She watches him play for several minutes until she decides to make a move. Picks up a toy and grins at her brother, inviting him to play. But he's not in the mood. Not now. He's in the middle of arranging his cars in a very particular way and she is ruining it.
"You're ruining my pattern!" he yells before yanking a car out of Fable's hand, pushing her down.
She screams.
"It was an accident," he says but it's not true.
"You're the oldest. You have to set a good example. Tell her with your words that you don't like that. We don't hit or push our little sisters down."
"I don't like that Fable!" he yells, both of them crying in each of my arms.
Until Archer stops, releases the toy clenched in his hands.
"Here, Fablela," he says, sniffling and Fable smiles. "But only if you let me teach you."
So he shows her, tries to show her, how to make a pattern with the cars. But she doesn't understand his directions and he gets frustrated.
"You're not doing it right! You're doing it wrong!"
Fable studies his moves, tries with all her might to keep up with him.
And I, in turn, study her. Wonder how it feels to be a little sister. A student looking up with eager hands and question-mark eyes full of worship, wonder.
Like Archer, I was the eldest. Spent my childhood looking down at my siblings, never up. So was Hal. Three of four of us, first-born.
...
My earliest childhood memory was the night my brother, David came home from the hospital. I didn't want a baby brother. I was just fine on my own,
thank you very much. But time changed that. He became my best friend and although we scratched and punched and drop-kicked each other in the face every now and then, I was his protector. His guide. Beyond our companionship there was something visceral lurking beneath our hide and seek. I was shy and powerless in school and beyond the home but with my brother, I was the leader. I had found my follower, one who would do and speak and play as I said.
Because I'm the big sister, David. I'm the boss of you."
Being the eldest made me feel needed. A protector but also one who wielded all the power. The responsibility, too, but mainly power.
At the time, it wasn't so sinister. But in retrospect my dependence on him was far greater than his on me.
I learned to lead by his want to follow.
"Sit here, David and I will teach you about girls and music and how to dress."
Same with my younger sister.
"Sit here, Rachel and I will teach you about boys and music and pretty clothes."
Age changes things, though and eventually the boss becomes the bitch. No matter how good her intentions be or how hard she loves. Power confuses people.
Confused me. And in our teens we grew apart.
... Perhaps because they had no desire to follow me anymore.
So they forged paths of their own, in directions of their own making.
***
They wait in the window, together, side by side, their noses cold from the glass and hands touching, their heads pressed together like conjoined twins. Archer speaks to her softly.
"Daddy will be home soon, Fablela," he says. "We'll wait here together and see him, okay? Okay Fablela?"
And then...
"Fablela! Look! Our daddy's here! Let me show you!"
And she follows his fingers out into the night, where the cars race down the street faster than the speed limit and she stays like that for moments, until Hal's face appears and the two of them jump up and down side by side until she collapses head first into Archer's arms and he holds her, squinting.
"I'm your big brother," he says to her.
"Right mommy? I'm the big brother and she's the little sister and she's so small and I'm humongous."
"For now."
Hal jumps out from behind a bush, and Archer cracks up. Fable, too, until their giggles combine, tie knots in the moment, his and hers.
When they laugh they sound exactly the same. So do their faces look when they smile.
***
We're in Michigan visiting my sister who is performing her senior flute recital at the
University of Michigan. Its the first time we've been away together, our family of five, without kids or significant others in years. The last time was our road trip to Yellowstone when I was seventeen and my brother was fourteen and my sister was ten.
It was on that trip that we lost power in our middle-of-nowhere Motel room, and my brother hit me in the face with a pillow, tore my nose-ring out of my nose. I said a lot of horrible things that night - made him feel bad for an accident. Because I was angry and in pain and wanted him to feel bad. I didn't let him come with us to the hospital and for the rest of the trip, refused to speak to him.
I still have the scar. And every once in a while my brother brings it up, which makes me think he still has his, even though we laugh about it now.
That summer would be the last time I was ever the tallest of the three. David grew almost a foot the following year.
Towering above me he was no longer my little brother. I would never look down on him again, only up.
Still, he called me for advice and I gave it to him. Made him mix tapes, bought him books I thought he should read, like.
Some of them he did. Some of them he did not.
Until he started making me mix tapes. Buying me books he thought I should read. Like.
I loved them all.
I arrive at my sister's house in Ann Arbor, the first time I've seen her living outside our childhood home. It's wallpapered with music, its floors covered in clothes. We share her bed while I'm there - also a first since we were kids on summer vacation when we trekked across the west by way of mini-van and
ninety-nine-bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer...We giggle and spoon and talk about boys. She helps dress me for the cold because I have no idea how to dress for twenty degrees. And at night, my brother and I sneak away to share a cigarette in the freezing cold. Inhaling each other's secrets and news, exhaling advice and congratulations.
"Hey! Where'd you guys just go?" my parents ask, when we return the table.
"Nowhere," we say, crossing our fingers.
The next day, at Rachel's senior recital, I help her dress, do her makeup, then step off the stage. Sit down next to my brother and parents, wait.
Rachel rehearses
Until she comes out on stage, bows, begins her performance - plays songs way beyond my comprehension level, radiating confidence and talent. Genius, really. And a kind of fire that I've never recognized before. I watch her and laugh and cry and listen, learn.
"Hi, I'm Rachel's sister," I say after the recital, introducing myself to her friends, professors.
"Older or younger?" everyone asks.
"I used to be the oldest," I joke and we all three laugh, them towering above me, dwarfing me in height and intelligence.
Our laughs sound eerily similar. So do our faces look when we smile.
...
I call Hal from Ann Arbor, ask him how the kids are doing.
"Are they getting along okay?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. "They're getting along great."
I find out later that while I was on the airplane flying back to L.A, Archer accidentally pushed Fable so hard she bumped her face into the window ledge and her mouth poured blood for fifteen minutes
Archer was so upset he hid under the table and Hal didn't know what to do.
"I was so mad at him," Hal said. "Even though it wasn't exactly his fault."
He knows how it feels to be the older brother. Always getting into trouble. Everything's your fault even when it isn't. The temper and the frustration and the want for everything to be perfect. Neat little matchbox cars in a line.
I remember, too.
"But they're okay now?"
"They're great.
On the way home from the airport, Archer and Fable hold hands in the back-seat. Fable's mouth isn't bleeding anymore and Archer hums softly. He sings and she listens. He waits for her to close her eyes and then, so does he. He is her keeper, I think.
For now.
When I tell my mother, she says I was the same way with my little brother. I held his hand in the back of the car.
"You used to read Rachel stories every night before bed. Until she was old enough to read them herself."
I remember that. But I also remember the unpleasant things I did. The horrible things I said. The meanness. The manipulating and bullying and bossing.
I wish I could take back all the times I pushed them down. Tried to keep them there so I could tell them what to do, how to behave, who to be.
They can read their own stories, now. Dress in their own clothes. Grow up without my guidance.
Now they lend me books. Dress me in their clothes. Teach me about music. Show me the way.
It took parenting siblings for me to finally understand my place and purpose as the eldest, my responsibility, not unlike a parent, to let my siblings grow up, step off the pedestal so that they can take my place.
Archer wears 
Shirt: Kingsley
Sweatshirt: Ben Sherman
Archer wears 
Fire-breathing Panda Tee: My Bird by Bird in Cambridge, MA
Fire-breathing Panda Tee: My Bird by Bird in Cambridge, MA
Shirt: Kingsley
Sweatshirt: Ben Sherman
