SIBLING
When I read Ricky Fay’s stories, particularly, Undampened Spirits, I am reminded of O. Henry stories, and in the case of this tale of boyhood hijinx, “The Ransom of Red Chief” comes to mind. The stories of both writers are earmarked by endings with a twist, often one that is humorous. Coincidentally, William Sidney Porter started using the pseudonym to O. Henry to publish stories that he wrote while in prison. He used other names, but after he was released on good behavior, he moved to Pittsburgh and went on to produce O. Henry stories at quite a clip. Now, Ricky has contributed quite a few stories to the PonyXpress that underscore the personality of a family that is in constant motion — big movements like Fay family trips and reunions filled with rambunctious siblings to the small convulsive gestures that come from making one another laugh. In these stories, I read the nostalgia for a time long ago, as Ricky is held at Eastern Oregon Correctional Facility. The bites of humor and often absurd situations keep the stories from being melancholic. The writing must keep Ricky aloft as he serves his time.
kosal so’s memory palace directs us to a very different household, full of sorrow. Tenderness is written in this scene. He describes how the siblings lay beside each other, “as sleeping seahorses,/ to trick our pierced bellies.” We had a conversation about poetry two weeks ago in which he stated that all his poems were love poems. He takes such deep care of each word on the page and insists that no letter to be capitalized, because one letter shouldn’t be more important than the other. He learned English in prison, so each word is valued, and he moves and exchanges them, each is precious. We can hear the sorrow of poverty in the voice of a violin. We feel the hammer of poverty come down on our heads. Tied into this struggle we are reminded that like the words that are precious, the memory lives not in the one-room apartment, but in a palace.
For those of us who have siblings, they fill (invade?) our childhood memories. As toddlers our siblings are like puppies. We cram into tight spaces to keep warm, take food out of the other’s mouth, and crawl over one another until someone ends up crying. Through all of this, separate identities emerge — I am not like you. I am not like you. I am me, and this is how I am going to emerge in the world. From toddler until well into adulthood, a special sort of fight can break out among siblings (over possessions or attention or any other resource that seems scarce) that seem completely irrational to outside parties — do not put your hand in the way of the flash of Cain and Abel mania. Just as quickly as the lightning strike, the storm can be replaced with the devoted love of agape. All of this has me wondering, how would you truly categorize sibling love? For those of you with a sibling who is far away, why not send them a little love? | TDS