The time my brother helped me because he wanted to
This is a story from eight years ago. I remember it clearly because it was the first nice thing he did for me.
I hear a knock on the door as I’m packing up the last of my boxes. I hate having so much stuff and regret not going to Goodwill one last time. I’m not sure what’s compelling me to hold on to three pairs of high heels I haven’t worn in a year or dresses that are no longer age appropriate for someone in their late 30s.
Through the screen door, I see it’s my younger brother, Isaac. “Yo, Noona. What up. You all packed?” Noona is the Korean word for older sister from a younger male. Our family normally doesn’t stick to these types of traditions for addressing one another, but with the 10-year age gap between us, I guess it makes sense. I wiped his butt, put him down for naps, and bottle-fed him from the time he was born. He should call me Noona.
“Yeah, I’m almost done but the mover is coming soon. Can you start loading up my car?”
I’m moving today because I’m separating from my soon-to-be ex-husband. I simply can’t afford the rent in the duplex we shared. By sheer luck, I found an equally large, two-bedroom duplex a few blocks away that was $800 cheaper.
Today, I’m feeling the satisfaction of taking advantage of Isaac’s man strength to help me move. It’s the first time he’s helping me with something because he actually wants to. Having his help means this move is going to be cheap and easy. I hired a guy named Jack because he has a big pickup to haul my larger items.
Historically, my relationship with Isaac has been transactional. He sees me mostly as The Bank of Noona, often asking me for unreasonable amounts of money because he needed to pay someone back or for an overdue bill of some kind—it was always unclear to me. He’d use the word “borrow,” which annoyed me because I knew he’d never pay me back.
He had no job, and even if he did, I question whether he’d prioritize paying me back. It’s just how he is, and it’s how he was raised. The golden boy who got everything he wanted from my parents and from my sister and me.
Isaac still owes my ex-husband $1,200. When I was on a business trip to NYC, Isaac took my car keys (I had left my car with my mom) and drove it to 7-11. He crashed it while making a U-turn. I knew he was stoned. My ex paid for the damages because I don’t think my brother had insurance at the time. Either way, my ex and I knew Isaac would never pay him back.
Whenever Isaac asked me for money, I mostly made excuses—my way of blundering through “no,” a word my family and I struggle with when it comes to my brother.
I point to a few boxes in the living room and instruct Isaac to start with those. I watch as he picks up two large boxes at once. Man strength. It feels weird to see him helping me today. He’s doing it without any promises of getting paid. I suddenly feel guilty. I should give him some money later.
It’s only 9 o’clock in the morning but springtime in L.A. feels more like summer. I notice beads of sweat already forming on his forehead and see the back of his shirt is damp.
A black Toyota Tacoma pulls up. It’s Jack, the mover. Isaac helps him with my couch, bed, and dressers. I’m impressed by Jack’s swiftness in stacking and perfectly maneuvering my furniture like he’s playing a game of Tetris. But it makes me nervous to see my furniture piled up like that. Jack assures me he’s got ropes to secure things in place. We’re not going far, so I figure it should be fine.
“Let’s head over to drop off this load,” I announce.
I get in the driver’s seat of my car and Isaac sits shotgun. I follow Jack’s Tacoma as he drives the two blocks to my new place.
I’m moving to an old craftsman that used to be a house, but over the years, was divided into four units—two downstairs and two upstairs. It’s indicative of the homes in Echo Park and the historical Angelino Heights area of L.A.
My new home is perched on a hill with a lawn in the front and a walkway that leads to my front door. A long narrow driveway is on the left side of the house and leads to a small, uncovered parking area.
We reach my new place and I wait for Jack to ascend the driveway first. Isaac and I sit in my car and watch. Jack had left the back of the truck open so he could maximize the space.
As the truck moves uphill, the perfect Tetris Jack had carefully made, starts to fall apart. The two large dressers slowly slide out. I’m paralyzed as I sit in my car and watch. Well, I got good use out of those IKEA dressers. I guess I’ll have to get new ones. I brace myself for the impact.
Suddenly, Isaac’s hand violently presses on my horn. He yells out of his window, “Yo, yo, yo, Jack! The back, the back!” and leaps out of the front seat. He doesn’t bother closing the passenger door and manages to get to the dressers just in time.
Isaac propels his body against the heavy furniture and Jack stops the car. I let out a breath.
I’m stunned by Isaac’s quick reaction. Actually, I’m kind of amazed. While I was white-knuckling the steering wheel and imagining buying new dressers, Isaac jumps into superhero mode. When he gets back in my car, he shakes his head and says, “Why didn’t you press the horn?”
Good question, I respond.
A few hours later, we’re finished. My brother is resting on the front steps of my new porch. I notice his right thumb quickly tapping and flicking the screen on his phone while he waits for my mom to pick him up. I can tell he needs a shower.
I open the screen door. “Here.” I hand him $100.
He looks a bit surprised and slowly turns to meet my gaze. He takes the bill and says, “Oh, thanks.”
“You did a lot of work today. And you saved me from having to buy new furniture.”
We both laugh.
More stories about my bro…
