Portrait Essay: First Draft

Writing a portrait essay about my brother was nowhere near as easy as I thought it would be. I didn't actually finish but this is as far as I got.        

           My little brother doesn’t really fit that title. At six one he towers over me by a good eight inches. His boots don’t help. They must give him at least another inch. He is always wearing his Chippewa boots, even in the house. When every other guy in his class wore dress shoes to their prom last year, Ian went with his signature look.

            A couple of years ago, I remember sitting in my room when the phone rang in the middle of the night. I felt my heart literally skip a beat as the caller ID showed the number of the local police department. My thoughts immediately went to Ian, who was still out, despite his curfew. I fumbled with the phone as I answered with a hasty hello.

            “Can I speak to the parents of Ian Gardner?” said the dispatcher in a calm voice. My mind instantly thought of the worst possible situation.

            “What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked with a shaky voice. The woman on the other end of the line simply repeated her question.

            “Is Ian ok?” I yelled frantically into the phone. It turned out that he was fine. He had been found at a party, about a mile out into the middle of the woods (which wasn’t unusual for him and his friends), where people had been drinking. When my mom and I arrived at the road lining the woods where everyone was, Ian was the only kid with the police. It turned out that everyone else was still hiding.

            Apparently Ian came running when they threatened to tow his Jeep, which he loved more than any of the crazy girlfriends he’s ever had. Apparently he hadn’t been drinking either and wasn’t in any kind of trouble. As the officer was explaining this to my mom, Ian and I stood side by side waiting for them in the dark.

            “I fell in the river,” he said suddenly. I turned my heads towards him.

            “What?”

            “I fell in over my head. I lost my hat.” I reached up and put my hand on top of his blonde head. We both burst out laughing as I found that his hair (not to mention his t-shirt, Carhartts, and infamous boots) was sopping wet.

            An incident like this isn’t unusual for Ian. Parties in the woods are weekly, and a call from the police is inevitable at least every few months (although they are becoming less frequent). To some people, this may sound like Ian is a troublemaker or one of those teenage boys that just has no cares about the consequences. That’s not my brother though.

            Despite all the messes my parents have dug Ian out of, he really is a good kid. When you look at us side by side though, it’s not always that easy to see. I’ve never gotten into any trouble with my parents, let alone the law, and I’ve never even been to a party. I love school and pride myself on getting As, while Ian struggles to get average grades.  I’ve seen people look at us and wonder how on Earth we could possibly be related.

            Over the summer I was at Wal-mart developing some pictures and a girl I’ve gone to school with since seventh grade was processing them for me. On top of the pile was a big picture of Ian smiling at his high school graduation (which made me sob like a baby, by the way). The girl stared at the picture as if she was deeply confused. I had a feeling as to what was coming next.

            “Why do you have a picture of Ian Gardner?” she asked. Then it slowly began to click for her. “Is he your brother?”

            “Yeah,” I replied, as I wondered how someone who has known both of us for so long couldn’t have put the pieces together sooner.

            “Wow, I never would have guessed that.”

            To be honest, I wasn’t entirely surprised. The people in my grade and the ones above mine, who had never seemed to notice me, get along great with Ian. A lot of them are his really good friends.

People who don’t talk to Ian, tend to jump to conclusions about his personality. He’s quiet until you get to know him and his friends aren’t exactly what one would call law-abiding citizens. He also inherited the infamous Gardner temper, which seems to strongly affect the men in family. Because of all this, I’ve heard people make some very wrong assumptions about him.

The thing about Ian though, is that he’s one of the most charismatic people I’ve ever known. One would think that cops were his worst enemy, but he knows how to sweet talk his way out of situations and get the police to respect him. Last summer I went for a ride with Ian in his Jeep. It was a beautiful day and the open frame was letting the wind blow on both our faces. The stretch between our town and the next is a straightaway that seems to go on forever, and although the speed limit is fifty, it’s hard not to find yourself creeping up on sixty. That’s when we saw the blue lights.

As the officer approached the vehicle (which is lifted so high off the ground that I struggle to get in), Ian leaned back and kept his cool. Meanwhile, I was in the passenger seat scared to death. I watched in amazement as Ian lied through his teeth, describing to the officer that his speedometer was faulty due to his oversized tires. Five minutes later we were free to go as we laughed about the way the man had believed him so easily.

At the same time though, Ian was worried that I was going to tell our parents what had happened. Growing up, I tattled on Ian for absolutely everything. I was completely aware of how annoying I was, but at the same time, I never stopped doing it. Ian was afraid that I was going to tell my parents what had happened, like I had so many times before.

This will be the ending paragraph when and if I end up finishing this:

People have sometimes wondered if Ian wishes he could be more like me. Although I’ve never actually heard someone ask him why he doesn’t like school as much as me, or say, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” I’ve seen it their faces. It’s common for younger siblings to want to be more like the older one, but what happens if it’s the other way around? What if I, an honor student who’s never even had a drink, wanted to be more like my little brother?