An awkward wedding

I fell in love once.

 “Trevor, will you marry me?”
Five-year-old Emily asked.
She had known him for
years and really loved him.

They played Barbies,
basketball and dinosaurs
together.

Spent every minute together.
Had sleepovers and played
house.

“You can’t marry your brother!!!!!”
Trevor exclaimed in his
squeaky, 9-year-old voice.

Her future crumbled,
breaking to bits around her.
FINE! I’ll just marry someone
else, then!” She screamed.

Fourteen years later, she’s glad he
said “no.”

That would have been an
awkward wedding.

~EMS 3/10/13 7:31 p.m.

I was 5. Gimme a break. At least I received a taste of heartbreak before the actual demon struck nine years later.

Trevor and my two other brothers, Jordan and Adam, were all I knew for a long time, and I still write about them frequently. (Here’s a link to all my posts boasting the tag “brothers.”)

Screenshot 2014-10-01 20.59.37I even wrote a story in The Buffalo News about them, featuring this line my grandmother loved to quote: “My boys are all grown up, and as much as I want to, I can’t pause or rewind life. They may bring girls home from time to time, but they’re still my boys.”

Turns out they will always be mine, but they can be taken away.

My brother Trevor and his fiancée Kim got married almost two weeks ago. I’m glad it was her and not me.

That would have been an awkward wedding.

Youngest-child syndrome

Emily broke the disc for our favorite game, Pandemonium. It had been a complementary game that came with our brand-new computer. We fought over playing it and learned to take turns until it, well, broke.

Naturally, Emily did it.

Uh, no she didn’t. But Jordan, Trevor and Adam were convinced I did and still bring it up sometimes.

am guilty of some crimes.

Yes, Adam, I did lose the DVD that belongs in the case for the movie Envy. I only pretended it hadn’t originally been there.

They have no idea what they're getting themselves into.
They have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.

And if you three noticed coins missing here and there from your bedrooms, yes, that was me again. I stole from you to fund the late fees I often accrued at the library. (Sorry for reading, late fees?) I remember pulling $6 in change from my pocket once to pay a fee. The librarians found me amusing.

Sometimes, when you weren’t home, Adam, I’d sneak onto your XBOX and play Halo 2 on XBOX Live. I kicked ass with the sword, shotgun and plasma rifle.

After you went off to college, Jordan, I switched mattresses with you and hoped you wouldn’t notice. You never did.

That crack in the glass over your baby picture in the foyer, Trevor? I did that. Whoops. I’m sorry.

You guys may have read my diary once at camp, but I regularly rifled through your rooms, looking for any ammunition to fire at you the next time I was the center of ridicule. I used to read your yearbooks, trying to decipher what each person’s signature meant. I read over your shoulders while you instant messaged your friends.

“What does L-O-L mean, Trevor?”

“Laugh out loud, now go away.”

Cool.

But I did not touch the Pandemonium disc. I swear.

I may be guilty of a lot of things, but I probably didn’t do whatever it is you want to accuse me of.  I merely suffer from youngest-child syndrome.

That is, unless I did do it.

It certainly is plausible.

Seventeen

“Your cousins said they couldn’t believe how much you’ve changed,” my mom told me two weeks ago as we drove to Chautauqua.

Well, yeah.

Papa died in May of 2011. That was the last time I had seen the only two cousins I have on my mom’s side.

Senior in high school. Seventeen. Tightly wound. Homebody. Impressionable. Judgmental. Narcissistic. Steady boyfriend with military ideals. Clean, if that makes sense.

Cigarette smoke floated up to my window from the front porch and I silently cursed the headache-inducing smell, along with my cousins’ useless nicotine addictions.

They saw a different Emily last month.

Junior in college. Nineteen (nearly 20!). Explorative. More –– but not completely –– open-minded. Independent. Still tightly wound, but knows now how to let go.

Short, boyish hair. Navel piercing. Tattoo (a new addition!). Bigger thighs (a big thank-you goes out to those damn squats in weight room freshman year).

And I don’t mind the cigarette smoke anymore.

I wouldn’t be who I am now if I had stayed in that militaristic relationship.

So I’m glad 17-year-old Emily is gone. This 19-year-old Emily has seen more of the world and, as a result, is closer to her older brothers and cousins than she ever thought she’d be.

I ate some of your cereal, Jordan

I’m 19. I know this and understand this. I enjoy being thought of as an adult and treated like one, but sometimes I don’t want to accept the responsibilities associated with adulthood.

So imagine me, driving Bubbles and scared shitless on the thruway in the only direction I can go: forward.

I do some pretty stupid things sometimes.

I traveled to Fredonia today to run an errand and see Adam, my youngest older brother. The way there had been a miserable one so, when I left, I decided to take the thruway home. An unanticipated split in the road struck my judgment and I stupidly took the left curve toward Erie instead of the right one toward Buffalo. I realized my mistake instantly.

To paint a clearer picture, imagine a blue Bug going 65 mph driven by a yellow sunglasses-clad little girl who looks and acts the part of a stupid kid who doesn’t know what she’s doing. That’s me.

With 17 miles to go before the nearest exit, I made the prognosis of “I’m screwed.” I had no cash in my wallet and had recently emptied my change purse, making the idea of paying the tolls seem daunting and rather impossible. I scrambled around for the silver bits of coinage, preparing for a charge that could’ve resulted in counting out pennies just to get by. I pondered venturing into the median, where the sign clearly shows an ‘X’ over a swirly, turnaround arrow, but decided barely being able to pay the toll trumped the idea of a state-issued, $50 fine.

So I kept going.

Fourteen miles, 12 miles, eight miles, four miles. I counted up $.85 in silver coins in the meantime and held my breath, cursing my stupidity.

Come my destination –– the exit toward Westfield –– and I breathed a sigh of relief at the toll charge: exactly $.85.

And here’s where the everything happens for a reason bit comes in that I constantly live by. My brother lives in Mayville, right next to Westfield. I am at his house right now, keeping the dog company. And I ate some of his cereal. And I used the bathroom. And I get to see Jordan’s new desk, new couch and new bedding that everyone has talked about and I’ve missed out on. And, come to find out, my dad is actually on his way here, too.

I didn’t plan this. I just went the completely wrong way. And it happened to work out perfectly.

Unconditional love

I live at one end of our upstairs hallway with my parents and my dad’s office. The boys take up the other end, filling the air with a pungent odor of testosterone.

Image
Jordan, Trevor, Adam and I having a sleepover in Jordan’s room, apparently.

Or, at least, that’s how it used to be.

I just realized that I haven’t called, texted, tweeted at or Facebook messaged my brother Trevor in ages. I haven’t even spoken to him since Christmas. 

just texted Adam and even saw Jordan over the weekend. But, honestly, none of them cross my mind on that regular of a basis. 

We don’t talk on the phone. We don’t text. We don’t tweet at each other and we rarely exchange Facebook messages. That’s just how we are.

If I had a sister this might be different. Maybe I would call her, fill her in on what’s going on in my life and share some juicy gossip. 

But I don’t have a sister.

Family is a funny thing –– brothers especially.

The unconditional love thing is great. Trevor probably hasn’t even realized that we haven’t spoken in over a month. And it’s just not a big deal.

Just call me butter

I am on a writing roll right now. Just call me butter.

…sorry. That was really lame.

Any who, I just completed an Intellectual Journey essay, an article for The Intrepid and finalized another article for The Intrepid. Next is one for The Buzzworthy and the touchups on my Denny story. Oh, and tweet composition. Only, this time I won’t actually tweet it.

The good news is, it’s 1:15 a.m. and I’m going like the Energizer Bunny. The second piece of good news is that my first class in the morning has been canceled. This means sleeping until 10 o’clock (or later…). But, right now, my fuel consists of Wonka’s Nerds and Hershey’s chocolate. Oh, and Michael Bublé is playing right now. That’s never a bad thing.

You’d think I’d be sick of writing at this point, but I am still kickin’ and churning out words. I am super duper excited for the weekend. Brunch with the big(gest) bro on Saturday and a chance to be in the same room with all three of my brothers? Yeah, it sounds like a good time.

There are quite a few things I’d like to blog about in the very near future, so be looking out for those (maybe even tonight?). It all depends on how long I plan on being butter.

 

Pop can in the shower

My bathroom is a calm brown with blue accents (towels, baskets, candle holders, etc.). Technically, I share it with my three older brothers, but since one of them doesn’t even live here anymore and the other two are usually off at college, I call it my own. I keep it clean and orderly…sometimes. There may be coffee rings on the white counter and hair ties everywhere, but at least it’s clean filth. It’s not yucky boy filth.

Ever since we received a rain shower head from Mom and Dad for Christmas, showers have been delightful. Instead of a spazzy spritz of water, a nice, warm downpour erupts from every pore of the the shower head and easily washes away every bit of dirt from the body. Showers are preferable for me. I like a nice bath every now and then, but I get bored with nothing to do.

So tonight, like any other night, I took a shower once night fell. I got the water running while I used the toilet, then stripped down (don’t worry – this isn’t going to get X-Rated) and climbed into the shower and was welcomed by a spray of water at perfect shower temperature. I started by wetting my hair completely and then applying a dollop of my shampoo. While I was rinsing it out, I happened to glance up to my left at the ledge where I usually see a yellow and green sponge. Next to the sponge, I saw a pop can. Instantly I knew which brother was the culprit.

My first thought was: I wonder if there’s anymore pop left? (I checked and it was empty.)

My second thought was: Ugh, I HATE it when the boys come home and trash the bathroom!

My third thought was: Now I’m going to have to add that can to the recyclables as if it’s my mess!

My fourth thought was: Wow, I’m actually kind of thirsty. It would be nice to have a grape pop right now.

My fifth thought was: Oh my gosh, what a genius idea!
I went from being totally disgusted to being totally amazed. If I had been Adam (whom I am sure was the culprit), I would have set my unfinished pop on the counter in the bathroom and then commenced my shower. But Adam – being Adam – couldn’t have that. He took his unfinished pop into the shower with him and simply set it on the top ledge, away from any excess water. Imagine how refreshing it must have been to take a swig of a nice cold cola (though I do not like cola) during a hot shower. Adam constantly catches me off guard with these really simple ideas that I would never even think to do.

Maybe next time I’ll take my unfinished can of pop in with me so I can enjoy it in the shower.

Reeaaaallllyyyy interesting (and thought-provoking)

Wow…34 views already in 2011. It might seem lame to some of you ferocious bloggers that write reeaaaallllyyyy interesting and thought-provoking things that catch the eyes of hundreds of people, but to me, 34 views is a lot for one day. In July of ’09 I received 98 views in one day. Haven’t seen that number (or anything even close to it) since.

Am I not interesting enough for you people anymore? Did I get even lame-er with old age (which is currently seventeen…weird…I was fourteen when I got this blog…ahhhh!)?

Fine. From now on, I’ll introduce wise-sounding and interesting posts as opposed to my current page that hosts endless rants. But hey, I think rants are funny.

Also from now on, I will be tagging my posts. I haven’t done this in about a year and a half, but yesterday I tagged my post, and look where it got me: 34 views later I have been made even more wise than I already am. Somehow tagging and views MUST correlate (that sounds like a math word…ew).

Okay, I’m not a funny person, so I’ll stop trying to be one.

After that on my list, I shall remove Twitter from my blog. My brothers follow me on Twitter and see EVERY SINGLE LINK TO MY BLOG AND THEN PROBABLY CLICK IT AND READ ON. The link is enticing to them, and it shouldn’t be. They should have a choice of whether or not to click as opposed to being beckoned by the world of Twitter. (They didn’t used to click; that was B.T.) And again, I’ll stop trying to be funny.

Also, coming soon, more interesting pictures! Everyone knows that pictures are more appealing than words. My blog is just too wordy.

Please note: I probably won’t include pictures; I’m too lazy, but I’ll leave that bit of false hope here just for you!

It’s about time that blackbyrd got a makeover…she needs to grow a pair (of wings) and try to make that difference she’s been itching to make.

One month later

I can’t recall a month in my life that could possibly be happier than the one I just lived. Robby and I have been nearly inseparable for a month now, and I’ve loved every minute of it.

We’ve been together 11 times in the past 11 days. We see each other at least once a day, no matter what day it is. We do something different everyday, too, and we never have a plan. He comes over or I go over to his house and we just do whatever. It’s as simple as that. There is no prep time to take into account. We’ve watched a million movies, played a million games and had a million conversations. Last night, we walked my dogs and visited my grandparents before he watched me dominate in Guitar Hero in our “rumpus room.”

I’m always thinking about him and always get ideas for things to do for him. I got a great idea today while we were in Target after we went to the movies to see The Crazies (it was okay…just a little gory, but I had Robby there to protect me), but couldn’t tell him what it was. When he asked to know, I simply shook my head and said “you’ll find out soon enough!” He also has something he’s saving for today to celebrate one happy month together, and I cannot wait to see what’s in store!

We have so many plans. This week, we’re going four-wheeling with his dad (who is awesome) and in the very near future we’re going to go on camping trips with both his family and then mine. Summer will be great as long as he can come over everyday. We’ll spend the first month of vacation looking forward to those Yankees games in Cleveland we’re going to in late July with his dad, my dad and possibly one of my brothers.

Which reminds me of another thing. Our school’s baseball teams haven’t had a single game yet, but I’ve already seen Robby play baseball twice. The other day after track practice, I headed over to the baseball field and watched him play for an hour without him knowing. I saw his dad too, but neither of them knew I was there. When I went into the JV dugout to say goodbye to him, the look on his face was one I’ll never forget. When he told his dad later that I had been there, his reply was: “why didn’t she come over and see me?!?!?” That’s when I knew, once again, that I’ve got it good.

Right now I’m listening to my playlist of songs that remind me of him. I just can’t get enough. I’m pretty sure he fell asleep, because he was supposed to call me at one o’clock, but that’s okay. We have a whole day stretching out ahead of us once I get my research paper done today. I have no doubt in my mind that we’ll see each other. I love that.

This shows how observant I am

I honestly am not a very observant person. I don’t recognize details (unless they’re important to me), and I almost never notice anything. Maybe this explains why I made a blunder today.

We had our first “real” Track meet of the 2009 season today. I got up in the morning with almost everything ready, but I needed to grab my cross-country hoodie from the dryer. I wrote a note to myself and stuck it onto my mirror so I would remember to grab said hoodie from the dryer.

Okay, so I remembered just fine without the sticky note, and I went downstairs and pulled my hoodie from the dryer. I put it on over what I was wearing and went along my merry way. I got to school, wore the hoodie for a little while, then put it in my locker before heading off to Health.

For our Track meet, I put on my uniform, my sweats and the hoodie. The opposing team we were to run against arrived just as I was stretching my hamstrings on the steeple. I figured they would see my name on the back of my hoodie and try to swallow their fear. You see, most teams see me as a threat. I fought back a laugh as I pictured the reactions upon seeing my name. Then, I went along with the meet.

The 4X8 went rather well, if I do say so myself. I got a rather decent split time (2:33), and got our team the lead we needed. We won that one.

It was after the 1500 and before the 3000 that I got a clue to my blunder. The 200m races were going on, and all of the people on the infield were to be crouching down so the officials could see one another from across the way. I didn’t think I had to crouch down – I thought I was out of the way. The officials yelled out to me, and then yelled “Hey, JEEVES!” and then when that didn’t work, “GOWANDA!” and, believe me, I crouched. The thing is, I didn’t catch the “JEEVES!” comment at the time.

After the 4X4, I pulled my hoodie back over my head. Suddenly I noticed that there was a rip near a hood, and it made me really sad. The hoodie had taken me through years of running seasons, and there it was, falling apart. I had also noticed earlier that it seemed more stretched out than I remembered, but I figured I must have lost a little weight. (Haha…)

My friend dropped me off at the baseball field to join my parents, and I walked up to them and said: “after years of hanging in there, this hoodie is finally falling apart.” Then my dad sort of looked at me funny and said: “you do know that you’ve been wearing your brother’s cross-country hoodie this whole time, right?”

Suddenly, it hit me. Everything made sense.

His hoodie says “Jeeves” on the back, and I realized that that was what the official had yelled at me earlier. It was obviously stretched out because he’s a little bit bigger than I am, and lastly, I did remember that his hoodie had sort of been tearing near the neckline. I blushed, said: “that explains a lot!” and then flushed with more embarrassment because of my cocky thoughts about how my opponents must have been “swallowing their fear.” What a joke!

If I had taken one quick glance at the name on the back of the hoodie, I could have saved myself from this little “incident.” I bet my friends were all wondering why I was wearing my brother’s hoodie, but they never said a word. I guess this just goes to show how observant I really am.