Dear Little Brother: Please Call off the Dogs of War

Dear Little Brother:

My first and most clear memory of us, is the day I thought of us as a team, and I was there to protect you, for you to console me with your innocent joy. We were playing in my room, while your father and our mother fought like honey badgers just through the thin, dingy white wall. You six months or so, buried in a pile of stuffed animals with just your head peeking out. I was using precious film to capture the moments. Our photo shoot was on the brand new canopy bed that was my bribe for moving to this dirty, dreary, haunted house in the burbs. Their honeymoon money, I was constantly reminded.

A country girl literally torn from her Grandmother's arms; she and I both knowing our mother would not let me stay. Then you came, and it was a crazy, hectic toxic pregnancy and you had to be cut out of her, just as I was. I wasn't allowed to be near you much at first, she was still in the hospital and he was in charge. I wasn't allowed to put the welcome home banner I had made in your room because the chalk, he said, could be dangerous for you. You were so tiny, and I knew how to handle babies and he did not, but he was a bully from the start. He cut your fingernails, although I meekly begged we wait for Mom. He hurt you, and made you bleed and cry.

That's when I thought I couldn't leave for awhile, I had to protect you. But I was too young. I was only 13 years old, myself, and I broke up our team the same day I felt it was formed. I'm not sure you ever forgave me. I know that's not the reason you haven't talked to me in almost a decade, but let's start there. That day I was your savior. Because later you allowed him and others like him to crucify me in your eyes, and I have never had anything but love for you, my brother. My anger was because I hated that the world had turned you against me. I feared you would never allow yourself to love me again.

I know I had my fair share of contributing to this image of me you formed and watered seeds of hatred for, some planted by him. Some by her. Then, the rednecks around us. Yes, he brought us together in a home they had built. But he, then you, early on, made it known it was never my home. I know you will never leave it. But, oh, little brother, please don't let the ghosts and demons, the smoke and mirrors of a twisted past rule your life. Live it. Live it with joy as best as you can. And please be nicer to Mom. I know it's hard but she is getting older and I regret so much time lost that could have been spent salvaging a relationship that is now starting to reverse. I'm becoming the mother.

But back to us. To the one true day we were a true team. Before I left you in the pool of poisonous anger to sink or swim, treading water to make it to the refuge of my beloved Grandma and Grandpa. Back to that day. I was getting what I thought were some award winning shots of you surrounded by stuffed frogs, bears, worms, and hares. Your long eyelashes and rosy cheeks, despite the smile fading, stole the show. I started to set the camera down; I froze as I heard a blood curdling scream, then silence. We had been keeping each other happy and calm despite the words you did not know, the vile ones he always called our mother. I'm sure you learned them, quickly. But the loud bellowing and rage were clear enough to your baby self, and you were starting to whimper. So I packed all the stuffed animals in the closet at the end of the bed, where I usually hid when these fights occurred. Then, I packed you safely in the middle, door open, and went out full of fear turned to rage. I was ready to take on the monster and save us all. It didn't quite work that way. It would not be the last time I would try, however.

I opened the door I had recently punched a hole in. To my defense, it must have quite a shoddy door, because it didn't even hurt my hand, and I can't say for sure, but I'm guessing I wasn't even 90 lbs...and I snuck down the red shag carpeted hall. I saw him leaning over her, she was on the couch. Her eyes rolled like a racehorse that knows she has run her last race, and will soon be put down. I raced forward and grabbed the glass ashtray. It was full, huge and in a movie he would have been knocked out cold. He was an average sized grown man, and as I said, I was quite small despite my height. Before he could turn around or she saw me, I bashed him as hard as I could. The next thing I remember, I'm pissing my pants while being screamed at by him, on the same couch; cut to my next coherent memory of that day, and I'm half way to Grandma's where I started my fourth school, the next day.

I've tried so many times during the short period you knew me sober, when I wasn't sober I still tried, and now, sober once more, I am reaching out to you as a Sister. Not a half-sister, the one you told everyone was dead, no, as your new Sister. Your Sister in Life. Please, Little Brother. I'm knocking. Don't sic the dogs on me again. Let me in. I think we both could use some truth and some healing.

Forever, Your Jen-Jen