This is a guest post from Mallory who once claimed to me that she wasn’t a writer. I beg to differ.
A letter of love from the eldest
I remember the first time I met you. You were so small. And red all over. And scratchy. You weren’t in the world for five minutes before you brought one of your claws of death to your peeling, frail skin and ripped off a chunk before the nurse came over and put the smallest pair of socks on your hands. I was five at the time, you know. And very self-important. And bossy. And spoiled. Still am. But I knew what this all meant. This had happened to my friends before. There was “another” in my presence. And, no, I wasn’t really all that happy about it, thank you very much. She’d welcomed you,” another”, into our Girls Only Club of two, committee members consisting of mom and myself and this hadn’t come up in our last meeting over Oreos and milk. I hadn’t Ok’d this. And to disturb my sense of being was not taken lightly.
Anyway, M#2, I had my suspicions about you from the start. First, when mom told me why she was getting fat, I cried when we left the doctor’s office and,not to sugar coat it, it was mostly because you were a boy and the My Size Barbies were expensive back in the day and I thought I’d found my ticket out. Then when mom was getting HUGE I got grounded for a month for not cleaning my dishes up. When dad explained later that I was off the hook, that it was just hormones due to the “new baby”, again another reason to not enjoy this new life butting into mine. The day we met, I had been in a photo shoot in Chicago with Auntie Erin while mother was initiating you into the world with the accompaniment of pain killers and loads of cursing. And apparently, I thought, someone comes and makes our beautiful, graceful mother into a demon of the underworld; replacing once lovely jade eyes with red, enflamed fire bolts and huge, dark baggy circles and her velvety soft mocha-colored skin with sweaty, clammy flesh oozing with unknown liquids coming out of every orifice of her body. (Trust me, mom is not one of those delicate flowers when she gives birth and I know I won’t be either so I’m not cursing myself too much here by telling you this.)
Little did I know that this would be the last day that I would be an only child. How bittersweet. I was in the middle of having some special time being photographed and adored; “Look this way honey, your curls are to die for!”, “Hold it right there, perfect!” when suddenly I was yanked away from my heaven, only to drive 3 hours to go see “the new one.” “Your mother’s in labor, Miss Mallory, that’s why we’re leaving” auntie Erin said. Attention whore.
I knew all my attention would be gone. The gifts, the adoration, the alone time with mom, all was gone once I stepped into this hospital to meet you. And although mom was still terrifying to look at, Dad lifted me up to look into the oversized plastic sink to look at you. My suspicions were confirmed. You were a boy. And we weren’t the same color. Or even the same species. Still not too enthused with you. Once I saw all of our pathetic, ogling relatives have at you, me and Barbie, sat in a corner, watching TV trying to drown out the noise of my attention and adoration fleeing me and redirected over to you, the screaming, red small monster in the sink. Pissed.
After everyone cleared out, I asked mom what I was getting for Christmas because I think the My Size Barbies were on sale and no offense, you owe me one for the small mess you made here, missy. Ignoring my non-chalantness of you, she asked if I’d like to hold you. “Is it clean yet? I don’t want the skin disease the doctor said that it had. What was it? Eggs-ama? I don’t even like eggs, Mom.” She said it was fine, that it was my turn and setting myself upright in the bed, still wearing the same overalls and makeup on from the shoot earlier in the day, the nurse handed you over to me. “And now we meet, nemesis,” I thought as I saw your flailing sock puppet hands waving in the air. She set you on my lap. I didn’t move. I was dumbstruck. No one let me hold a baby before. I wasn’t big enough yet they said. I looked into your green eyes, the same ones mom had and lost myself in them. You were quiet, for once. Possibly equally afraid of me as I was of you with my long tentacles of curly hair laying on your face, but you were still just quiet. My heart melted, my mood changed dramatically. Small creases of a smile replaced the scowl I’d perfected and worn over the past nine months. I knew it, I loved you, damnit. And that was all I needed to know.
When the nurse came over to collect you, I was all, back up bitch! This is my little brother and you better be careful. You taught me to be protective, something I only graced my dolls and hygiene with at the time. You’ve also taught me patience, understanding, and have really made me a better person, whether you know it or not. It’s is privilege to be your older sister. And over the years, M to the second, we’ve become many things to each other. Arch rivals. Travel buddies. Companions. Movie-goers. Pen Pals. Best Friends. Survivors. Life lines. Human security blankets. But nothing makes me more proud than saying that we’re siblings. I loved you the first time I saw you and I will love you always. Happiest of birthdays, you oversized, red beast of a man, you.
