English 10H Peter Straubinger

Narrative Essay Period 1

Most people, myself included, find it difficult to place their lives into specific

periods of time. Humans, by nature, do not subdivide their lives. Each new day is simply

a new twenty-four hour period in which we face challenges, attempt new feats, and strive

to garner some sort of reward for our actions. We view hindsight only as a guide to the

future; memories of the past soon become unnecessary when they lose relevance to the

present. As such, it is only the truly notable event that becomes ingrained into our psyche

regardless of what the future holds; be it a day, an hour, or a single minute, human beings

will occasionally experience an event so significant, so life-changing, that even as it

occurs we see the ripples of change spreading through the future as far as the mind’s eye

can see. Sometimes, these events are traumatic, seared into our brains by pain or terror. In

equal measure, recollections composed of love, accomplishment and jubilance can stay

forever contained within the mind, surrounded by a rosy glow. In my case, it is a rather

innocuous event that has inexorably linked me to my past. The majority of people, when

they summon the words “life-changing event” to mind, think more along the lines of

near-death experiences than academically motivated migration. Nevertheless, it was my

brother’s departure for college that, moreso than any other event, stood the test of time

and memory to forever rest within my mind.

It is an odd experience to see a sibling leave the home. My relationship with my

brother surpassed a simple friendship by leaps and bounds, and seeing him prepare for his

departure was an odd feeling. Often, the news that a friend is moving away can tint the

days with a melancholy atmosphere, and carry a quiet, unspoken awkwardness into what

would normally be regular, social interaction. Here, it was not so. As siblings, my brother
and I treated each other with much less courtesy than one would treat a friend. We

bickered, sniped and fought so regularly as to make Jerry Springer seem akin to Friends.

In our younger years, such confrontations were of a predominantly physical nature; my

lip still carries the scar left when he set in motion an impromptu meeting between my

flesh and the Buffalo Zoo’s concrete pavement. Not to be outdone, there is embedded in

his hand is a graphite trophy to a bout of my own violently expressed frustration. Were

we not related, our altercations would be significant (or, at the very least, more

significant) cause for parental vexation. This hardly changed as he and I matured, with

the only difference being that clenched fists were replaced by barbed insults and scathing

retorts. It may seem, at this point, that my purpose herein is to describe my ecstasy

following my brother’s departure, and there are few things that could be farther from the

truth. For when we fought, it was not as enemies; our sparring was not borne out of

resentment. Instead, it was a sort of brutal honesty brought on by years of living in close

proximity. When fourteen years are spent in the company of your closest genetic relative

on the planet, social niceties are the first trapping of normal friendship to be abandoned.

When I believed my brother to be acting foolish (or any number of choice adjectives), I

had no qualms to state my feelings. He acted likewise. We no longer needed to preserve

our relationship by way of courtesy and civility. The fact that we cared for each other was

so utterly, profoundly apparent that it would seem almost redundant to reflect it through

our words. Instead, our fondness carried itself in normal, everyday deeds. It was one

sibling’s subtle adoption of the other’s chores. It was car rides together, it was video

games, it was philosophical discussions played out over Tendercrisp Chicken. Our

relationship was at that unique plateau where the same person you would not trust with a
dollar you would communicate your innermost thoughts to in the space of a heartbeat.

The same person whom you brawled with on a regular basis would protect your well-

being with words, fists, and not a second thought. It was a laughable mislabeling to call

us friends. Such a term was, at this point, trite. We were equally vine and trellis, with one

so heavily influencing the life of the other that it would be impossible to contemplate

what our lives would be like without a brother’s presence.

So, as Thomas loaded a minifridge into the Honda’s beige interior, I sat. I sat, and

I watched, and I thought. I grinned as he dropped his microwave, and the metallic clang

muffled numerous obscenities. And I continued to think.

When I was last to see him for some time, our parting struck me as unique to any

other I’ve experienced. There were no tears, of course. Being not only males, but of

German and Irish stock, displays of tenderness between my brother and I are roughly as

common as impromptu tap-dancing recitals. We embraced, as was silently demanded of

us. I said my goodbyes, I made a final, venomless snide comment. He responded in kind.

I exited the prison-esque dormitory, followed my parents out of the red-brick building,

out of the University of Rochester’s campus, and into our car. With my mother and father

arguing over the workings of the GPS machine, I reclined my chair. I was finally alone. It

was an intriguing thought.

It was the later weeks that emphasized the impact of my brother’s departure.

There was no great emotional shift present, no tangible emptiness in the home. I set a

place for him on the table for about a week, with muscle memory taking over before

conscious thought intervened, and then I adapted. I spoke more, there being more silences

to fill. Friends took a greater priority. I picked up odd hobbies, dropped them in equal
number, and learned to do something I had never had to do before; pass the time. When

my brother left, it opened up a space within our home that I soon saw it was my duty to

fill. His chores were picked up quickly, thanks to the urgings of my parents, but there was

a deeper change at hand. With Thomas gone, I grew quickly. I became my own person, in

a sense that I had previously never contemplated. The change was not profound. It was

slow, methodical, and largely undetectable. Without a peer in the home, I gained a sort of

easy self-reliance. I was more adventurous, more outgoing, quicker to a smile and a

conversation. I developed a darker, drier sense of humor, in response to my home

audience now being decades past my own age. Had Thomas not left, I doubt anyone

around me, save for my parents, would detect any difference at all. However, it was

myself who felt the greatest change of all. Without his departure, I may never have

learned to scale a wall and jimmy open a window after forgetting a house-key. I wouldn’t

know the subtle differences inherent to communicating with a different age group. He

had, in a sense, kept me in line. Now, with the trellis suddenly disappeared, the vine had

to learn on its own which way was up.

Looking back, I see I had traded a blurred mirror of myself for a sturdy, iron chain

which stretched back over a year into the past, following my successes and my failures. I

was no longer grounded, and consequently, I lost a surefire way to gauge and measure

myself. My brother was gone, I was equal parts free and lost, and I would have it no other

way.

Thomas is coming home tomorrow. I wonder if he’s changed at all. I wonder if

he’ll ask the same question.