Growing up rough

My brother must have really wanted a brother because he treated me pretty rough. I wouldn't take any of it back honestly, but looking back I can't believe some of the things we did together. 

For instance, can you believe he… 

·         Thought he could make his spit feel like rain falling down on our heads. More importantly, can you believe I let him test his theory entirely too often. Just trust me on this one, it doesn’t feel like rain.

·         Dared me to run down the street naked. And guess who did it. Yes, that would be his silly little sister once again.

·         Talked us into playing hide-n-seek in tall weeds with bb guns. I think I still have a few bullets in my buttocks from that game.

·         Locked me in the cellar below the kitchen and turned the lights off. When I screamed in terror, he reminded me that Freddy Krueger gets stronger when people scream. So I sat quietly for what felt like forever until he remembered to unlock the door. I'm pretty certain I refused to make him dinner that night... and rightfully so.

·         Saved me from a baby-sitter spank-down when I told him to keep his sh*t out of my drawers. I had a hard time with my r's when I was young and had meant to say shirt. Ha!  

·         Handcuffed me to a pole on top of the roof of our house. Then realized he didn’t have the key. He did sit with me while we waited for the police to show up and set me free. 
·         Knocked me to the ground one time when we were boxing in our room. It was an accident but when we played sports, we played full contact or nothing at all.

·         Taught me how to play football and took full advantage of the fact that I never told mom where all my bruises came from.

·         Refused to let any of his friends date me and would even beat up strangers for looking at me wrong or saying anything inappropriate -- one time in a grocery store.

·         Always made me go first whether we were jumping off rooftops, perfecting landings at Mt. Rose or cliff diving in Yuba. I was his guinea pig, for sure, and loved every second of it.

·         Made up a secret language of knocks so we could talk between the wall that divided our bedrooms.

·         Raced me in a wheel barrow down a steep hill in Oregon into thorny bushes. 

·         Was single handedly responsible for cracking my head open twice. The third time I did on my own.

In honor of being without him for the past five years, I wanted to recall some of the crazier things that made him so fun to be around, so full of life and energy. 

Five Years Gone

My heart ripped today. Just a little more jagged than it normally feels – a permanent tear. The kind of break that requires significant change to recover from, if recovery’s even a desired option. I can’t say why exactly except to say that every once in awhile an emotion comes through your body that destroys everything you thought you knew and alters you – dare say, forever.

I’ve been picked up, shaken and set back down to start over again. But I can’t keep thoughts straight with the whirlwind of regret rambling through me. My mind’s a blender pulsating through chunks of ice harder than steel to crush. My life swirling around inside, crashing into obstacles I cling to for definition. 

Passing days with punctures so immense I’m less than whole. Anger rises at the vice that stole the other half – the missing half that leaves feeling of pointlessness, of restlessness rattling my senses. He’s gone and always will be.

I hate him for leaving me. I hate me for letting him. Regret will be the death of me before any other emotion has the chance to tear me apart. Of that, I'm certain.