carry all your gentlemen

A long time ago, Elie requested I write something about my brother, music and my guitar. I've been waiting for the opportune moment... it finally came.

I've had my guitar for almost two years now. It's hard to reconcile that much time passing, but it really has. I'll never forget the day I bought it, the boy I bought it with or the boy I bought it for.

Or the boy who wanted to take it to Nashville.

It's always been difficult to be Jason's sister. I don't know if it's a younger child syndrome thing, that he's able to do what I've wanted to do more than anything - perform music - or that my parents seem to defer to him and in turn, make me feel disloyal if I don't kowtow in return. Perhaps this all stems back to jealousy or something equally petty and selfish, but I would hope that after 21 years, it wouldn't be so simple.

The thing is, Jason is good. No, he's better than good, he is the most talented musicians I know and perhaps one of the few that will actually make it. And I'm not jealous that he's good, I'm not angry that he's going places. I know he works hard for his fame and deserves it. That's not what drives me fucking insane and makes me alternatively want to cry and swear I never knew him.

It's that... when I stand next to him, it's like what I do doesn't exist. It's not that I'm untalented, but my talents are not the type that get the spotlight like being a musician and having really spiky hair. And it's not that my parents don't love me or believe in me or support me, but it just feels so one-sided in the way they relate to us. Jason needs something? We'll give it to him. Jason's getting bad grades? Oh, it's because he's playing so much. Jason's coming to visit? Start making his favorite foods.

And I get caught up in this show of support for him. And I don't WANT to be! I am not an unkind person. Yes, I'm selfish. Yes, I can be cruel. But I'd like to think in general, I am willing to sacrifice for those I care about. Jason is not counted out in that crowd, but being his sister, him being the way he is, you give more than your fair share.

Last night, I asked him to name one time he'd done something for me. He couldn't think of a single time.

I'd finally had enough, you know? I was sick and tired of having to give up myself to make him happy. So when he asked to borrow my guitar, my beautiful guitar that was bought hoping it would help me fight those demons and any boys who ever broke my heart, I said no. Fucking no, Jason, you will not fucking take my guitar to Nashville, even if it's only for a month, even if you need it, even if I don't fucking play it. It's mine.

And for once, he had no claim. He had no right, and I had every to deny him the use of my expensive guitar.

I can play the piano. I can play a bit on the guitar. I still have these dreams that one day I'll have a hobby of playing open mics and opening for bands in the local music scene, have a few fans, make an EP and just do it because I love it. As I'm driving, I still hum little melodies and write lyrics on old paycheck stubs, hoping to write just one more song to play for my friends.

But I know that I will never be able to write lyrics like Missy Higgins or craft melodies like Matt Nathanson, though God, sometimes I have these words and notes inside of me that are begging to get out, and it fucking rips me up that I'm just too clumsy to shape them into the eloquence they deserve to be.

I will never be Jason. But that's never stopped me from trying.

Because when it comes down to it, I love him. I only wanted his acceptance. I've only ever wanted people to see me as his equal, not his little sister. And because I love him, I want him to be happy and I want his life to be filled with spotlights.

Because I love him, the place where my guitar normally leans up against my chest of drawers, is empty.