Tuesday evening the USA elected its new President. It wasn't the one my father wanted; he voted for McCain. He would have voted for Clinton, had she won the nomination. 'He's a veteran', he said. 'POW'. My father's old prejudices sometimes show up even more now as he gets worse. Maybe it's just a trick of my imagination, but I feel like he regresses back to more instinctive lines of thought the more he deteriorates.
I watched the crowds scream and yell and cheer. I listened as my school rioted/rallied for over 2 hours. I listened and maybe cried as the President-Elect walked onto the stage and delivered his first speech as the future President. Most was because of the overwhelming story of the moment and the power. Because I was witnessing history. And because as I watched the grainy tv screen hundreds of miles from home, I realized that it might have been the last time my dad voted. Maybe it was the last time he'll watch as they call the states and the news anchors while away they time with idle facts and aimless trivia and speculation.
I don't know why, but that made me cry. And tonight, tonight it all seems so awful. Usually I don't think about my dad or I think about the entire mess of a situation. Or I think about how angry I am at him. But tonight, tonight I think about him. About the man I can't remember who carried me on his shoulders. He used to give me piggy back rides up the stairs. And read us stories. I'm trying so hard to remember more of him. He was there; why can't I remember?
He called today to ask me a question about Greggie. Dad wanted me to tell Greg directly; then he started looking for my mom. Or calling her. Whichever he was doing. As he called her, his voice broke; it sounded the same as when he came up with Chip for a night without her. He sounded so incredibly lost, so confused, so unsure of what was going on. His slurring is worse. Even with his repeating, I have to really listen to catch it. He sounds so vulnerable. It breaks my heart all over again.
And now I don't have just one flag covered coffin to worry about. Gregs wants to join the NROTC and become a Marine. He says no one respects him. He says there's no money for school. I can understand Greg wanting to feel like people respect him. I know that there's not a lot of money. But the Marines? I can't imagine my sweet, level headed, patient little brother as a Marine. With a gun in his hand? Kills me. Is he doing it to escape in case he has it, just like Mattie? I mean, Greg wants to become a math teacher. He deserves a huge house and a loving wife and kids and the perfect life. Not dust and sweat and blood and images beyond my comprehension.
And Mattie, if he does it too, that's three flags for my mom and I. So many destroyed by this stupid disease. So much. I want to make it better but I just don't know how. I don't know how to protect him. I don't have the money for Greg. I'm not patient enough anyway. Or good enough of a sister. I try, but I never try hard enough. If I did I would be good enough. I could protect them. I could make it better.
But oh my god, what if Gregory has it. That's not fair. I was the mean one, I was the one who was better in school, I'm the favorite. It's not fair! Greg should have the 18 15. Not me. Not me if he has it. Greg is nothing like dad. They've never gotten along the way Matt and he or my dad and I have. That is too cruel of a twist of fate. I won't know what to do. I got off okay. I went through the same thing Gregs did and up until he finds out, I can say I know exactly how he feels. But if he has it?
My survivors guilt and my anguish have nothing on him. And Mattie, oh Mattie, if he doesn't get himself killed before he turns 18...how do I protect my little brothers? Why? Why do I get to be okay and I have to sit here staring at them, as if my stare could someone magnify their cells, unwind their DNA, run the PCR and the gel to see how long the repeats are. Why do I get to be okay when they suffer? Why do I get the house and the kids and the life and they don't?
It's not fair. When I found out, I felt surprisingly little survivors guilt. I felt merely relief. Greg can tested in...9 months. Oh, god, 18 years ago it happened. 18 years ago and here we are. Which was it, which was the fastest, which made my little blond hair blue eyed brother with the easy laugh and the silly temperament, my partner in crime, who I played catch with and invented silly games with? And my other, dark haired ball of mischief with the irresistible smile who just wanted to do what everyone else was doing, who was always trying to catch up to Greg and I, who wants so desperately to feel like he has a family, to be protective of me, to be the man of the house?
I was 7 or 8 I think when the Oklahoma City bombings happened. I went into work with my mother. My brothers were too young to amuse themselves and this awesome day care was open somewhere around the old Bear Sterns building. It had a pirate shape. I wanted to stay so bad, but I was too old. My brothers got to instead. So my mom and I went to her work and we at some point heard about the bombings. I remember being outside, but I could be wrong. I heard a day care had gotten destroyed and being pretty young, I immediately freaked out that my brothers were in a day care and wanted to know if they were okay.
I don't remember being the best sister. In fact, I remember hitting them a lot. I remember doing stuff with them, but we were comrades, not friends. We played together and in a weird way, we were closer than some siblings I know but not even as close as others. I remember watching Saturday morning cartoons and fighting. I remember big forts and the frustration I felt when they ruined them. I remember them kind of always just being there. But they were the only ones always there.
I wish I could go back; I wish I could make it better so now I could be closer. I'm trying now, but it's hard to reach them. We're grown up. When we need each other, there's things only we understand. But we have our own support systems that don't involve each other.
They still drive me crazy. But I still would give up anything for them in a heartbeat if it meant they would be okay.
