Brotherly Love

Last moments count

******AUTHOR NOTE******

Where we start doesn't always determine where we end. I wrote this short story as a major project for my English course last year and what astounds me is how different the end product is. I started out just wanting to write something about the daily feminist struggle but as I continued to learn and grow throughout the year, my perspectives started to change and so did - as a result - this story. 

Feminism it seems has become such a hated term though i'm convinced the ideology is simply misunderstood. As a woman, my mere existence is inferior and before I was even born I was labelled as less capable or less powerful but what is also misunderstood and often looked passed is that men don't have equality either. As a proud feminist and a strong-minded woman who is just getting ready to go into the world I know I will have to fight every day to be taken seriously. I will have to work twice as hard to get the same amount of respect as my male counterpart and no matter what I do I will always be too soft or too hard, too kind or too cruel, too weak or too arrogant but what I won't forget is that men have to fight their own stereotypes also and that's what this story is about.    

I wouldn't be the confident person I am today if it wasn't for the group of equally inspiring and empowered women that I call my friends. I'd like to dedicate this story to them for just being awesome and for being the best support network anyone could need.  

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"If a man cannot understand the beauty of life, it is probably because life never understood the beauty in him" - Criss Jami, Killosophy

CHAPTER 1

It is every child's dream to grow up and be like their parents, it is almost an idolisation if you may. The mere aspect of knowing that when you grew up you would be able to follow in their footsteps excited you to the point where you would quite often forget the luxury of being a child. I, however, was different. While my friends were walking around mimicking their parents and having pretend business meetings, playing with their dolls or teasing their nannies and tutors, I was always enjoying the outdoors and painting whatever image my overly active mind could create that day which mother always displayed proudly in the sitting room.

I would head outside with a pretty dress and my hair in ribbons however I would never return in that same pristine state. My mother always joked that I was never muddy enough. My older brother Johnathon on the other hand was the complete opposite - he hated to go outside- he much preferred to remain indoors. There was one day where the weather had been particularly bad during the night and I had excitedly ran out the door straight after breakfast before the maids even had a chance to stop me with the intend of getting as muddy as I possibly could from all the mud puddles around the gardens; I can definitely say I had achieved my goal. When mother called me in for lunch I had been moving so quick that I had not seen Johnathon walking past, I ran right into him and the fuss he had made about being dirty was enough to make me avoid mud puddles for a good week. He has always been a bit prudish like this. Rachael our housekeeper told me he got to be like this at Oxford where he 'read history'. She told me how he enjoyed the university so much he only wanted to stay and teach. But father said that a 'grown man still at school was unnatural' and brought him back to be in the family business.

Mother was quite content to leave Johnathon and I to be as we were however father on the other hand had constant concerns. I would hear them both arguing late at night from the landing when they thought everyone else was asleep, my blanket wrapped tight around me, shielding me from the slight chill in the air as they discussed the manner in which my brother and I behaved. My father wished Johnathon to 'carry himself more like a man' and for I 'to be more ladylike' which I did not completely understand at the time however to my great relief mother was always quite persuasive telling him that we had plenty of time and to allow us to enjoy the little freedom we had now. She always said when you have lost your imagination, that is when you know you are no longer free; growing up is a trap she would say so enjoy the little things while you can.

However, despite my mother's persuasive tone, what my father said always stayed at the back of my mind. I may not agree with everything that my father says but I still yearned for his approval and so after every overheard argument I always promised myself that I would try harder to please him and of course I never told Johnathon what I overheard however I always suspected that he knew.

The tutor would leave in the late afternoon giving Johnathon and I enough time before supper to roam the gardens and go for a ride around the estate. Heading out the grand oak doors and past the cobble path we would always find ourselves in our little secret place, it was a little clearing in the garden behind a wooden door hidden by vines and the overgrown branches of the trees that my mother had tended to. In spring the trees were always filled with the happy chirping of the birds that came to visit and the fields covered in white dandelions as far as the eye could see, the sunlight always shone through the leaves leaving shadowed designs against the grass and there always seemed to be a sweet smell carried with the wind. We were the only people that knew about mother's secret place, even father had no idea it was there. She had said that it was where she went whenever she needed to be alone and shared it with Johnathon and I for that same purpose. One evening after the tutor had left; I was heading to our spot when my brother stopped me short. I asked him why he had not waited for me at the passage, he told me mother was there and she seemed to be very upset. I ran the remaining distance and found her sitting on the ground crying. She was knelt in the center of the clearing with her head in her hands, her hair was displaced and the ends of her dress covered with dust. I sat in her lap and hugged her as she cried. We stayed like that for a little while before Johnathon came and joined us, he looked our mother over and sat beside the both of us taking her hand into his and holding tight.

I awoke when the sun went down unaware that I had fallen asleep in the first place to whispering. Realising I was awake my mother held my face, kissing my forehead and said to me "You my child have a fire in your eyes that no one can ever take away, people are always going to expect things from you but don't ever let them dampen your flame." She reached behind her and unclasped the necklace she was wearing, placing it around my neck. I held the golden pendent that was in the shape of a cross in my hands for a while before she took hold of said hand and led me back to the manor. Johnathon trailed behind us, hands clasped together, nervously fiddling with his fingers. He was looking down at his feet and seemed to be deep in thought however what he was thinking about I could not tell.

That was the last memory I had with her as that summer Johnathon and I were sent to our aunt's house and when we returned mother was gone with the only explanation being the distraught expression on my father's face. For a time I cried and cried but it was Johnathon who was most hurt, he seemed to have faded; as if mother had taken some of his life with her.