brothers are good, too

I missed my brothers this morning as I watched them holding hands in the gym. Interlocking their fingers, his pale and freckly, hers chocolatey brown.
They are siblings and it doesn't matter that she is a little girl and he a budding boy and all that terrors that entails.
They are siblings and it doesn't matter that she is 4 and he is 9.
They are siblings and it doesn't matter that she was born in Africa, adopted to a loving family in Vermont a year ago, when she could not speak a word of English, and he has been born and raised as small-Catholic school royalty.
Their love for each other transcended their gender, age, or birth. It was a love so pure between two siblings in an early morning game of sharks and minnows. As the thunder and lightning roared outside they held hands and crisscrossed the gym floor. She a step or two behind. Her little pre-k legs struggling to keep up and his growing third grade body seeking protection for his little sister.
As I watched I could feel the connectedness in their fingers. I imagined it was my hand wrapped around Trip's as he drove me on summer visits to colleges I never had a dream of being accepted to. I'm sure he knew. But he pulled me ahead anyway. I imagined I was in Boston this past September, crying tears of joy that my big brother Chris was so happy. How can you not rejoice in your brother's love? I imagined I was in the blue suburban with Mark. Dropping him off at the Mt. Kisco train station the day he moved out of Gray Rock and embarked on his journey in the city. I cried and I cried because who would I watch Dawson's Creek with and sit upstairs and giggle with throughout my awkward teenage years with him a whole hour away?
I was her this morning. I was the little girl. Being tugged behind her big brother with the freckles all over his face. I felt his hand dragging her to safety. I watched his back as he pulled her with him, ensuring they got to the other side as one. I felt the love she was feeling, because I have felt it, too.
What an unbelievable way to start her day, and mine.

And I knew, even as the tagger came at them
and he let go
zagging away from her zig
leaving her on her own,
to get himself to safety,
I knew she would be okay.
She would make it safely, too.
Because he showed her how.

And she did.