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My brother finally shows up around 1 in the afternoon. But he decides he doesn�t want to go into DC after all. The thought of traffic and the enormous crowds give him second thoughts. And by all means, it�s completely fine with me if we spend a quiet 4th of July. In the meantime, it�s confirmed my sister�s bailed out on us and is up in Atlantic City with her boyfriend either increasing her assets exponentially or losing the mortgage on her soon-to-be-house in the snap of a finger.
Back here in VA, my brother�s craving Italian food on this Independence Day and has never been to Maggiano�s. It�s an upscale Italian restaurant in Tyson�s Galleria, so we make plans to have dinner there. And once again, he�s out the door to meet up with a friend but tells me to work up my appetite before 7:30. I stay in the apartment all day, doing some much needed laundry and passing the time away reading Ghostwritten by David Mitchell. Most of my free time these days have been spent reading. I went to the library (one of my favorite hangouts) earlier this week, and it�s ridiculous how many books you can check out at one time. Fifty. Who the heck reads fifty books in three weeks? But then I thought to myself, I probably would.
Three loads of laundry later and 150 pages further into the book, my brother shows up only to head out the door again. Trying to keep up with this boy�s schedule is nearly impossible. He tells me he�s dogsitting for our cousin who�s in Ocean City for the holidays with his parents, our aunt and uncle. So he has to go by their house and feed their new Jindo puppy real quick before we head out to dinner. I tell him I want to visit the dog, too. So we drive over to Springfield to visit their five-month-old Sammy. It�s strange calling another dog Sammy, when we ourselves had a dearly cherished cockerspaniel of the same name growing up.
Our Sammy was an exceptionally smart and loveable dog. He was missing for a few months during my first semester of freshman year in college. I remember calling home during that time and always asking if they had found him yet. To my heart�s dismay, the answer was always no. It wasn�t until winter break and three months after he�d been missing that we discovered he had drowned in the 4ft swimming pool of our house. He must have slipped off the deck, and we had removed the ladder to cover it up for the winter so he had no way of getting out. Just the image alone is enough to make me burst into tears. Our entire family was incredibly distraught over the loss, especially my brother. He loved that dog like a brother, and to this day, I�ve never seen my brother cry so uncontrollably as he had when he found out what happened to our beloved Sammy.
My cousins knew how much we loved that dog, and I wonder if that�s why they named their dog Sammy. It keeps his memory alive, and I think that�s partially why my brother adores their dog. My brother�s exceptionally good with animals and with children. I don�t know what it is, but both adore him to death.
While my brother and I are walking Sammy II in suburbia capital, I can�t help but think how much I don�t want my life to be like this. As I glance around, I observe the local neighbors gathering on their lush green lawns and notice the swarm of Mercedes Benz and Jaguars lined up along the driveways. And for some, this epitomizes the American dream. The gathering of families at the big house with the nice cars. But personally for me at this point in my life (and who knows how long it will be before I change my mind), it�s the ultimate symbol of tedium. The quaint, quiet American suburban life seems incredibly dull to me, and I can't imagine myself being a part of it. But later at dinner, I find out that this is exactly what my brother wants.
After Sammy II has had his day�s exercise and meal, my brother and I head back home to change before going to Maggiano�s. After we�re dressed, we drive along 495 and it looks like it�s going to rain. At this point I strongly doubt that we�re going to go see the fireworks tonight.
We arrive to Maggiano�s and there�s a 20 minute wait. While we�re waiting, there�s an Asian couple sitting nearby at the bar and I pick up bits and pieces of their conversation (not that I was deliberately listening in but I just happened to overhear them talking). He asks her how tall she is and she �confesses� she�s only 5�2� but looks a great deal taller with her 3 inch heels. And then he asks her what some of her hobbies are, and she giggles and replies, �Hobbies?� Obviously a first date, and I�m intrigued. The dynamics of a first date are such an interesting one. A million thoughts racing through your head. What do I say? Does my breath smell? Do I look okay? Did I go overboard on the cologne/perfume? Is there spinach between my teeth? Is s/he into me? What do we talk about next? Is that supposed to be funny? Should I laugh? What next? Do I go for the kiss?
I personally think first dates are so much fun. I�ve had some rather interesting experiences of my own, although 90% of them never turned into second dates. My brother, on the other hand, hates the whole first date scene. �Everything is so nerve-racking. I like it when you�re comfortable and you can just chill and enjoy each other�s company doing absolutely nothing.�
I agree, but I generally always enjoy myself on first dates, whether there�s a second one coming or not. Or maybe I anticipate there won�t be a second one right from the beginning, so it�s never a nerve-racking situation for me. Unless I�m really, really into the guy but I can only think of one instance when that was the case.
Anyway, my brother and I order a gargantuan amount of food, and everything is DELICIOUS! We start off with a huge portion of calamari fritte and Italian salads. We�re already getting full from the appetizers when our main entrees come out. He ordered fettuccini Alfredo (his favorite) with a side order of garlic mashed potatoes and I ordered the oven baked fusilli with chicken and smoked mozzarrella. The portions there are so frickin� huge that even after digging into the bowl for fifteen minutes, we�ve hardly made a dent in our dishes. It�s like a bottomless pit, but our stomachs aren�t. We�ve stuffed ourselves to the point of some serious food coma.
And the conversation over dinner was just as serious and as heavy as our meal. Lately, I�ve been rather quiet and my brother thinks it�s extremely odd and out of place for me. I�m generally a bit more boisterous and lively, but I�ve been somewhat subdued these days. He keeps asking me if I�m tired, but I tell him that I�m not. I just don�t really have much to say. So I tell him to talk tonight, and I�ll listen. How could he possibly pass up on a once-in-a-lifetime chance for him to say anything he wants without his older sister butting in every other minute with her nonsensical two cents?
Of course it never works that way. One-sided conversations never seem to pan out, and my brother's generally not one for words. So I have to at least get a topic started. I mention to him my conclusion (after walking Sammy out today) on how much I absolutely despise the whole suburban setting. It�s so unappealing to me. He laughs and says, �We�re so different.� And he goes on to tell me how ready he is to settle down and lead that quiet life. I have to remind both myself and him that he just turned 20 three weeks ago. He�s got plenty of time for the �quiet� life later. An eternity�s worth, in fact, once you�re dead (I have such a great way of putting things into perspective, don�t you think?).
But my brother wants that life now. He wants to be married, have children, buy a house for his family and also for our parents. He�s an incredibly good kid, and I can�t help but wonder what the heck happened to me? I was supposed to be the rational, hard-working, conservative one who would be the first to settle down. And now look at me. Even my brother said he can�t imagine me living the typical �American lifestyle.�
But I�m glad my parents have my sister and brother. If I were an only child, I�d feel like an absolute disappointment and failure to my folks. I suppose that�s one of the positive aspects of having more children. You�ve got better odds of at least one of them turning out right.
So after our fill of heavy food and discussion, we get the rest of our dishes packed to go and my brother leaves the cute waitress a hefty tip. I�ve never seen him leave anything less than 25%, unless the server was an absolute moron. As an ex-waitress, I always appreciate the generosity of great tippers. My brother is just a generous guy all around, and I love him for that.
We head out of the restaurant and our waitress warns us that it�s pouring outside and cautions us to drive carefully. And she�s right. The rain is coming down hard and a group of people are gathered at the doorway waiting for their ride. My brother tells me to wait while he gets the car. I tell him I don�t mind getting wet, but he insists on me waiting. So he makes a dash out to the car in the parking lot, and shortly afterwards, I follow right behind him. I love the rain. I love the feeling of the cool wet drops drenching my skin. It�s refreshing, and it temporarily wakes me from my food coma.
Soaking wet, I immediately change into dry clothes once I�m home. My brother�s totally stuffed and exhausted and heads straight to bed. After I put the leftovers in the fridge and fold the rest of my laundry from this afternoon, I resume my reading until 3 hours later at 1am I realize I fell asleep (and with my contacts in again!). I had a very strange dream with cameo appearances made by Robert Dinero and Gary Coleman. Both were bad guys. Odd. Very odd.
Now it�s 3am Thursday morning. No fireworks on this Independence day, but a memorable one nevertheless. Thanks bro.
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