In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.
This essay is not about trains or writing. It’s about my brother.
I miss my brother. I miss him more often then he knows. Ryan and I live 2000 miles away from each other. We have lives, families. We don’t talk weekly, but text when we can. Thrown in phones calls between dinner and kid’s baths. So stealing moments with my only sibling is precious to me. Again I think he has no idea. I play it super cool. I’m the older sister. “Hey what up bro?” When inside I’m sappy and protective. How are you? I miss you. Those texts. Yeah they aren’t enough. But I’m a grown up so I get sad for a second then I put my big girl pants on and it’s okay.
This is saptasitc. Sorry.


My bro is adorable.
One of those stolen moment opportunities arose in October. Elizabeth and I had a five hour lay over in Chicago during the train trip. There Ry and I would meet up. I would get to see the ever elusive Recon (one of Ryan’s many nicknames). I woke early, as you do on the train, rolling though Ohio. My thoughts wandered to when we were kids. Growing up he was that cute, dimpled, perfect, annoying little brother. He even looked cute in a bowl cut. But I have it on record (according to the baby books) that upon birth my head was catagoized as "perfect" and his was merely "normal." So there’s that. Ha! We didn’t fight as kids, not like some siblings. I had a silent annoyance, but that was as far as it got.  He’s always been so good. I will always be the Jeanie to his Ferris Bueller.
Somehow made it through the 80's unscathed. Jerk. (He even made a tail look cool.)We pulled into Union station behind schedule. I was tired and travel worn, but happy and excited. Elizabeth and I stowed our luggage and plowed through the thick crowd of Mennonites and tour bus travelers. I knew he and his wife (Sissy in law, I love you too!) had been waiting with two small kids and I know that’s not easy. We found them by a fountain. (My nephews dressed up like purple naughty minions, because why not?) We exited into the familiar city streets with food on the brain. I needed some good, greasy Chicago food. We went a quintessential Chicago diner, Lou Mitchell’s. The nephews were wonderful entertainment at the restaurant. Wonderful in the sense that kids you love that aren’t your own often are. I watched Ryan regulate Henry, my older nephew and godson, who was making sugar water potions. (Now Ryan you know how much you loved making potions when you were little.) And little Tommy was saying his full name, first, middle and last, over and over again. It was a great little dose of family on a trip barreling through the country. I mean it’s my little brother. To see him as a dad is pretty cool. We parted ways at the corner of Canal and Jackson, Ryan and gang disappearing down the escalator to the depths of the train station. He doesn’t annoy me anymore. I’m proud of him. He’s still annoyingly cute though, and wins any concert tickets contest he enters and goes to great rock shows.
The college years.So much happened between the He-man and She-Ra days to now and, Ryan, I’ve felt your support from across the miles. I have, dear brother. Sibliing-ship is a holy thing.
What did this have to do with a train trip? Not much. But this trip asked me to write this. It pushed me to it. And I’m glad for it. But whatever. I’m cool not sappy! You’re all right , Ry. I love you and stuff.
Ryan and his amazing family.

To see the "other" Elizabeth's posts about our trip visit her  website.