Strongly Worded

Brotherly Love

Last night my brother made me a (belated birthday) dinner. Our shared appreciation for eating and cooking might be the only thing--other than our DNA--that we have in common. (He is three years younger. He's a musician. He uses terms like "fiending", "raging", and "peace out".) When we hang out, we discuss movies, TV, and music. He'll ask if I know XYZ band. I'll (invariably) say no. I'll ask if he's seen ABC movie. He'll (invariably) say no. Then he'll share long accounts of his professional, musical, and romantic exploits. Then (invariably) I'm expected to pick up the check.

But last night, my brother bought all the ingredients and cooked the delicious dinner at his own apartment, which meant no prep work or cleaning or paying on my part. He made some tasty guacamole, chicken with parmesan and a spicy tomato-pepper sauce, a kick-ass salad with homemade vinigarette, and fluffy garlicky mashed potatoes. We nostalgically shared a Carvel ice cream cake.

After we devoured the meal, we watched The Constant Gardner On Demand. My brother insisted on smoking some pot "since it's Friday night". We watched the somewhat confusing movie together and when I left around midnight, I could tell it was not a moment too soon. My brother can stand me only for short bursts. After about an hour, he starts (inadvertently, unintentionally) tapping his foot, responding to his constant deluge of cell phone calls/text messages, cleaning obsessively, or reverting to illegal substances. It's painful for me. I'm not sure whether it's me that triggers all this, or whether it's just a result of his inherited, hard-core anxiety; borderline ADD; and aversion to therapy.

This morning I got a call from my mom who loves--loves--when we spend time together. She is constantly trying to find ways for us to bond, and when we do meet up, she'll call immediately afterwards for a report, hoping, I think, that each encounter will kick off the rest of our relationship, the one in which, in addition to loving one another, we are actually friends. Last night's dinner made her so, so happy. I didn't have the heart to tell her about the pot, the restlessness, the total absence of common conversational ground. She suggested that I take my brother grocery shopping. (Now that I have a car and he lives close to this very lovely supermarket to which I am too scared to drive.) "It'll benefit you both", she said. When I demurred (unclear about how exactly, this would benefit me), I could see her throwing up her hands, from all the way across the state. She thinks (and says) that I don't make enough of an effort.

She's right, and I'm full of guilt about it. But at the same time, I'm frustrated. I love my brother. I know he loves me. We're there for one another. But right now, we're just not everyday friends.

Posted by Dori at 3:24 PM