I’m the oldest of five kids. We’re all really close in age, but with two girls and then three boys, you can imagine that there was a bit of a divide in responsibilities, activities and personalities. Right now I am being visited by #4 in line, Lincoln. He’s hanging out in my TINY Atlanta apartment until he has to report for his summer internship. It’s been fun (and dare I say it, lazy?), but consequences of two people trying to share this much (or little, as it were) space are by turns hilarious, annoying, and ridiculous.
Maybe I should explain a bit about Link. He’s almost 21, very witty, athletic, slightly introverted leaning strongly towards social, and a multi-talented guitar player, juggler, unicycle rider and reader of Ancient Greek. I also, by way of explanation to my friends, describe him as the sibling most like me, in pure personality terms. We’re both private people with serious social tendencies, we’re basically intellectual, and we like the same foods. There was a point in my childhood where I thought Lincoln was mine. Not as in, I thought he was my child, but I felt very proprietary about him. I would translate his toddler mumblings for my mother, make his sandwiches at lunchtime (we were the only two who refused to eat mayonnaise), and read to him from picture books.
Lincoln has grown into an interesting, humorous and amusing young man. He doesn’t dispute my assessment of our similarities, but to be fair and balanced (for posterity and for when he reads this post later and is horrified) I asked him the other night how he thought we were different. I, of course, proffered the question with the attending statement, “Beyond the obvious stuff. Like you’re a guy and I’m a girl, etc.” This is what he came up with. 1. He’s just plain better looking. 2. He likes camping more than I do. 3. He has different interests, including a different major (Christian Thought…I was Spanish), different musical tastes (he likes The Beatles and oldies in general, basically everything except and I quote “stupid rap and hardcore scream-o. And heavy metal.”), and he swing dances.
Lincoln is a self-confessed lyrical learner. Or something like that. Basically he knows all the lyrics to any song he’s ever heard, and will start singing at the least provocation if he makes a connection between conversation and song lyrics. He’s also been enjoying sitting on my bed, strumming his guitar and making up song lyrics. In the space of writing this post, he’s made up songs disparaging my pet rat, praising jelly beans, and disagreeing with my decision to see a movie later tonight. It’s a trait he gets from my dad, this making-up-nonsense-songs bit. You would think it would be endlessly annoying, but he’s FUNNY. It’s not fair. If I were bugging him this consistently, I would be the evil, nagging, bossy, boring sister. But he just has this quality that makes you laugh or at least smile and lose any anger you were trying to hold onto. Which makes him great entertainment.
So I’m enjoying his visit. We’ve been to a Braves game, out to dinner a couple of times, and around my neighborhood. We’re saving the Georgia Aquarium and the World of Coca-Cola for Monday. And no week would be complete without some misadventure. So far we’ve (correction: he has) broken the hot water tap on the shower, had to trek down past the airport to find a bank he could make a deposit at, and woken up most days at 11am or later. That’s where the lazy comes in. And last night we tried to go to Twain’s, a cool bar in Decatur to play pool, and got kicked out because the small one is too young (lest you think he is actually short, he’s 6’5”…"small one” is just my nickname for him). These events, combined with the fact that this must be the only 10-day stretch of the year in Atlanta without a predicted sunny day are conspiring to make his visit somewhat ridiculous. Fun, yes, but still ridiculous.
He's asking now if he'll want to read what I've written. The words libel and slander were bandied about. So little faith!