I think Rachel's daughter has a thing for Ethan. So ridiculous if you think about it. Ethan is such a little boy. He couldn't possibly return any of those kinds of feelings. She writes about him in her journal. She watches him swim in the morning. He makes her little origami things with tiny mice drawn on them. It's like watching six year olds crush on each other. It's too bad really because Sage is all kinds of cute in a weird way. She's pretty charismatic in a totally absent-minded unrealized way. I wish like crazy she was gay, because she's the kind of girl I could really go for. I guess I can't really blame Ethan for crushing on her a little. But this crush thing is not really helping him much. He's terrified that she is going to see him sucking his thumb or that she will find out that he wets the bed. On second thought maybe these are good things. He should be wanting to hide that stuff. Maybe this is what will wake him up, grow him up, push him out of the place he's been stuck for the past fourteen years. He's not four after all, he's seventeen and seventeen year olds don't suck their thumbs or wear diapers. I wonder what my life would be like if Ethan were to really become my twin and not my child. Would we go to concerts and parties? Would he protect me from the Finnian Mulcahys of the world? Would we fight like normal siblings? Would I catch him making out with Sage behind the pool shed? I would love to see that. I really would.
I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to write about, but it’s 4 am and since I can’t get back to sleep, I might as well try to write about something. Maybe I should just write about why I’m awake in the middle of the night. It started with E and his bad dreams. I think every single thing in my life maybe starts and ends with my brother. That isn’t a complaint, just an observation. In truth if I didn’t have to take care of him, I’m not sure my life would add up to anything at all. Ethan is the one with all the talent and the brains; me . . . I’m nothing special. Well, I do have that one thing I can do that no one else can do, or at least no one I know of. But even when it comes to our gifts, Ethan’s is much more powerful, much more interesting than mine. If he ever gains control over it . . . sky would be the limit for him. Maybe I'm being hard on myself, but I think if Ethan was different, normal, I would just fade away. I think sometimes that I am like a benevolent Eve, created from the rib of my brother to guide him through life and protect him, to sing him to sleep and comfort him when the nightmares come, to be his companion since he has no others. I don't really know what else I would do if I didn't have that, except maybe sing. Yes, I think that's what I would do. I would join the choir at school or at some church, get voice coaching and tryout for American Idol. Imagine that . . . me on American Idol. What would Grandmother say?
So Rachel has given us (me and Ethan) this journaling thing to do. The first day I was sort of into it in an abstract way, but today I am getting the feeling that this is going to be way too deep, if you know what I mean. I guess I am supposed to tell this stupid computer document all about my deepest secrets and desires, but to tell you the truth, I’d really rather not think about that kind of thing. Memory is a tricky thing for me. I kind of have a habit of forgetting stuff, not like where I left my keys or what I ate for dinner last week, but like big events, entire places and people I should know. Bringing up memories feels a lot like throwing up for me. At first there’s this little image like a metalic taste in my mouth. I can try to beat it back at this point, but my gut is already churning and the details are working their way up my throat. Then there is no stopping the onslaught of images, sounds, and smells that explode in technicolor all over the inside of my brain. It keeps coming in waves and there’s no stopping it. I would rather just get through the day as pleasantly as possible. Do what feels good, stay out of trouble if I can. That kind of naval gazing can only bring up bad stuff that’s going to burn my throat and mouth and leave me feeling gross and in need of a shower and toothbrush. See what I mean about writing shit down. I must admit though, the thought of Ethan keeping a journal is fascinating. I wonder what he’s gonging to write about.
June 1, 2013
Here we go again. Goody! goody! Another round of head-shinkers. I wonder what set Grandmother off this time. I don’t think it was me. I’ve been really careful lately. Ethan hasn’t been all that bad either. He only had like two or three accidents last week and other than that and a couple of nightmares, he’s been kind of status quo. I will bet any amount of money this has something to do with us turning 18 this year. I’ll be going into my senior year and Ethan has just about completed his high school curriculum online. She must be wondering about how and when she’s going to be rid of us . . . rid of Ethan at least. I know it’s hard on her, taking care of him, but she is just so cold and unforgiving. I wish she could see him in a kinder, gentler light. He’s really sweet, much sweeter than other seventeen-year-old boys. But I guess that’s kind of the point, he’s not really seventeen. Rachel says he’s stuck in time; for all intents and purposes Ethan is a four-year-old. My four-year-old. Grandmother might want us out and gone, but I will never abandon my brother. Never!