isn't anyone trying to find me, won't somebody come take me home

I've recently moved into the basement bedroom in my parents home. It's bittersweet for me. For over 10 years, this is where my brother lived. I have fond memories of making him learn guitar cords for songs I liked at the time and he would learn them so I could sing them. We practiced and even played a few songs for our parents thinking we were going to be the next White Stripes. It was obviously never going to go anywhere beyond the basement but it was something we shared and reminisce about often. I've always admired the dreamer that he is. He's always been the type to do what he wants because it makes him happy and not because its expected. I'm the opposite. I do things because I'm convinced it's what I'm "supposed" to do. My parents are probably the least pushy parents I've ever met. They never hovered over my option sheet when selecting high school courses, they gave me the money for University applications without as much as a glance at the school I applied to. If you didn't know them, you'd think they didn't care. They really do care but they're quick to say that I'm an adult and have to make my own choices. I've been treated as an adult since grade 9. There was no curfew, no required calls home to check in, no bedtime/bedroom restrictions. Nothing. You'd think that I'm probably a mad ass mother fucker right? Well no. I'm really not. In high school, I never stayed out past 11, I never went anywhere without telling someone, I never lied about where I was going (except once but I came clean about it the next day and my mom said she knew I was lying but trusted me enough to know I wasn't doing something wreckless). I never did drugs and I never got into any strange cars. My brother, raised the exact same way was the rebellious one. Except he wasn't rebellious, he just pushed the envelop of how far our parents would let him go. It's really weird how those things work out. We're raised the exact same, have similar values and morale but we're polar opposites in so many ways. In fact, I learned quickly in middle school to refrain from announcing that I was my brother's younger sister to teachers but was quick to announce it to peers because he had a reputation of being tough. Once high school rolled around I was so comfortable being just Lindsay, I never felt the need to point out the connection unless someone asked. In fact, I made it to my final year of high school and one teacher finally made the connection and he was in complete shock that we were related. He said something along the lines of "I've known you both for over 4 years each and I never once in my wildest dreams would have made that connection until I sat down with your report card and thought about your last name, and now it all makes sense". I took a quick poll among friends who didn't know my brother and asked them if they knew who that big mysterious guy who hung out with smokers and the bad asses was. All of them would nod and say they'd seen him around. Then I would ask if they knew we were siblings and I was met with "Are you serious?! You guys are SO different" "NO WAY!" "Y'all don't look anything alike!" And you know what, we don't look like twins but if you put us beside each other you'll quickly notice that we both resemble eachother because we both resemble our parents. He is a replica of my father in looks and thinks much like my mother whereas I look much like my mom and think like my father.

All this post was to say that, I miss my brother. I see him on a weekly basis but my house all of a sudden is quiet. I miss the days of banging on his door to turn off his death metal down so I could sleep. I miss the days of coming down to the basement and making him watch The O.C. with me. I miss the days when he would sucker me into giving him half my halloween candy or when he'd take me for dangerous rides in the wheelbarrow. All of these things happened and I was always so in the moment. Now that he has two (YES TWO!) kids, I cling to moments when he was just my carefree brother who wanted nothing more than to become a famous rock star and knew I was his biggest fan. Now he's working hard to make ends meet for his family and his dreamer days are long over. It's not like he's boring or even depressing but watching someone grow up so quickly is probably one of the scariest thing I've ever witnessed. Even as the months crawl closer to my University graduation, it hasn't sunk in that now I'm going to be part of the real world and that my parents basement is soon going to hold only fond memories. I can't believe how much we've both changed but when we're together we're still the same. I've always said this and I'll say it again. I thank god that I have a brother and only a brother. We are such a pair and I can't imagine having to share my brother with another sibling. He looks out for me like no one else and would have my back no matter what. He understand me and knows exactly what I go through.

For no particular reason did this come up but I'm proud of you, and I love you brother.

The very first song we ever rocked out to in our sibling band. He played guitar and I, well, I did my best Avril impression. Maybe I should keep practicing. We might just get our big break someday.