But before the boys departure, I do remember a few characteristics of Marcus based on our interaction. I was quite young so exact details are faint. We shared a bedroom in Hungary once our parents found us an apartment. Because we shared the only bedroom in the house, I had full access to Marcus' stuff. Whether it was his G.I. Joes, or comic books, and even his hidden stash of chocolate.
Mom used to collect the empty facial cream containers as they were sturdy with a well closing lid on them. They were small and cute and as children we enjoyed using them as little storage compartments. Our presents were usually the same so there was no arguing over who gets what. At least when it came to chocolate.
Toys did differ based on gender but at the time I didn't make a fuss about that. Instead, when Marcus wasn't looking I would take one or two of his G. I. Joes to kindergarten with me and become the most popular girl in my class. At times they would go missing, or loose an arm but most times they made it home in one piece. Comic books were torn. Why? Till this day I have no idea, but I was not Marcus' favourite sibling when tearing of comic books were done by me. I do remember being chased around the apartment a few times, dislocating arms or fingers during the chase, when Marcus got a hold of me. I remember that once, Granny too dislocated my shoulder during an outfit change. Dislocations happened on a regular basis when I was younger. That is why Marcus wasn't in too much trouble. He was just warned never to do it again.
But back to the chocolate. Marcus had a way of preserving things. His toys were always in mint condition (as long as I didn't touch them), his comic books, if hidden from me, in order. But the best thing was his chocolate collection. The only time I actually remember him managing his chocolate stash: Marcus, carefully breaking up a chocolate bar into perfect single serving squares. He then placed these perfect squares into one of Mom's empty cream containers. I watched him carefully planning out his next step as I was holding my chocolate bar in one hand, and taking large bites out of it disregarding that serving squares even existed. I was basically inhaling my share.
Consuming my chocolate bar this way was an issue because it would disappear quite fast. I would then be super upset that my share has run out knowing that Marcus still had his stash somewhere. He would occasionally grab his hidden container and pull some of his chocolate out, as I watch him consuming and enjoying it all alone.
Well, I decide I would have none of this! I demanded that he shared his chocolate. Marcus tried explaining that I too had once had the same amount of chocolate but already devoured it. I was sad. But I precisely remember Marcus, offering from his stash, not once, but a few times, just to keep my frown upside down (as my friend Liz would say). Marcus tried to keep the peace between us, when he had some control over the situation. If I ruined something, there was no mercy, but when it involved chocolate, he offered some of his share.
This story was supposed to be a funny one, shared at Marcus and Erin's wedding. But instead I bawled uncontrollably at their most happiest days of their life (which I clearly don't agree with, because if your wedding is your MOST happiest day, what happens to the rest of your life? Wishing you were getting married every day ? If you ask me, I think it's your worst, considering that you rack up the most credit dept per 24hours). I still defend myself that having a poem read about my family BEFORE my speech paralyzed me to talk about the only story I remember sharing with Marcus as children.
I then wanted to talk about Erin's and my mischief while the two of them were living in Vancouver. It was clear early on that Erin and I had a very similar personality. We would just think of something and go for it. During one of my visits to Vancouver, we decided to paint the kitchen in order to surprise Marcus (Erin assured me that Marcus agreed to this before hand). Until Marcus came home. As if we both just ripped up his comic books. In the process I realized that Erin and I are more like sisters without ever really spending much time together. By the time Marcus got home his fish were on their last leg (oh, this day I also learnt about the 3 different layers of sand on the bottom of his fish tank, which we dismissed in the process of trying to move the fish-tank, away from the wall we were painting. Also, water from the tap is a fish killer!) but the kitchen walls were a beautiful calming green colour. I thought Erin and I did a great job in less then 4 hours ! After some discussion, we all recognized what actually has happened. Moral of this story would be that I am never allowed to paint with Erin alone again, or at least not near a fish-tank :-)
Once I find the poem read at wedding I will post it. It was beautiful, real, and truly hit home for me. I have yet to come to terms with the past but I love my family. Our story is rich and filled with triumph. Cynthia, the author, captured our family extremely well and till this day I thank her for writing this poem. Having it read after my speech would have saved me, and allowed for this story to be heard by more people. Oh well, life happens :-)
xo
R :-)
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