Michael Smith - Siblings

"Who, me?" I tried to look innocent. "Why would I do that?"

But I was like a pane of window glass to Alex. She walked over to my desk chair. "I KNOW why you did it. Now, stand up."

I must have looked a bit puzzled myself as I pushed the chair back and got up.

She put her arms around my neck and stared me square in the eye, her nose an inch from mine. "You did it because you're absolutely wonderful, and I don't deserve you for a brother," she said softly with tears in her lashes. Then she kissed me, slowly, lingeringly, in a way that sent muscle spasms through my toes. I held her by the shoulders because I was, frankly, afraid to put my arms around her waist. I wasn't sure I would be able to let go. That kiss seemed to go on and on, though it probably lasted only a minute or two.

She hugged me, her cheek damp against mine. "Why do you do things like this for me? I'll pay you back before school's out, I promise."

"You'll do no such thing," I replied firmly. I had already thought about this, too, and I knew how I wanted it to be. "That's not a loan; it's a gift. More than that: It's yours because you need it more right now than I do. Alex, you're my sister and I want you to be happy. Anything I have – anything I*ever* have – is yours. Always."

She pulled her head back and stared at me, and then her expression shifted and the look on her face held such wonder and happiness that I got tingly feelings in all my nerve endings. And there was something else in her face that I couldn't identify at the time, and which she may not even have realized was there.

But I've seen it many times since when she looks at me. It was the first dawn of real love. It was more than just affection – and it struck me like the sun rising on a summer day. Then she hugged me again and her arms trembled as she tried not to burst into tears. And this time I put my arms around her and hugged back. Like Alex, I wasn't sure what had just happened – was still happening – but I felt, again, as I had after our very first kiss, an almost physical change in my feeling for my sister, a change I was certain she had experienced, too.

Chapter 4:

[…from chapter 4…]

I began going out on real dates when I was fifteen. These days, I suppose, kids of both sexes are old hands at dating by the time they're twelve, but parents weren't so progressive in the middle America of my adolescence. I was always perfectly at ease with Alex but I often seemed to be afflicted with stupidity around other girls. Before and after school and during gym, the boys would gather and pool their intelligence on the girls, liberally salting their accounts with exaggeration, complete lies, and inept psychological analysis.

It was a relief to discover, through Alex, that the girls were following much the same procedure. For my sister was my secret weapon in that first, tentative confrontation between the sexes, and I was hers.

"One of the guys claims Liz Nowotny almost never wears panties to school," I might remark hopefully.

Alex would giggle in delight. "Well, she must change in her hall locker then! She wears fake satin underwear in gym class!" Sometimes there would be a bonus: "She also pads her bra with tissues!" Which I would then report back to the trenches on the boys' side of the field, adopting a knowing smirk if someone demanded documentation.

Within a few months, Alex was also enrolled in the dating game. If a boy asked her out whom she was uncertain of, she often came to me for a background check. I don't believe I was ever really jealous of the fact that my little sister was out at night, holding hands in a movie or making out in the back seat of a car. She was all mine at home, after all.

She seemed to have much the same attitude. We were unnatural allies in the genetic competition. We teased each other remorselessly about our dates, but we also were willing to betray our same-sex friends to spare each other social disaster and personal humiliation.

"Tommy Thatcher?! Alex, don't you know that every girl he even manages to hold hands with, three hours later he's bragging he screwed her or at least felt her up? And he tells every guy in school!"

Or, "Why would you even*think* of asking Eileen Zimmer to a pool party?! Nobody's ever even seen her knees in the locker room, she's such a prude. If she even*owns* a swim suit, I'll bet it has long legs and sleeves and a full skirt!"

And so we managed to save ourselves from most situations of potential public embarrassment. There was a positive side to our information exchange, too. If my sister told me that a girl I was planning to ask out loved to collect hickeys in unusual places to show off to her friends, then I would make an effort to be creative.

And when Alex went out on a tennis date with Brian, a reasonably intelligent jock I knew from math class, I informed her in advance of his admiration for girls who weren't afraid to compete with him; he abhorred simpering "lil' ol' me" types. So she played the game hard and worked up a real sweat, and although Brian won the match, it wasn't by much. He stopped me in the hall the next day, grinning and shaking his head.

"That's some sister you got, man! Really a neat girl!" I could only agree with him.

Since Alex and I had tacitly agreed long before that we could tell or ask each other anything, our dating experiences led to more intimate dialogue. We began to relate our discoveries and blunders to each other in detail and to compare interpretations and perspectives.

One Sunday night when it was uncomfortably warm and humid, we spread a comforter on the floor in my room and lay on our backs in front of the laboring window air conditioning unit, I in my briefs, she in her red rayon bikini panties – a recent acquisition which demonstrated her growing confidence about herself. We lay like starfish, limbs outstretched and overlapping, trying to stay cool.

Alex was absently trailing her fingernails lightly over my chest and shoulders, creating a delightfully shivery sensation. When we were alone together these days, the need for physical contact was almost overwhelming.

I needed to tell her about my date the night before, which had not been a notable success; I wanted to understand why. And, as usual, Alex made it easy for me.

"So, how was your date with Susie Ellis?"

"Awful! She'll never go out with me again."

I regretted it, too. Susie was not only a very cute little blonde, she was also bright and articulate. I valued intelligent conversation on a date, along with the kissing and groping.

"When I put my arm around her in the theater, she liked it; she even leaned over toward me on the arm rest. But when I took her home and tried to put my arm around her so I could kiss her goodnight, she went stiff as a board and practically shoved me away! I see her in class every day, and she's friendly enough then. What did I do?!"

Alex chuckled sympathetically. "I think in the movie she felt safe because there were a lot of other people around; in the car, she was all alone with you." Alex glanced over and saw that I wasn't getting her point.

"You probably don't know this," she continued, "but last year Susie was attacked by some creep, an older man, in the parking lot at Sears. He pushed her into a car and started grabbing her tits and stuff before she could scream. Artie and a couple other guys heard her and ran over to help, but the creep took off and they couldn't catch him. Anyway, Susie's still afraid of being alone with a guy, I think. So it wasn't anything you did – really, it wasn't."

The next Friday night, I ran into Susie at the football game and we sat together in the stands and rah-rah'ed together and laughed together… and I was careful not to touch her.

Making our way slowly out of the packed stadium afterward, I invited her for a coke and offered to include a ride home. She glanced over her shoulder at me and hesitated a moment, but then she smiled and accepted. We gossiped and chattered about inconsequential things over our fountain drinks for half an hour, and Susie relaxed in my company. And I still kept my hands to myself.