On Not Weathering the Storm

Some years back I drove up to Eugene Oregon to celebrate my brother, John’s birthday. He asked me to come up a few days earlier so we could have some brother-sister time before his celebration. I was elated to hear this but also a tinge nervous. Though close and similar in some ways, we both love nature and animals, and enjoy Christmas with as much enthusiasm as we did when we were 5 and 6 years old, we are different in other ways.

John tends to be more soft-spoken than me, while I have no qualms interjecting my opinion or advice. His default is to avoid conflict, mine is to confront it. He doesn’t love risk. I couldn’t live without some risk. Over the decades our differences have caused consternation between us, informing our own brand of sibling rivalry. The pattern goes like this: I disagree with something he’s said or done which makes him feel judged, which I try to explain, which makes him withdraw, which makes me want to explain more as I become increasingly defensive, which makes him withdraw more in an increasingly stubborn stance. 

As excited as I was to see John, I was also reluctant to spend too much time together for fear we’d fall into this old pattern. Our mother passed away 10 years earlier and our father had died by suicide just 8 months ago. Having lost both parents the relationship with my brother was even more precious and important to me. I couldn’t risk him withdrawing his love at this point in my life. So, I resolved to keep my mouth shut if we got into a conflict. It was the only way I could keep the peace since I was sure John wouldn’t change. 

Fast-forward two weeks later to John and I making spaghetti dinner in a seashore motel outside Yachats, Oregon. We had just returned from a long day of hiking the coastal woods  near the town’s historic light house. “What do ya want to watch tonight, Rob?” John asks, stirring the sauteed onions into the meat sauce with the mischievous expression he gets when he’s confident that his cooking skills will produce something delicious. 

“I’m up for anything Wog,” I say, using one of a few nicknames for him, “as long as it’s something intelligent - not one of those stupid reality shows.” Reaching for the remote, I ask him, “Have you seen The Hunger Games...I hear it’s pretty violent.”

“It is, but it’s actually pretty good. Michele saw it and liked it...and she doesn’t like violence either. I think you might like it, Rob,” he adds, pouring the saucepan of boiling pasta into the colander.

“Cool. Ok. You know what, I’m going to watch it on Michele’s recommendation,” I say feeling virtuous in my display of open-mindedness. Michele is John’s super kind and smart wife, if she likes it, I’m sure I will. 

Michele, like John is also the younger sibling in her family. She once told me that her sister is a bit bossy and that the two of them can only stand to be together 3 days before they start quarreling. Remembering this made me ask, “Hey John, do you think that you and I can hang out longer than 3 days?” 

John stirs the pasta a few times before adding red sauce to the now browned hamburger onion mix. He looks over at me with a grin, neither nodding in agreement, nor saying no, then looks back at the drained spaghetti noodles before pouring them into the red sauce. Well, I guess that’s an answer, I think to myself. Determined to not mess things up I don’t press the issue, but I do say a silent prayer that we make it past the 3-day mark. 

It’s a stormy night and the lite rain is now downpouring at such an angle that it’s as if the droplets are coming straight from the ocean’s waves. I feel inside like the weather outside. 

Forty-five minutes into the movie and I’m hating it. Do I keep my mouth shut and just watch knowing that I’m going to have nightmares and resent my brother or do I say something and risk him getting upset at me? During one of the commercial breaks’, I can’t help myself. Looking over at John I say, “You do realize that the dialogue is predictable and it’s sensationalizing violence.”   

“How do you even know Rob, stop overthinking it! You’ve never been in this kind of  situation,” he snaps taking his empty dinner plate to the sink and grabbing a big bag of M&M’s.

“I do know. I’ve read studies and books about how groups fall under mob mentality. Haven’t you ever seen that old black and white film, Lord of the Flies?” As I’m saying this, I realize that we're probably not arguing just about the movie but about me being a know-it-all. I then take my plate to the sink and put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. We can’t even talk about a movie without 50 years of history mucking things up?! The microwave beeps interrupting my train of thought. 

“What are you even talking about,” he says, accusingly.

This is not what I want, but I don't know what to do differently and so I just looked at him, went back to my bed with my bowl of popcorn and laid there. Then there was a commercial break and I took that as my queue to roll over and just stop. Stop my racing mind, stop my actions, just stop. I wanted more than anything for something different between us. 

John went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. After being in there for what seemed longer than usual, he came out, walked to the edge of my bed and placed his hand tenderly near my feet, “I'm sorry Rob…I don’t want to fight with you. I love you.” 

I rolled over, looked at him and said “I don’t want to fight either John, I love you too.” There might have been more to say but in that moment, what we said was enough so we clicked off the pause button and finished watching the movie.  

The next morning the sun was out making the rain-soaked beach and surrounding hedges sparkle bright. What a difference from the grey day before. But not only had the weather changed, so had John. He went from being my younger brother to being my big brother. Or maybe it’s that he’s been my big brother all along, and I just hadn’t realized it. Either way, I was glad that instead of weathering the storm inside, I chose to let it go.