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Siblings - The Early Days - 3 (family, inc)
by Michael Kalen Smith

***

                 From SIBLINGS -- a novel in progress

                          ("The Early Days")

                        [...from chapter 3...]


   I was working on my third model Zero, being careful to use only the
minimum amount of plastic cement.  The two halves of each wing were
drying in their network of rubber bands, and I was just about ready to
insert the wings into the slots in the fuselage.  The first two models
had come out okay and were lined up on the shelf before me where I could
visually check the wing angles.  I painted a thin bead of cement along
the wing slots, inserted the wings, checked the angles, and prepared to
hold my hands steady for five minutes.  I intended to have a flight of
three Japanese fighters arranged in a diving formation over my study
desk, properly detailed and painted and each with its own individual
markings.
   Alex's head poked in the door, dark red ponytail askew.  She watched
in silence for a few seconds as I sat unmoving.
   "What are you doing?"
   I looked at my sister, then back at the model, then patiently back
at my sister.  She saw my expression and held up a hand.  "Okay, I know:
You're working on a model.  But what are you DOING?"
   "I'm holding the wings steady until the cement dries, so they won't
sag."
   She nodded as if her worst fears for my sanity had been realized.  I
raised an eyebrow.  "Hey, do I make fun of the stuffed animals on your
pillow?"
   She smiled and continued into my room in cutoffs and a tee shirt,
collapsing on my bed, arms out, with a loud, dramatic sigh.  "I'm
bored."
   I didn't even look up.  "It's 10:30 Saturday morning, Alex.  How can
you be bored?"  I kind of knew what she meant, though.  I mean, here I
was with nothing better to do than build model planes.
   "I bet you could think of something to do if you worked at it. What
about the Coven?"  My name for the four or five girls she ran around
with, doing "girl things" together.
   "Oh, they're all out of town for the weekend, or they have afternoon
dates, or something."  She sounded faintly disgusted.  "Michael, could
WE do something together?"
   "Like what?"  The wings were setting up perfectly.
   "I dunno -- go to a show maybe?  Just go downtown and walk around
and window-shop?"
   I looked over at the bed and grinned.  "Well, I could take you to
the playground and hold your hand while you go down the *big* slide...."
   She stuck out her tongue and then grinned back.  I liked the way her
nose wrinkled when she did that.
   "I'm serious!  It's a nice day -- we could just go out and do
something and have fun together, couldn't we?  Unless you're embarrassed
to be seen with your little sister, of course."
   "No, I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you, and you're not so
little anymore, anyway."  I thought about discovering her menstruation a
few months before; I tried to think of her as a "woman" now, but it
often wasn't easy.
   The Zero's wings had set enough that I could let go of them, but I
slipped a paperback book under each wing, just in case.  I turned
sideways in my chair.  Alex had her hands behind her head and was idly
kicking one bare foot over her cocked knee.  I thought about things I
needed to do, projects I ought to work on.  Nothing.  I was caught up on
my schoolwork and so, probably, was Alex.  No pressing errands.  No
place I really had to be today.  God, it WAS going to be a boring day! 
On the other hand, though Alex and I teased each other without mercy, I
really did like her company and I knew the feeling was reciprocated.  We
had become very comfortable just hanging out together.
   "You know what we both need?" I said.  "Exercise.  EASY exercise. 
You feel like hiking around Fremont Park for a couple of hours?"
   Fremont was a large, semi-wild area on the eastern edge of town that
combined lawns and softball fields and cycling paths with rocky trails
and not-too-difficult ravines.  High school students went there with
their steadies, to lie in the sun or to sit up amongst the boulder-
strewn hillsides and make out.  Young mothers strolled their infants,
older kids climbed trees and tossed frisbees. In  the summer, the park
was pretty busy on weekends, but this was a surprisingly mild day in
March and most families would be stoking up their charcoal for the first
cook-out of the year, or attacking the winter's accumulation of yard
work.
   Alex considered the suggestion for perhaps half a second before
bouncing up with a broad, sparkling smile.  "That's a great idea! 
Wait'll I get my Keds!"  She hurried out, toes curled for traction as
she angled across the hall.
   We frequently rode our bikes over to Fremont, but the idea today was
to hike, and if we parked the bikes someplace -- even locked -- the odds
were slim that they would be there when we came back.  But it was only a
fifteen-minute bus ride from the end of our block to the park, so it was
still well before noon when we arrived.  There were a few athletic types
around, but the families wouldn't begin to appear before late lunch.
   "Wanna head for anyplace special?" Alex asked as we got off the bus.    
   "No place special," I replied.  "In fact, let's just go wherever we
happen to go.  There's no hurry; we can just stroll, okay?"
   Alex nodded agreement and we set off at an easy pace along the tree-
edged path that separated the open, nearly empty lawns on our left from
the rolling, rocky hillsides on the right.  We ambled along and I hooked
my thumbs in my front pockets.  Alex looped her arm through mine.  She
was only a inch or so shorter than me and we fit together quite well.
   "This is nice," she said lazily and squeezed my arm.
   A few minutes later, we witnessed one of those otherwise minor
incidents, those little public dramas, that can unexpectedly make a real
change in your life.  Three boys about ten years old came tearing down
the path on their bikes and swerved around us.  Several lengths behind
them was a girl a year or two younger, wearing jeans and a plaid blouse,
peddling as hard as she could.
   "Keith!" she yelled angrily.  "Mom said not to go off and leave me! 
Wait up!"
   One of the boys threw up his hands in dramatic frustration and
coasted to a stop while the girl hurried to catch up.  The other two
boys began cruising in a circle on the grass off to one side, laughing
at their buddy's encumbrance.  The girl skidded to a halt just behind
her brother.  She was nearly in tears.
   "Why don't you just go home, kid?"  Keith looked very disgusted. 
"Sisters aren't good for anything!"  He glared a challenge at her.
   "I just want to play...," the girl replied, looking down at her
shoes.
   "Well, we don't want you playing with us!  Get away from me!  Just
leave me alone!"  And he did a wheelie on his bike as he raced off to
join his friends.  They all headed for the beginning of one of the
park's network of hill trails.
   The girl watched them go, then slowly turned her bike around and
headed back the other way.  She wasn't crying aloud, but the misery of
rejection was plain in her eyes.  There were tears on her cheeks and she
was biting her lower lip.  As she passed us, I realized that Alex was
about to say something to her.
   Bad idea.  I trapped the hand that had begun to slip off my arm and
said, softly but firmly, "No."
   Alex looked at me, startled, and then the girl had passed and so had
the opportunity to intervene.
   "Why did you stop me?"  She looked surprised.  "I was just going to
tell her not to worry -- that not all brothers are like that.  Didn't
you see the way he treated that poor kid?"
   I raised my eyebrows; she really didn't understand.  "In other
words, you were going to point out to her how much luckier YOU were. 
And how would that have made her feel?"
   Alex opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again.  She looked
for a moment at the snubbed girl, who was peddling slowly into the
distance with her head down, then looked back at me and nodded
unhappily.
   "You're right; I didn't think.  Sorry."  She took my arm again and
we went on.  She was thinking, and I thought I knew what about, but I
kept my mouth shut.
   My sister looked over and stared at my profile for several seconds
before asking, "Michael,... why aren't we like that?"
   My thoughts had been running along the same lines.  "You mean, why
don't we detest each other, the way everyone else we know does?"  She
smiled slightly and nodded.  "Alex, I don't know.  But I'm glad it's
different with us."
   "Me, too."  She squeezed my arm, just a little.
   "Maybe," I continued, "maybe we're just different from everyone
else, period.  I mean, how many people do we know who would even be
talking about this?  We've always gotten along pretty well -- haven't
we?  Is that abnormal for brothers and sisters?  Or maybe we just left
that stuff behind quicker than most people."
   Alex was nodding her head. She looked at me again and smiled. 
"Maybe we're emotional geniuses...."
   I snorted and we went on.  After awhile we found ourselves stepping
from ledge to ledge up a hillside trail.  There was a series of broad
slate shelves to one side near the top of the hill, screened from above
by scrub and juniper, which had obviously been left as a bench for
climbers.  You could see most of the park from there, as well as the
trail we had climbed.  It seemed like a good place to sit and talk,
which I think we both unconsciously wanted to do.
   I sat and stuck my legs out, flexing my knees.  I needed to get this
kind of exercise more often; except for swimming, maybe I was becoming
too "bookish."  My sister stepped up on the ledge just behind mine, sat
down, and leaned her chin on my shoulder.  It was an affectionate
gesture and I liked it.  But her question wasn't what I had expected.
   "Michael, how do you feel about me?"
   I considered for a moment, but I wasn't sure what she was really
asking.  "You mean, do I like you more than that kid likes *his* sister. 
Sure."
   "Well,... no -- not exactly."
   Her voice had an odd tone.  I started to turn to look at her but she
quickly laid her hand atop my head and prevented it.
   "Don't look at me!" she added, so I didn't.  "I mean, uh,... um,...
Michael, do you love me?"  It came out in a rush.
   I hadn't had a chance to thing of a good answer so I said the first
thing that came into my head.  "Of course, I love you, Alex.  You're my
sister and I care about you a lot."
   Her cheek was next to my ear and I could feel her smile.  Then she
surprised me again: She kissed me on the cheek and quickly sat back. 
She had kissed me before, when I gave her a birthday present or did her
some kind of favor, but somehow this was different.  I motioned for her
to move down beside me, which she did.  Then I put my arm around her
neck, my hand dangling loose over her shoulder, and I studied her.
   "So?  Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"
   She shrugged, a bit embarrassed, and reached up to lace her fingers
through mine.  "I don't know,... I just wondered...."  I continued to
look at her expectantly so she went on.
   "Well, that girl looked so unhappy awhile ago, and I was thinking
that I'm usually *happy* around you, and,... well, I just wondered."
   Then I surprised myself.  I leaned over and kissed her at the corner
of her eye.  She was a little startled and put her other hand up to
touch the spot.  I knew that most guys my age would rather eat dirt than
kiss their sisters, but it felt like something I wanted to do, and I
realized immediately that I had enjoyed it.
   Alex was my sister, yes -- but she was also a very pretty girl, and
I definitely liked girls.  Also, she was my very best friend, barring no
one.  I had warm feelings toward her on all accounts, and I had reason
to think she felt much the same way about me.  How long had I felt this
way?  For as long as I could remember.  Looking back, I can see that we
were unusually mature emotionally, and I can offer no explanation for
that.
   Because Alex was right: We had never fought, the way most siblings
did.  We argued, often heatedly, but we never sank to name-calling.  If
we stomped off in opposite directions after a spat, we always felt
guilty soon afterward and sought each other out to be the first to
apologize.
   I'm not sure our parents were aware of any of this, either.  As I've
said, we were the objects of benign neglect in most matters, and we made
up our own social and psychological norms.  We played together when we
were little, we shared our toys with almost no arguments, we took each
other's part automatically in dealings with other kids (like the famous
incident with the Three Bullies) -- we cooperated to what was
undoubtedly an unnatural degree.  It wasn't an attitude or a
relationship we arrived at by forethought; it just seemed to be a part
of our emotional makeup.
   All our lives we had been close, but now we were both growing up.  I
was becoming acutely aware that there was a female body under the jeans
and sweatshirts and -- also unusual -- I didn't feel guilty or even
strange about the realization.
   In retrospect, I believe my sister also had a crush on me.  I was
beginning to catch her watching me unobtrusively with an expression of
vague longing.  At the time, I just thought she was acting a little
oddly.  Certainly, I had a matching crush on her; I simply didn't
recognize it.
   I know I wondered at the time if our relaxed companionability was a
"phase" that would end, if we would soon be at each other's throats like
everyone else.  I hoped that wouldn't happen.  I was really beginning to
consciously enjoy and appreciate my sister's friendly presence, taken so
long for granted.  I liked living with someone so similar in appearance,
style, and tastes to myself, someone I could talk to about absolutely
anything without being jeered.  Someone so cute, too.  And I didn't
think of any of this as "wrong."  It was just the way we were, and the
fact that we recognized so early that we were different seemed to
isolate us even more from our friends and classmates.  It drew us more
closely together.
   I had my friends, Alex had her friends, and we shared a few friends. 
But then there was "Alex-and-me," and that was like a third person in
which each of us shared half the responsibility.
   We sat there on the rock ledge by the trail, thinking much the same
thoughts and reaching the same conclusions.  Alex snuggled a little
closer and leaned against me, and I replied by putting my arm around her
and squeezing her in a soft hug.
   "Michael," she said softly without looking up, "I'm lucky to have
you for a brother, aren't I?"  She paused and the tenor of her voice
saddened.  "This probably can't go on, you know that, don't you?  What's
going to happen to us?"
    "It'll go on as long as both of us want it to, Alex."  It was what I
hoped, not what I knew.  We were still very young and hope comes easy at
that age.
   Alex turned sideways to face me.  "Would it be too strange if I
kissed you?  I mean, on the lips?"
   "Not to me it wouldn't be."
   She reached up to my cheek as I spoke and I put my hand on the back
of her neck.  I felt warm and tender toward her at that moment, but it
wasn't exactly "romantic."  Neither was it consciously sexual.  More
like a deliberate emotional bonding.
   Our lips met hesitantly.  Neither of us had really done this before
with anyone -- in cold blood, so to speak.  But we gained confidence
quickly.  That first real kiss between us lasted maybe thirty seconds
and it was careful and gentle and exploratory, and it felt so very, very
nice.  And so entirely natural, as if it were destined.  Neither of us
had second thoughts.
   When our lips parted we simply sat and gazed at each other, our
hands still in place.  It certainly felt like a "magic moment" but
neither of us was quite sure why.
   I date my love for Alex, for my beautiful and perfect sister, from
that moment.  I wasn't aware of any kind of emotional watershed at the
time, of course.  But, looking back, that kiss was when our attitudes
and feelings toward each other began slowly to crystalize.  When I told
that to Alex, years later, she simply nodded in agreement.  Our first
deliberate kiss, she said, was like being thirsty and "taking a long
drink from a cool well."  She felt the unexplainable difference, too. 
And things were never the same for us again.


                            *  *  *  *  *


   Without having to think about it, I knew I had more access to Alex's
body than was ordinarily the case.  A guy in gym was bragging one day
about having caught a glimpse of his older sister's "snatch" (a word I
never cared for) and I remember disapproving of his leering description
and of the snickering reaction of his listeners.
   I was as perpetually horny as any other adolescent male, and I was
both appreciative of and aroused by the large areas of skin Alex
casually revealed to me more and more frequently.  But I certainly
wasn't going to describe my sister's many luscious attributes with these
lowlifes.  The braggart had actually gone on recon, hanging out around
his house at locations where he would have the best opportunity to steal
a peek at his sister's naked body.
   Alex showed me what she was willing for me to see -- which was
virtually all of her -- and there was no sneaking involved.  She was
proud of her body and she enjoyed showing it off to an audience she
could trust.  She never said "Don't tell anyone," nor did she even imply
it, because she knew it wasn't necessary.  I had the usual doubts about
my own developing sexual equipment, but Alex watched with interest when
I changed clothes or took a leak -- and that never embarrassed me,
either.  How many penises could she compare with mine at the age of
thirteen?
   After our walk in the park and our first real kiss, there was a
subtle change in our behavior toward each other, especially at home. 
Previously, if my door was shut, Alex would knock and wait for me to
invite her in.  I gave her the same courtesy.  But now our personal
privacy began to disappear, entirely by mutual consent.  I'd knock at
her door and then go in, without waiting for permission; Alex did the
same.  If she was in her underwear, she didn't make a big deal of it, so
neither did I.  Then our doors were only half-closed, not shut.  Then
only occasionally closed at all.
   The same was true of the bathroom: If one of us was on the toilet,
the other ignored the fact.  We still were pretty private, but now it
was a *shared* privacy directed toward the outside world.  It was as if
that kiss had sealed a pact of trust between us.
   We also spent more and more time together, just occupying adjacent
space.  Instead of each of us studying in our own rooms, Alex took to
occupying my bed, sprawled out with books and papers scattered around
her, while I studied at my desk (which was actually a large, old oak
library table).
   We might not say a word for an hour or more, the silence broken only
by the rustle of paper and the scratching of pencils, but just being
near each other as we worked made the homework easier.  And I discovered
the pleasures of reading a novel while lying on my back with my head
cushioned in a girl's lap.  Sometimes I would look up from whatever I
was doing to find Alex simply watching me and smiling.  Then I
discovered I was doing the same thing.
   We began going for walks regularly, but almost always outside our
own part of town.  We knew instinctively that our friends and
acquaintances would hassle us, and we didn't want to start any rumors,
either.  Because when we went window-shopping downtown or climbing in
the hills, we frequently held hands.  I'm sure strangers, if they
noticed us at all, assumed I was Alex's boyfriend, not her brother, even
though we looked so much alike.
   We also went to the shows at the old-style theaters downtown, the
ones with balconies.  We would find ourselves surrounded in an upper
loge by a dozen scattered couples passionately making out, and we would
look around, grin, and squeeze our clasped hands.  I could put my arm
around my sister in a dark theater, too, and she could snuggle up
against me unobserved.  I began to long for a driver's license, but that
was still two years away.
   Oddly enough, after that first experience on the hillside, we seldom
kissed, except for a perfunctory "thank you" on the cheek.  Perhaps we
regarded it as too valuable and special an experience and we wanted to
preserve its rarity.  Or maybe we were just fearful of the implications. 
We recognized that out affection for each other was growing with every
passing month, but that didn't mean we understood it.  There were
occasions, however....

                            *  *  *  *  *

   Alex played flute in the junior high band for two years; it later
became one activity too many, and she dropped band so she could stay on
the swim team.  And the flute section, as every band-survivor knows, is
on the very front row.  When the Spring Concert -- the biggest musical
event of the year -- came around, my little sister discovered she had
outgrown last year's "special" dress; as slender as she was, she had
still added an inch or more around the bust.  Had she been a couple of
rows back, mostly hidden from view, she might have tried to fake it by
letting out a few seams, but for the front row she knew she'd have to
have a new dress.
   The rule in our family had always been that Mother and Dad kept us
respectably clothed -- which they certainly did -- but that fancy
non-necessaries, like jewelry, and party dresses, and leather jackets,
either came at the usual gift times or were paid for with money we
earned ourselves.
   Alex had a conference downstairs with Mother and came away from it
with a $20 contribution.  She had another $15 stashed away from
babysitting and typing term papers, I knew, but from what I heard her
say, the perfect dress, the one she really, really wanted, cost $49.95.
   Cokes were still a dime then and I could buy a new pair of Hush
Puppies for under $10, so what she had in mind was a significant target. 
And Alex was $15 short.  I asked her if she had actually counted up her
savings and she replied morosely that she *knew* how much was in the old
stationary box in her bottom drawer.
   I thought about it for at least thirty minutes.  I had my own
savings, of course, in a battered tobacco tin wedged up in my bed
springs, and I had vague plans for it.  But it really made me unhappy to
see my sister so unhappy.  I dug out the tin and counted nearly $40; I
took out fifteen singles and stuck them in my pocket.  I could always
mow more lawns.
   While Alex was out on an errand later that afternoon, I opened her
bottom drawer and dug out her money box.  She had twelve singles, the
four fives Mother had given her, and a double fistful of quarters.  The
bills were neatly paperclipped together, and I smoothed out my
contribution and added it to the clip.
   Alex wandered in and plopped down on my bed an hour later.  When I
asked her if she had come up with any ideas for the dress she wanted,
she shook her head slowly and continued to stare at the ceiling.
   "Look," I said, "why don't you go and actually count your savings? 
When was the last time you did that?  You probably don't have any idea
how much you have!"
   "I counted it a month ago and it was less than $20, I know."
   "Would you PLEASE just go and count it again?"
   She was becoming a bit annoyed.  "Okay, okay, I'll count it again! 
But it's not enough!"  And off she went.  I heard her dresser drawer
open and shut.  Her bed squeaked as she dumped the box out on her
comforter.  I could barely make out her voice.
   "...four, five, six,..."
   When she finished, there was a pause of several seconds and then she
re-counted, a little louder.  Another pause, and she went through the
bills a third time.  Then there was a much longer pause and I grinned to
myself as I pictured her bewilderment.  Then I heard her bed squeak
again and her bare feet slowly crossed the hall.  I had to struggle to
keep a straight face as she came through the door, bills clutched in
both hands, and a look of mixed puzzlement and suspicion on her face.
   "I *couldn't* have had this much!"
   "I always knew you couldn't count above three," I replied, raising
my eyebrows.
   "Michael -- did *you* put more money in there?  From your savings?"
   "Who, me?"  I tried to look innocent.  "Why would I do that?"
   But I was like a pane of window glass to Alex.  She walked over to
my desk chair.  "I KNOW why you did it.  Now, stand up."
   I must have looked a bit puzzled myself as I pushed the chair back
and got up.
   She put her arms around my neck and stared me square in the eye, her
nose an inch from mine.  "You did it because you're absolutely
wonderful, and I don't deserve you for a brother," she said softly with
tears in her lashes.  Then she kissed me, slowly, lingeringly, in a way
that sent muscle spasms through my toes.  I held her by the shoulders
because I was, frankly, afraid to put my arms around her waist.  I
wasn't sure I would be able to let go.  That kiss seemed to go on and
on, though it probably lasted only a minute or two.
   She hugged me, her cheek damp against mine.  "Why do you do things
like this for me?  I'll pay you back before school's out, I promise."
   "You'll do no such thing," I replied firmly.  I had already thought
about this, too, and I knew how I wanted it to be.  "That's not a loan;
it's a gift.  More than that: It's yours because you need it more right
now than I do.  Alex, you're my sister and I want you to be happy. 
Anything I have -- anything I *ever* have -- is yours.  Always."
   She pulled her head back and stared at me, and then her expression
shifted and the look on her face held such wonder and happiness that I
got tingly feelings in all my nerve endings.  And there was something
else in her face that I couldn't identify at the time, and which she may
not even have realized was there.
   But I've seen it many times since when she looks at me.  It was the
first dawn of real love.  It was more than just affection -- and it
struck me like the sun rising on a summer day.  Then she hugged me again
and her arms trembled as she tried not to burst into tears.  And this
time I put my arms around her and hugged back.  Like Alex, I wasn't sure
what had just happened -- was still happening -- but I felt, again, as I
had after our very first kiss, an almost physical change in my feeling
for my sister, a change I was certain she had experienced, too.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
