I did not grow up in my brother’s shadow. I grew up in his light. I have been John’s sister since the very beginning. He was not yet four when I was born, but he claims to remember the event. He remembers naming me. He tells the story of my naming as if that morning still shimmers, a perfect mirage, in his memory. Our father dropped John off at an elderly neighbor’s house on the afternoon before I was born. John says it was terrible to have been left behind, that the woman was strange and her house dusty, that he feared our parents would not return for him. He says he thought about me a great deal, that he imagined me just as I turned out to be.