I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

For as long as I can remember, it was just the two of us. Of course that meant we shared. To be fair, we were incredibly spoilt — our grandparents even bought us a black and a light pink Nintendo DS one Christmas so we wouldn’t fight. So it’s not like we had to share that much.

But we did share a bedroom until I was 14 and you were 11. For 11 years, the last words we said every night were, “Night Jess/Josh, love you.” Do you remember selling me out to Mum and Dad for using my phone in bed? I remember. I also remember the countless 6am mornings when we were woken up with mugs of warm milk, drunk before our eyes were even open. We took pictures on the first day of school whenever we had new uniforms. That was especially special because we started kindergarten together and I finished junior college with you. I’m finishing university soon.

We shared a bathroom until you passed away. That was always contentious. Do you remember how angry you’d get when I locked the door to your side so you couldn’t get in? Or when I came home late and showered at 3am, inevitably waking you? I still can’t bring myself to play music in the bathroom. I like to think I might still wake you. Sometimes I lock the door too. I know it makes no sense.

Don’t worry — you annoyed me with the bathroom as well. Once, when I came back from England, it was a complete state. I asked Mum to get you to clean it and she said she would, then asked why I was already fighting with you. I never told you this, but I think I can now: do you remember when you came to England and left my bathroom messy too? The other day I walked into the bathroom and thought it was messy — and then realised I couldn’t blame you anymore. Your face wash is still sitting there, crushed with your handprint. I’m not using it, don’t worry.

Every night, you used our bathroom to get to my room. As soon as the light turned on, I knew you’d soon be poking your head in to wish me goodnight and tell me you loved me. You did that even the night before you passed. It used to irritate me and endear me at the same time. Even in my own bedroom, near midnight, I didn’t get total privacy. Now I’m so, so glad you did. How many 23-year-olds get to say their younger brother told them “love you” every night? Last night, I caught myself wondering if I was still waiting for you before falling asleep.

And finally — the car. I was convinced we’d fight over the front seat and the music until we died. You’re the only one who’d laugh at this, but I guess I wasn’t wrong. We fought over music constantly — sometimes to the point of wearing headphones even on short drives. A guaranteed way to start a fight was commenting on what the other was listening to. Which we both did. Often. I can almost hear Mum sigh the moment it started.

We sort of resolved the front-seat issue when I started driving — mostly because I needed your supervision, and Mum decided sitting in the back was worth us not fighting. I don’t know what you’d think of my music now. I wish you’d tell me.

Maybe one day I’ll have kids and I’ll see us fight again. No one fights with me over music the way you did. But maybe that’s how it should be.

Love you,
Jess