a new order

                 Erin and I trudged up the hill, sweating. It was early October but it felt like summer and we soaked up the afternoon sun.  We were later than usual but we weren’t in a hurry to get home where we would have to explain the reason why we were so late. I was dreading the inevitable interrogation of my mother who would never understand that I didn’t deserve to get detention. I couldn’t wait to be grounded from the phone for another month. “Isn’t it weird that your Mom is having a baby?” Erin asked.

                “No, not really,” I said, smiling to hide my guilt. At twelve, I knew it was selfish of me to dislike my unborn brother. I knew I should be happy for my mother, that I should be excited to be a big sister. Part of me was. I loved that sweet smell only babies have, their smooth skin. I knew he’d be cute and laughing babies always made me crack up.  Still, at twelve, I saw his arrival as an invasion of privacy. Our apartment was tiny, barely large enough for all live members of my family. There was no extra bedroom and the new bundle of joy was booting me out of mine. My new residence was the large hallway we used as an office between the living room and kitchen.  It had a tiny closet and retro orange tiles covered the floor in a hideous geometric design. Curtains were put up as doors and I knew I wouldn’t be able to block out the baby’s constant wailing. As someone who highly valued their beauty sleep, this was catastrophic.

                He was born on June 30^th in the same hospital as me. Eight weeks early, he was a tiny 4 pounds 7 ounces and his lungs were underdeveloped. He didn’t cry; he wasn’t strong enough, and the only way he could breathe was through tiny tubes. His name was Harley Michael, a true homage to his father.

                Mike was a biker. It was his vice, his joy. Mild-tempered and quiet, he lived to ride his Harley Davidson. Every summer night Mike and my mother took a ride, travelling east to Belfast or down Route 1A to Bar Harbor. In the winter they went to Bike Week in Daytona, riding their cobalt blue bike all the way down the east coast. He had a good job as a member of the parts department at Darlings Honda Nissan. It was uninspired work and while he was apathetic towards his day-to-day life, he was an adventurous and happy peson. A carefree lifestyle had allowed him many years of irresponsibility and at thirty-six Mike was ready to be a father for the first time. He had been ecstatic when my mother found out she was pregnant, proud when he found out they were having a boy. Now he was worried and sad, praying to a God I never knew he believed in.

                I prayed right next to him, silently taking back every negative thought I’d had about my brother. I bartered with God, promising to be the best sister I could be if Harley was okay. It was rough. Very early, he had a violent allergic reaction to breast milk. He was also allergic to soy milk; the only thing his sensitive body would accept was rice milk. He gained weight slowly and eventually he could breathe on his own. One and a half months after his birth, Harley came home.

                He took over my room. The walls were bare and the closet was filled with puke rags and diapers. Tiny shoes and socks barely big enough to cover my pinkie sat on the shelves and a white crib was against the wall where my bed used to be. My bookshelf was gone and its place was a shiny white changing table. There was a rocking chair in the corner and each day my mother spent hours sitting in it, cradling him in her arms as she tried to get him to sleep.  He cried all the time, hardly slept at all. It was colic, the doctor said. It was supposed to go away after a while. The striped curtains hanging in my doorways did nothing to block out his screaming and I slept with headphones on, a pillow over my head.

                I didn’t sleep through a single night for months. None of us did. We took advantage of the hours Harley silently slept only to be woken up by his desperate screams.  Most nights my mother, irritable and exhausted, was unable to coax him back to sleep. Eventually, Mike would gently take Harley from her arms and send her back to bed, doing everything he could to calm his son.  On particularly bad nights, he’d pack up the diaper bag and go for a ride, just so everybody else could get some sleep. Sometimes I sang him songs under my breath as we paced across the living room.  I bounced him up and down in my arms for hours, lulling him to sleep. The second I stopped moving he would wake up and I quickly learned which floorboards creaked as I walked in circles in the dimly lit living room, enjoying the silence.

                Eventually, Harley slept through the night and his ear piercing screams became angry murmurings only he could understand. Settled in his crib, baby monitor on, my whole family could sleep again and a new order was restored. Each night, before I retreated to my makeshift bedroom, I would wander into his room and place my hand on his tiny back, touch his silky skin. I missed our time together, those long nights hanging out in the living room.