his birth: through late nights sneaking out of our bedrooms, through family disputes, through stumped homework problems and High School dramas. We had joked about classmates, rolled our eyes at mom and dad’s overbearing advice.

Now years later, much of our innocence is gone completely. Last weekend I drove anxiously to my parents' house to see my brother after months of separation. Being away at school had changed him somehow: aged him. “Good to see you, sis,” his voice boomed, eyes twinkling. He told me stories of his friends, his studies, his heartaches with women. All the while I listened, trying to find my brother underneath. Every now and then I would get a hint of the old Tim, the Tim who would send secret messages through the wall of our bedrooms, the Tim who would don cape and hat, masquerading around our home to draw out giggles. But deep down, I knew that he was not the same person, that he had grown up like the rest of us. I sat back as he talked, soaking in the moment. After a while he looked over at me and smiled. He still had some secrets.

[callie].