A Love Letter to Zane

The following story is part of my collection of personal essays called The Menial Stories of a 21-Year-Old. It portrays my own interpretation of how events have played out in my life— take it as you will. 

Throughout my childhood, my relationship with my younger brother Zane has always been easy for me— I’d take advantage of him, and he’d let me. He’s really been through war with me, without fighting back of course.

When I recall our memories of sibling bonding, I often look back at my past younger self as some kind of small scale corrupt tyrant and Zane as my helpless peasant with no options but to say yes to whatever I demanded. Too many times, I’d urge Zane to enter into a boxing match with me in the living room, only to “accidentally” kick his face too hard with my genetically steel-made football legs. I’d then proceed to rush over to him and cup my hand over his mouth to prevent my parents from hearing his screeching cries. “Shhhh, it’s fine. Shhh,” I’d forcefully whisper to him. There’s also that one incident when I gave Zane a bald spot in the middle of his curly head because I wanted to role play as his personal hairstylist with a set of purple safety scissors. And perhaps we should also take into account that other time when I had just learned about the value of money in my kindergarten class and then decided to maliciously scam my uneducated brother by switching all of his quarters and dimes with my pennies and nickels in a made-up game I called “Bank.” Hehe.

I was my little brother’s devil, to put it frankly. For many years when we were kids, I rarely respected his space, his time, his desires. My agenda was his agenda, and he had to follow whatever role I had intended for him. The harsh truth is that my god-complex younger self didn’t really see Zane as a human being when we were kids but rather as a useful asset at my service. I was the exact definition of the type of girls my mother wanted my brother to stay away from, actually.

I was the exact definition of the type of girls my mother wanted my brother to stay away from, actually.

“Zane, you’re such a good person,” my mother still says to this day with worry. She’s definitely sculpted him into a momma’s boy. “You can’t let some overbearing girlfriend take everything from you.” I wear a slight smirk on my face every single time she says that. Little does she know that I’ve already been the overbearing sister that took so much from him. But at least he knows now the type of toxic pricks to watch out for?

Regardless, by the time Zane entered high school, he started to stand up for himself— it was annoying. When I continued with my usual irritated complaint that he should “wake the hell up” in the mornings before we rushed off to get to school on time, he began to sassily argue back with me. Even though I was speaking only facts. The occasional times that I’d order him to get ready to go on a 30-minute biking ride with me on a weekend afternoon, he’d actually refuse for literally no reason. Asshole. He even asked me to start knocking on his door before entering because it’s simply more “polite.” Fuck polite, man. What was he doing in there that I couldn’t know about?

Regardless, by the time Zane entered high school, he started to stand up for himself— it was annoying.

“You have to let people know before you come into their rooms,” I remember a 15-year-old Zane saying to me sternly. He wore a sort of unfamiliar long look on his face, like a disappointed father. Was he trying to look like he means business? How cute, little bro.

I jokingly changed the subject. “But why? Are you hiding something in your room? Are you…jerking off?” Of course, my immature self then decided to motion a jerking off gesture with my left hand vibrating around my pelvic area, expecting to obtain a chuckle out of my brother. I even voluntarily made some moaning sounds for special effects.

“No,” Zane icily replied. There was no hint of amusement splashed upon his face whatsoever. “Just don’t barge in on people.” He looked away from me and redirected his focus to whatever he was doing at the time. End of conversation. Fine, captain. You have my word, for now…

In the next three years of high school that we shared together (as my younger brother’s only a grade under me), Zane continued carefully setting his boundaries between us and slowly ridding himself of the peasant role in our previous sibling dynamic that I had treasured for so many years. And honestly, I didn’t like it at first. I felt like a shrinking Hulk, losing my powers bit by bit to the villain who was taking them away…Zane. Whenever we had arguments, I’d stubbornly continue them for a lifetime (even when I was certainly wrong), just so that he’d know that he hasn’t gained any power over me. Zane was indeed the enemy, just because he had decided to fight back.

However, as a maturing soon-to-be-adult teen, I naturally began to come to terms with Zane’s desire to set some boundaries between us, and I slowly but surely started to respect them. I made consistent progress in “politely” knocking on his bedroom door, accustomed to asking him instead of strenuously commanding him like a colonel, and learned to genuinely apologize if ever did invade his privacy or physical space. I was treating him like a human being, who had his own wants and needs. How hard was that, really… I realized that all that time before I had been making Zane feel so much smaller than he actually is, by stomping all over him with my self-interested motives and demands. I’m sorry, bro.

I realized that all that time before I had been making Zane feel so much smaller than he actually is...

Now that I’ve come a long way into actually respecting Zane as my own equal and exploring exactly who he is, he's my bestest friend of all best friends. I openly tell him every passing thought and secret, such as my doubts about my crush liking me back or the time I decided to plan a 50-person alcohol-infested house party that my parents still don’t know about ‘till this day. Or maybe they’re finding out right now, reading this. Zane listens to every word I say and always has a thoughtful reply. “Maybe you should communicate to him more clearly that you like him, and go from there.” “Ooh cool, but what do you mean that party theme is fall colors?”

Zane is the type of person to accept you, no matter what font you come in. And he openly accepts the random ideas you bring too, like coming up with a new dance move every time you pass a tree by the road. Yes, that got really tiring after a short while, since our neighborhood is full of trees. Zane seems quiet, but it’s that he likes to listen to what people have to say before offering his input. And he doesn’t often outrightly tell you what’s on his mind— you have to ask him. Surprising Zane is very easy. Making him mad is not so easy, but if you do, it means you’ve done a really bad thing.

I’ve grown to appreciate and love my brother so much that when I considered transferring from the University of Miami to Rice University, him already being there at Rice made me want to apply there even more. It’s one of those few pathetic cases of the older sibling actually following after the younger one’s footsteps. Now, we live in the same residential college, and often I see him early at breakfast or rushing to his classes or the library in the middle of the day. I try to eat dinner with him at least once a week.

Anyhow, I’ve written this essay with the intention of making a huge transformative lesson out of not being a tyrannical bully with a god-complex, and obviously that’s not what it turned out to be. I think I’d rather like to end it with a love letter for my younger brother. Sure, during my childhood, I could’ve perhaps explained to you that Zane was a useful yet replaceable asset, but now I’m not sure what I’d do without him:

Dear Zane,

I am truly so happy you’re here existing with me. I hope that I die before you just so that I wouldn’t ever have to experience life without you.

Sincerely, your dear sister,

Jen