"No! Why would you throw a dollar out th-"
Out the window it went. And after total befuddlement and shocked laughter, my brother just shook his head and looked at me. We had an entire conversation without saying a word. Long story (silently) short, he called me an idiot for wasting a dollar, but thought it was amazing I did it. Then, he saw the look of self-disgust on my face when I realized I had JUST THROWN A DOLLAR BILL AWAY. Literally (Ugh, I hate that word when it doesn't apply, but oh, how it did). I was so mad at myself and the Boy thought it was HILARIOUS. And we both exploded with laughter and couldn't stop. I kept my eyes on the two-lane road, but the laughter lingered out in the fields with the humidity as we drove home, leaving a brilliant, obnoxious trail of laughter.
I've called my brother Boy for twenty years. Why the Boy? No idea, truly. Probably the same reason I named my stuffed teddy bear Teddy (I was always the creative type). The Boy and I are 2,500 days apart, or basically seven years apart. I'm the eldest and he's the baby. And he's cool. The type of cool that remains within a person for their entire existence. The type of person you want around forever. Intelligent and loyal almost to a fault. I named him the Boy when I was nine and while referring to him, I call him The Boy; when talking to him, I call him Boy. In fact, some of my friends probably still don't know his real name (he doesn't mind) and only I call him that.
He's a significant source of my strength and happiness.
"You just LIT ME ON FIRE!" she screamed as we swatted the sparks dead.
Her leg had a tiny burn mark. Her bedspread had wicked burn spots. All I had done was try to stop her hiccups. I had heard (not yet tried) that in order to rid one of hiccups you are to light a match, drop it in a shot glass of water and slam it. My sister has notorious hiccups. So we sat on her bed, her hiccupping and holding a shot glass of water, and me with the matchbook, getting ready to tackle this annoying feat together. I struck the match, it broke, sparks hit her leg and her bedspread. She's screaming. We're scrambling. Putting out the imaginary giant flares of fire.
"My leg! My leg!" she yelled as I made sure her bed wasn't going up in flames. The ordeal finally ends. Her bed was soaked with spilled water and she had a burn (very minor, but EPIC when she tells it), but...her hiccups were gone. Apparently, if you burn someone with fire, it scares the hiccups right out of them (I DON'T RECOMMEND TRYING IT).
She and I are 599 days apart, or 19 months apart, Her name is Lee, but I call her Leezer. A friend of mine once thought I called her Laser and that stuck between them. But she is my Leezer. You don't truly know sibling love unless you've chased them around the house with scissors, or taken the blame for something you didn't do, or set them on fire (kinda). She's the one you always want in your corner. She oozes badass with her sweet motherly ways (she did learn from the ultimate badass, our mom). She'll take fire on full force if it tries to burn anyone she loves.
She is a significant source of my strength and happiness.
I hear people talk about their relationships with their parents, their siblings, their families in general, and I know not to take what we have for granted. I've got a family that will take on anything together, and if we can't defeat it, we learn our lesson, hold onto each other tighter and keep trying. Grin and bear it- a significant family motto. But, with the Boy and Leezer as my siblings, there isn't much room for defeat. Moving away from my friends was truly difficult, but my family? My Leezer, the Boy, my nephew (the coolest kid in this existence), and my parents?? That part has been the hardest and hurts the most. I talk to at least one of them daily, they have the ability to truly ground me. I count my blessings when it comes to the Boy and Leezer. I tease them, telling them it's too bad they got stuck with such a hot mess of a sister, but I know neither of them would trade me willingly. They are my protectors and my biggest fans (besides my parents). When I overthink things and panic about my move up here, it is Leezer and the Boy (and especially my parents) who tell me how proud they are of me and that of course I'll be just fine. And although I occassionally wonder what others' opinions might be, it is these two who I care to impress the most. For that, I count my blessings over and over. I am a lucky, lucky broad, with siblings who have my back no matter what. And that's kind of the point, isn't it?
No comments:
Post a Comment