People talk about the happy quiet that can exist between two loves, but this, too, was great; sitting between his sister and his brother, saying nothing, eating. Before the world existed, before it was populated, and before there were wars and jobs and colleges and movies and clothes and opinions and foreign travel -- before all of these things there had been only one person, Zora, and only one place: a tent in the living room made from chairs and bed-sheets. After a few years, Levi arrived; space was made for him; it was as if he had always been. Looking at them both now, Jerome found himself in their finger joints and neat conch ears, in their long legs and wild curls. He heard himself in their partial lisps caused by puffy tongues vibrating against slightly noticeable buckteeth. He did not consider if or how or why he loved them. They were just love: they were the first evidence he ever had of love, and they would be the last confirmation of love when everything else fell away.
— Zadie Smith, On Beauty
The following events reminded me of the above excerpt from one of my favorite books:
- Watching my youngest sister beam from ear-to-ear onstage during her 8th grade play while I watched from the audience, giving her tons of thumbs-up, beat-the-beat-up fist pumps and obnoxious rounds of applause
- Having a predictable tiff with the 25-year old version of myself, also known as my other sister, 2 years my junior.
- Another lovely in-depth phone conversation with my little brother who's not so little. In other words, he plays basketball for a Division 1 college and is graduating in like, 5 seconds.
I could read the above quote twenty times over (and have) without getting bored with it. I just think it's beautifully written. Without needing to say it, or even really show it, the definition of love lies in my relationships with my siblings.
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