Posted January 14th, 2004 by Michelle

January 11th, 2004

I am supposed to be working on a piece right now but I can’t concentrate. I have three framed photographs on the windowsill right in front of my desk. One is two sided, with a young Kent playing cello on the left, and an even younger Steve playing piano on the right. Next to that is a framed picture Sean just sent me, of he and I, and we are probably 6 and 4 years old, respectively. The picture is strangely sepia-toned, and the expression on Sean’s face is priceless. He’s smiling, but his mouth is shut and his chin is all screwed up, like he’s happy, but there is something deeper, too. My hair is in pigtails, and my mouth is spread in a characteristically broad, contented smile. Sean has one arm around my back, the other in front touching my shoulder like a prom picture. More than that, though, he looks so proud, his face contorted with joy and, seemingly, a job well done. He’s telling me, in that picture, that he is a great big brother, and that I am the best thing since spice racks.

Below both these larger pictures is a small metal frame with chipped gold paint and a broken pane. There are two trimmed pictures. The right is Ian, on a bike, holding a flower, basking in Iowa sunshine. He’s not smiling, not exactly. He’s looking at the camera as if to say, “Yep, this is my bike. My flower. It’s a good day. I’ve got stuff to do.” He looks like he’s on his way somewhere, and the flower is an integral part of his mission. Next to that is another picture of Sean and me. He’s on my right side this time, but again, one arm around, other arm this time on my lap. I am wearing a beautiful green dress and matching scarf, which my mom made for me. We are a year younger, maybe more, and my smile is exactly the same. Sean’s mouth is still closed, but this time his smile is a little more confident. “You can take our picture,” it says. “We are cute, and you can record that, but as soon as you are done, we’re outta here. We’re back to our world, where only we speak the language.”

My smile is the same in every picture. I was so, so, so loved. I never doubted love. There was not existence without love. My parents loved me, yes, but my brothers’ love was palpable, ever-present, everywhere. I grew up with four brilliant men, and they loved me. They still do.

You see why I’m having trouble concentrating. I was given so much, and as a result, I feel that I should have done better by myself. I should have done better.