Thursday, March 15, 2012
Brixton saw this picture and narrated it. "I fall on the head. I rock with Ti-Ti and I not sad."
There are times when they would fight over anything. Some old broken toy that no one's touched in a year. But they are howling with rage and need, clawing each other over it.
There are times when they spend the whole afternoon playing long elaborate games together, packing up possessions and paddling in their laundry basket boat.
The age and gender difference are so similar to myself and my brother that it gives some of us pause. When my parents were here for Unity's bithday, my dad caught himself calling Brixton by my brother's name. It does give me insight to what parts of my childhood were like, what it was like for my parents. Seeing it from the other side.
My first journal, begun when I was seven, is full of scrawled entries, messy with fierce anger towards my brother. He was my rival until suddenly he was my friend, my dearest. We've talked about how amazing it is to have a close friend who knows your whole life. The entire thing. How we can walk beside each other with that knowledge and that closeness.
I watch them as their game turns from screams to laughter and back in the space of a few minutes.
I can only hope.