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A Sibling's Journey of Reconnection and Friendship

After years without a relationship, a trip home revealed I'd need my brother in ways I could not have imagined

By Kate Ramsay-Scott

I'm not ashamed to admit that I've been obsessed with my brother my entire life. Adam is nearly five years older than me, and to say I idolized him doesn't even begin to cover it. I look at photos from when we were kids, and in each one, I'm staring up at him with pure, unadulterated love, intently willing him to return the favor while he gazes somewhere else, oblivious to my desperation.

A childhood photo. Next Avenue, sibling estrangement
Kate Ramsay-Scott and her brother, Adam  |  Credit: Courtesy Kate Ramsay-Scott

I annoyed him with my younger sister's fixation, following him around, moonily hoping he'd enthusiastically include me in his adventures. Was he going to ride his skateboard over a stack of old gnarly bricks? Jump off the side of the pool while showing off with dangerous acrobatics that made our mom screech from the kitchen window? Set fire to the back garden with a magnifying glass? Count me in. No potential hazards or injuries stopped me from wanting to be included; I just wanted to do everything and anything Adam did.

I just wanted to do everything and anything Adam did.

Inevitably, I would graze my knees or get stung by a bee, and Adam would shrug his shoulders like it was no big deal and continue with the harebrained things we did in the 1980s to keep ourselves occupied. Our mom would come onto our verandah and find me crying and sniveling on the steps, more hurt that Adam had abandoned me than from the bleeding knees or swollen, throbbing finger.

I vividly remember that I wasn't allowed to touch Adam. I would get punched and pinched in the back seat of the car if my leg even looked like it was leaning in his direction. He would move to another sofa if I dared sit on the same one or leave me alone in front of the TV and stalk off to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him if I attempted to talk to him about whatever show he was trying to watch. He seemed to be constantly repulsed by my presence.

I didn't let this stop my efforts to get closer to him or thwart my mission to make him love me as much as I loved him. To try and get a better glimpse into his life, I would sneak into his bedroom and rifle through his stuff when he was out. I was thrilled to be in his off-limits inner sanctum as I organized his extensive eraser collection and ensured that my favorite ones were always at the top of the jar.

I'd sit on his bed, look at the Meat Loaf posters tacked to his walls, and undo and redo his wooden dinosaur models. I'd run my finger along the spines of the books above his bed while I decided which age-inappropriate one I would steal next. If I read all his Stephen King's books, maybe he'd like me? I'd think as I slid the well-worn copies of "It" or "Pet Sematary" off the shelf and hide them in my room under my frilly pink Strawberry Shortcake pillows.

Hard to Co-Exist Without Clashing

As we got older, I grew frustrated and hurt by always being pushed away. I'd see my friends with their siblings, and a gnarl of jealousy would bloom in my gut as they hung out and chatted like friends. I convinced myself that Adam hated me, and our relationship wilted into something where anything and everything ignited a fight and drawn-out periods of not talking. We couldn't work out how to co-exist without clashing, and I sadly accepted that this was how our relationship would be for the rest of our lives.

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On a recent visit back to Australia, Adam called me at our mom's house to welcome me home. The little girl inside me was surprised and delighted he'd thought of me and put in the effort to call. We organized to have lunch in a few weeks, and I hoped we'd manage to behave for an hour or two without killing each other and leaving our mom in tears.

What I didn't know about my trip home was that I'd need my brother in ways I never could've predicted, and he'd rescue me in ways that I never imagined.  

An Unexpected Rescue

On the third day of staying at my mom's house, her partner and I had a relationship-ending argument, leaving me without a place to stay. "I think you should go to Adam's," my mom said as we surveyed the aftermath.

Two people riding bikes together. Next Avenue, sibling estrangement
The author and her brother  |  Credit: Courtesy Kate Ramsay-Scott

I quickly packed my bags and sped along the freeway with shaking hands in what I hoped was the general direction of where my brother lived. I didn't know how to find his place and pulled over twice to decipher the directions Google Maps shouted at me. This is ridiculous! How many people don't know where their brother lives? I thought as I tried to remember how to drive on the left-hand side of the road after living in the U.S. for so long.

In the dusky gloam, I parked Mom's car on Adam's street. I worried about the distraught state I was in and how he'd react to find his shaking and sobbing baby sister standing on his doorstep. I wiped my face and tidied my hair before taking a deep breath and lugged my suitcase out of the car.

Adam's front door opened with a loud creak, and he stood there without saying a word with his arms stretched out. There was no pinching or looks of repulsion as I stumbled forward and ugly cried on his shoulder while he held me in the tightest hug. He didn't let me go until I started to hiccup and wipe at my eyes while muttering tearfully sorry, sorry, sorry.

He took my bags, ushered me inside, and his partner handed me a large glass of red wine. We sat in their warm living room, and Adam nodded thoughtfully and shook his head in disbelief while I told him what had happened at our mom's house. His support and loyalty for me poured out and I felt myself slowly solidify from his understanding and kindness. It gave me strength that I had an ally in him, and I knew that I could count on him to have my back.

Getting to Know My Brother

I spent the next week at Adam's house, licking my wounds and getting to know my brother as an adult. It was more time than I'd ever spent with him, but we didn't fight or bicker and I didn't feel a hint of being uncomfortable around him.

Instead, we sat on his sofa together, ate dinner and watched the Paris Olympics. We cooked, talked about food, laughed at stupid things we'd done as kids, and gossiped about people we knew. He showed me how to mountain bike out in the comforting sounds and smells of the Australian bush.

He was kind and patient, and when he praised me for jumping the bike off a small jump, I tingled with childish joy and pride. We rode around his small town, and I felt like we were kids again as the afternoon sun warmed our faces and we pedaled home for dinner.

We'd finally found a way to happily co-exist, to meet in the middle with grace and maturity and forge a new kind of relationship, and now I had to leave it all behind.

A couple of weeks later, we hiked along the beaches we grew up on and delighted in the glimmer of silver garfish and sting rays swimming under the old wooden gantry. We talked about books and our childhood and made up for the years we'd found it impossible to co-exist as we watched the sun set behind the mountains from his back yard.

He didn't lose his temper or push me away, and I didn't feel angry or the need to provoke him to get a reaction or attention. I spent more time at his house during my trip instead of seeing my friends and I reveled in our newfound friendship. I thought to myself So, this is what it's like to have a brother? as I happily fell asleep in his spare bedroom amongst the rack of surfboards, mountain bikes and dog-eared paperbacks.

When it was time for me to return to New York City, I was sad to leave my family and friends, but most of all, the most heartbroken to leave Adam. We'd finally found a way to happily co-exist, to meet in the middle with grace and maturity and forge a new kind of relationship, and now I had to leave it all behind.

Back in Manhattan, I walk through the familiar neighborhoods and often think of my family and friends, all those miles away, and wonder what they're doing. We send messages and photos to each other, and I see their updates on social media, but now, nothing is as good as when I see an alert on my phone that I've received a message or two from my big brother, Adam.

Kate Ramsay-Scott
Kate Ramsay-Scott is an Australian writer who loves eavesdropping on the subway and lurking amongst the shelves of a good bookstore. She has an M.A. in Creative Writing and lives in NYC with her husband and their cheese-obsessed dachshund. Reach her at kateramsayscott.com
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