2006-06-24

onedayleft: (old school)
2006-06-24 10:26 pm

Sibling Synergy

(I don't know if I ever posted this in my other journal or not, but it is from one of my early daily writing sessions for creative writing.)

My brother and I share something amazing that no one else can ever touch. Its not about blood. It's not about parentage. It's not about friendly bonds or a singular life changing shared experience. It's not about hobbies or music or pets or a house or about words on a page or pictures on a wall. It's about what's in our heads, images of the past that no one else can ever see.

You see I'm not good with words. I'm not good with description. I fill pages with every empty cliche and when I talk I just babble. I will never in my life accomplish the goal of sharing the wordless beauty of my childhood with someone. With anyone. I can't take people there. No matter what pictures I dig up or how many rapture filled stories I tell, I can't take people to the moor, to the coast, to the castles, to the islands, to the gardens, tot he sand dunes. They can't feel the soft tussocks under their feet or smell the sea air from the channel. That is what my brother has that no one else can ever give me.

He was there, seeing everything through eyes only a year and a half older than mine. In his head he can hear the call of sea gulls, he can feel the wool of sheep on rustic fences, he can see the sun creeping up granite tors. I don't have to tell him anything, I don't have to explain. No one else will ever be able to do that, to close their eyes, to go back with me.

I wish someone else could go back with me. I feel like so much of me is caught up in those early years of my life. I obsess over them, about how nothing else can ever be that beautiful. I don't ever want to leave here, but I always need to be there. and to other people, there is just an image, just an idea. Sometimes, to me, it doesn't feel quite real. I'm sure sometimes that it can't have happened, that I can't have grown up on the other side of the world, I can't have always been by the sea, I can't have fed wild ponies and climbed miniature mountains, I can't have been that happy. And that's what my brother gives me, the reassurance that all of that was real, that it all happened. and no one else will ever be able to give me that.

I'll always miss it for as long as I live. That unreal childhood that is so clear in my mind. I always feel like I should write about it, so I never lose it. But I never can. I try over and over again, but always fail to capture what I need to. But I can turn to my brother. I can say, "Hey, remember looking for pine cones by the reservoir?" And he can say, "you mean the re-serv-i-or?" And that's all it takes. There is no need for words and empty descriptions that can't capture anything. He knows. He gets it. And I couldn't live without that.

Just the knowledge of it, just knowing that he knows it too, feels it, is enough for me.