A lot of people don’t know that I have a brother. He’s
always been the quiet, brooding type. When we were younger, it was a like
spotting a rare cuckoo bird in the wild, when he came out from the depths of
his jungle. My mom always joked that she would never get to see him if he had
his own microwave and refrigerator in his room.
He would come from down the hall, late in the morning after
I had run, worked one job, and was on my way to class. Grunting was his form of
communication and he generally pointed in a human direction. I wondered if we
weren’t there if he would make a sound. He would fill his cereal bowl to the
brim and delicately place the milk in between the pieces. Balancing the bowl,
his spoon and a big glass of chocolate milk on the side, he would meander back
down the hallway back to his video games, maybe to be seen in a few hours.
As we grew up, I moved away and then back again, we went
through more things than should be wished upon a brother and a sister. Family
crisis, friendships found and love lost. I found myself leaning on him little
by little and he never turned away. He would listen to me vent about the stress
of everything going on around me and at the end of it he would say, “Megs just
do what makes you happy.”
I would walk away and not really follow what he said,
thinking I needed to do everything in the world and figure it all out.
One summer day, he sat down with my mom at my grandparent’s
kitchen table. The fact that he had asked my mom to talk was more than a major
deal, so I hid in the living room listening it. Big sister’s right, right??
“I’m joining the Navy.”
He didn’t ask, he didn’t bargain, question, beg, plead, or
even debate. The statement was matter-of-fact and definitive. My heart had sunk
to the floor and my stomach fell even farther. I didn’t know what to think.
I heard him walking around the corner, what was I going to
do? And I did the thing we hadn’t done in a long, long time.
I hugged him. I never wanted to let go. It was so rare to
see him, ever, and now he was going away.
I didn’t cry when he climbed out of the car and into the
Navy recruitment offices. I didn’t cry when he left for boot camp. And I didn’t
cry when I got a letter from him later that summer thanking me for making him
run a few days a week earlier that summer. It was paying off.
I cried that Christmas when he was granted leave from
who-knows-where. I went to the airport to pick him up. And I waited, and waited and
waited. I hadn’t seen him in over six months. What was he like now?
And there he was. Walking down the long hallway from the
airline gates towards baggage claim. He was taller than I remembered. Or maybe
he was just standing more upright now. He was wearing what they call “Dress
Blues” with his sailor hat; the same as the picture in my living room. He
carried his navy peacoat over his right arm and his bag slung over the same
shoulder. He filled out his uniform with muscles. More than his gangly limbs ever
had in the clothes we had always bought him during the holidays. Pushups and sit-ups
were his game now.
He is the best man I have ever met. He cares so deeply for
everyone around him, and he hides it. His heart is now in that deep jungle,
rarely seen but always felt.
He texts me when he can, especially on rough days. He always
knows when to get me. And he’ll call when he is going out. And on the rare
occasion that we are in the same town, we always have a sibling date. Complete
with Disney movie and everything.
Now every time I get to see him, I cry. He rolls his eyes
and wraps me up in his arms. Gives me a hug and tells me, “Megs, just do what
makes you happy.”
Thanks, brother. Love you.
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