In an unexpected coincidence, Caitlin’s twin brothers are visiting at our apartment the same weekend that I’m down in DC to visit my brother. As Caitlin helped Neil unfold the futon last night, I threw my full line of hair and skin care products into a suitcase, knowing that I had to go well prepared.
Is it the difference between men and women or the four year age gap that tells me Caitlin’s brothers can come to New York knowing they’ll be provided for, but I feel compelled to travel as though I’m bound for the Peace Corps when I go to stay at my brother’s house?
I made absolutely sure to pack extra hair elastics because I don’t want to be stranded in a house full of boys with my hair stuck to the back of my neck. I think I brought three different kinds of moisturizing lotion for a two-day trip. On top of that, my mother sent a bag for me down with other friends of Will’s: the Aerobed, a set of sheets, a bath towel, a pillow (which I recognize, by its lopsided shape, from my own bed at home), and three Diet Cokes. (Also, an artifact from my grandmother’s house: a faded pack of playing cards with classic literary figures on their faces.)
And after all that, Will has proven my theory wrong. Will has inquired after my health, carried my luggage, and offered to take the air mattress so I could have his bed. Since arriving in Washington, I’ve been offered a sandwich on whole wheat (and a bottle of water!), handed a prepaid metro card, fed a slice of our mom’s homemade banana bread.
My brother has this chair on his front porch. It only has one arm, but it’s rugged, solid. No wobble. I knew I wasn’t cut out for the Peace Corps anyway.
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