Brother Ghosts of the Holiday Season

The men seem to be disappearing from my family-- to death, physical displacement or otherwise. What used to be six chairs was then five, then four. This holiday was the first time that one particular absence was felt, that of our older harrassing lead brother. And the first holiday sitting in a new number of chairs always sucks, expecially knowing that in four weeks, Christmas will be the same odd configuration of three.

Even celebrating here in New York, we didn't know what to talk about, the three of us who were left.

I had no 6'3" male to tease me into docile girlishness, no one to render me humble in a headlock, no drunk knuckles ground into my scalp, no scrawny hands grabbing mine to slap my own face. No one to level my touchy ego to a humble goofball. Although 6'1", my little brother is still little, and cannot body tackle me to the couch. In sum, my whole persona was kidnapped.

Once the weekend was over I dreamt of a time before the last brother was born, before I was made middle child, when it was just four chairs. I followed Brother Elder around. He grabbed the garage door as it rose, let go, and ran off to the next obstacle. I let go and got the wind kocked out of me. I thought I was dying. But it passed.