Anthological

Love

999 words

–

sometimes a sibling's love can compete for a parent's, particularly when the parent is not there.

        the mother loved him first, but the sister loved him last. he's adorable and bigger than average and a bit more violent and loud than is strictly necessary for a baby, but that doesn't stop the mother from carrying him and boasting about him every second she is able to. his tufts of hair on the top of his head are curly and their father crows at having one of his defining features copied onto this little baby boy. every relative that can shows up to pay congratulations and coo over the newborn, but she just stares at him without any pretense of sisterly love, just staring at this small child who had commandeered all the attention that had once been hers.

            (but then, long after everyone else loved him but before it was too late, he would find a small flower in her favourite colour and drop it into her lap. It's crumpled and dirty and one of the petals are missing, but it's still a flower, and it's still bright yellow, and this is when she catches up to everyone else and begins loving him, just a little bit. later, years later, her favourite colour will be purple and she'll wear it on at least half of the things she owns, but if you asked the sister about her obsession with the yellow hibiscus and why she insisted it was the best flower ever, she would just say she picked it up as a child. it was just one of those things.)

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             their mother had only gotten to hold him for a year before their parents had to leave, to another city, another island, to work. the sister was born into poverty but the brother was born middle-class, and they were going to work harder to ensure their daughter got a taste of elegance and their son grew up in it. it's only for a few years, they said, but the sister didn't quite believe them and the brother didn't know enough to believe.

            at the airport when they left, the mother cried because she was leaving her babies and the sister cried because she would miss her parents and the father cried while pretending not to and the brother cried because he didn't know what was happening and because everyone else was crying, too. their grandfather would drive them home, along with their grandmother, and they would live with their grandparents in the years to come.

–

         their grandparent's house is strange to them, too big and too white and too old, modelled after a castle but not the fun kind. it was full to the brim with antiques and furniture and trinkets passed down from generation to generation, and it felt like ghosts lurked around every corner the first few days. but they got used to it, eventually. it's quiet, and empty, but it's also big and ready to be explored.

            she's six now and he's two and they explore every nook and cranny the old grey castle has to give. on the second floor they find their mother's old room and inside saw books and clothes and decorations, all half-forgotten. the brother, not having much insight into the future given that he's two, plays with it for a bit before leaving it forgotten again. the sister's a bit more diligent, looking in the cabinets and going through the closets in a manner which one may consider snooping, leaving the room after a month of searching with a bag of odds and ends, giving some away and keeping some close to her heart.

        (later, years later, if you asked the brother about the weird glass pebble that glowed rainbow colours in the light that was always on his bedside table, he'll just say he picked it up as a child. it was just one of those things.)

–

          they live right there, in a castle in a street filled with rocks and plants and, occasionally, children. they make friends and they laugh and they cry and get wounds on their knees and they pick yellow hibiscus from their neighbour's garden to put in vases on bedside tables.

       sometimes they miss their parents, but normally they just fight and play and eat and breathe and live knowing that grandma loves them and shows them everyday and their grandpa loves them too but just can't bear to show it. sometimes home can be a gloomy castle in a sunny street and sometimes your parent figures can be your grandparents and sometimes a sibling's love can compete with a parent's, particularly when the parent is not there.

—

the parents come home after three years. they break up after two.

       the pair of siblings can hear the arguing, and the brother's seven and the sister's twelve now. they know how all this fighting is going to end, and they make plans in the balcony just below the roof, sitting cross legged with tears bursting every once in a while. if (when) they get a divorce, they'll stay with the grandparents in the castle on the street full of familiar rocks, plants and people. they've lived there happily for six years, they'll live there for the rest of their lives. if (when) their grandparents die, they would either live there with their families or rent out the rooms. it's comforting, knowing that everything will be okay no matter the outcome.

       more arguing comes from downstairs and the grandmother brings up a plate of cookies in a feeble attempt to pretend that nothing was going wrong. it didn't work, but they appreciated the cookies anyways. "i want our parents to love us again," said the brother, once gran went away.
"mum and dad will love us when they have the time. until then, me and gran and grandpa will just have to do." the sister said in a matter-of-fact voice. and that was the end of that.