My earliest treasured memory of my brother was when I was four and he was three, just before I went to school. I remember it as a balmy summers day, playing in the greenhouse. It was a cool retreat for us on a hot day, with the stone floor and the protective shade of the ferns. Listening to the insects sing to us outside, we were safe to play, with our very own band. He and I used to play together all the time, so close we were.
We had got into mothers old ballet costume trunk and we'd put on her old leotards and ballet slippers. I'd found some black gossamer wings and was going to put them on. "No", said Neil, "I want to be the butterfly. I want to fly." In exchange for the wings, he handed me a birds outfit, saying "here, now we can fly together".
People used to mistake us for twins - our dark hair, dark eyes and button noses. We never really got what they saw, but we felt it - one half of a whole. He was my defender and I his. Despite nearly a years difference between us, we were similar in height and weight - evenly matched in speed and agility. Perfect for escapes. He was Houdini and I, his assistant.
As the older sibling, I was meant to be the responsible one. The one to look out for danger. I remember another time. This was one of our first real escapades together. "Stand still, so I can climb up on your shoulders to get on the roof. Then I will pull you up". "From up here, we will be able to see the whole world." Neil always did dream large and bold. Me, I was content to follow. Having him by my side kept me safe. Besides, if anything real did happen, I would always be there for him.
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