So I talked on the phone with my brother a few hours ago, and I told him all about how I felt like I'd lost that spark, the inspiration I used to have for writing. He told me just to write. Just write about what happens to pop into my head. So I am.
I love my brother. He's been there my entire life, and he's always been a source of inspiration and someone I look up to. He's like my built-in best friend, one that I don't have to try to be friends with, because it just happens. He was always there every night when I needed a hug or words of comfort, he was always there to tell me I was being stupid, or that yes, you look great.
But now he's not. He's not just down the hallway, he's not two doors away. I can't just barge into his room at three in the morning when a boy I fell in love with tells me he just doesn't feel the same way. I can't cry on his shoulder when one of my so called "friends" calls me a whore. He's 12 hours, four states, a very large lake, and a time zone away from me. I can't cross over that huge gap in a span of thirty seconds just for a hug and a twenty minute talk about life and how much it sucks. And now is when I need it the most. Now is when my life is sucking more than usual, when I need that comforting pair of skinny, yet muscular, arms to curl themselves around me in an embrace only family can give. Now, more than ever, I need my big brother to tell me yeah, it's going to be okay. Keep your chin up, kid.
I want to cry right now, writing this. But I can't bring myself to shed tears that I've been holding in for a solid month. I can't cry in front of these people, they don't understand. I can't let this composure I've worked so hard to achieve crumble in one small instant, even though my heart so badly wants to just scream out how much I hate the world at the moment. I miss all the nights we shared together, sitting on our roof at night, watching the crystal clear summer sky fill itself with tiny, sparkling stars. I miss the times we watched stupid youtube videos and laughed our heads off because we were so loopy from sleep deprivation. I miss his smell, like soap and axe, and hell, I miss his music. I miss playing guitar together, or playing piano while he strums some chords along with me. I miss sitting in his little red prelude with Nirvana and RHCP and Shinedown blasting so loud the windows shake and my teeth rattle in my seat. I miss sitting in the back of the car with him, whispering about things we don't want our parents to hear.
I haven't missed him this much since I watched him stand on the curb in front of his freshmen dorm at Iowa State and wave goodbye to us two years ago. I remember turning around completely in my seat and waving to him until we turned the corner and he vanished from my view. I remember every time he came home I would run out to the garage and jump into his arms screaming "You're home! You're home!"
Finally. Here come the tears. Funny how remembering the times he came home finally pushed me over the edge. I think I know why though. It's because I want to be back in those times, back when seeing him standing in the garage, black duffel bag in one hand, guitar in the other, was always the happiest memory I had. Nothing made me smile for longer than when I walked by his door and knew behind that door, my best friend was back, living and breathing like the old days. I could go into my room knowing that whenever I wanted to, I could just sneak into his room and start telling him stories about my life, including all the stupid little details, just because I wanted him to know EVERYTHING. There isn't a thing about me that my brother doesn't know. I would tell him about hanging out with my friends, and school, teachers, just about anything you could think of.
But then, when he had to go back, my heart would break again, shatter into tiny little pieces. I never wanted to see him leave me again. The more I thought about it, the realization finally came to me that we would never again be living together as often as we once had. Unless someday I moved in with him or vice versa (which I doubt would happen), we would never be able to continue to sneak into each other's rooms late at night, or sit on the roof and watch the stars in complete silence.
People say when you find your soul mate, there isn't a person in the world you love more. I'd love to argue. There isn't anyone I love more than my brother. Even my parents come in second to him. I think when people say you love your soul mate the most, they're really saying you love the person who you know absolutely everything about and they know everything about you the most. That's my brother for me, and I want to keep it that way as long as I live.
You sometimes hear those stories about people who hate their siblings. That will NEVER be Jessie and I. You don't know how proud it makes me to call him my brother, my kin, my best friend. There may be people who come almost as close to my heart as he does, but he's still the only one who's been there, and the only one who has a permanent engraved marker soldered to my heart.
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