All the Love in the Universe

Eighteen. All the Way to Neptune-Marie

My father vanished into the ether as soon as he saw a second baby on the way.

Devon was fourteen months my junior, but that didn't minimize his dictatorship. He was born just after I'd learned to walk and was pushing my first phrases and sentences from my lips.

Instantly, he took charge.

Like a tornado in the city, Devon dismantled, catastrophically so, everything brave or foolish enough to make his acquaintance.

I had no choice but to live with him. He was my little brother. And everything about him was equal parts magnetic and disastrous.

Devon was too good-looking to know how to handle his innate charisma. With marvelous periwinkle eyes and strawberry blond hair that curled in just the right places, he was unstoppable with the girls. He could do no wrong. And, gifted in athletics and academics—anything he trained his finely-tuned intellect on—he found himself just as popular with the boys.

At school, he had a reputation for smarts and a winsome, generous nature. He was quick to help a classmate in need, or assist a teacher cleaning up after class. He flashed a Hollywood golden boy smile with ease, and dressed neatly.

"I respect myself," he'd tell me as we shared the bathroom before racing out to nearly-miss the school bus. He'd comb his hair with deep attention to his part, and brush his teeth twice. "When you respect yourself, you respect others who have to look at you."

He implied I wasn't as careful as he in these matters. I was guilty as charged. Back then, I was a scruffy tomboy. The only reason I spent as much time in front of the bathroom mirror as I did was just to impress my brother.

Devon grew "like a weed", as adults always noted, and soon he was towering over me. He was six feet by the time we reached high school. Everyone always mistook him as an older brother, a recurring blunder that delighted him and vexed me to no end. He never brought home a report card with anything less than an army of A's and glowing comments from his teachers.

He was particularly fond of the sciences. He was the one who taught me that the planet farthest from us was Neptune.

"When I grow up, I'm going to move to France and become some kind of king."

"Can I be your queen?" I begged, enthralled.

"No. I'll banish you, of course. All the way to Neptune."

That's how I learned how far Neptune was from Earth: 2.7 billion miles, at their closest. I looked it up, sobbing plaintively.

Devon was so popular at school, kids held raffles with gum balls and bowls to determine who was lucky enough to win a seat next to him at lunch, or in the stands during football practice.

I was scared of him when we were alone.

Devon at home alone with me was a remarkably different Devon than the charming mensch persona he portrayed in public.

He ruled me with an eerie iron fist. What started off as games we'd played as children spiraled under his unsettling control. Sometimes, he'd unexpectedly reach out and caress the small of my back, or trace his finger along my lips.

He watched me, silently, emotionless, as I went about my household chores, opening his mouth intermittently to criticize a move or choice I'd made.

"Spoons up and forks down," he'd comment plainly as I loaded the dishwasher.

Or, if I tried to layer necklaces before going out, "You look cheap."

His compliments were so few and far between that the slightest nod of approval rocketed through my body like elation. Once, he liked a new set of earrings I'd purchased with my allowance. Another time, he praised an essay I'd written for English class.