my brother and i watched a man die together.
that man just so happened to be our father.
there were other witnesses.
it's just none of them inched as close to the wreckage as my brother and i did.
we were so close the medicine was in our blood.
the port was in our chests.
you may not believe me.
when my father was sick with cancer my brother went to the ER more times than he did, suffering from many symptoms but ultimately a broken heart.
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my brother and i lived together for much of our 20s. i spent my 20s living in venice beach where i learned nothing. there with my brother. hanging on for dear life and goofing off, fighting the sounds of leaf blowers and barking dogs.
i remember the first day we moved in he asked me now what. i told him this is where we grab our laptop and go to the coffee shop. and that's what we did. that's what he did, still does.
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my brother and i lived in santa monica together in our early 20s. the lady next door hated us because we acted hateable.
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we used to make our family laugh at the dinner table. my brother eats his piece of meat like a caveman. i follow, a clueless monkey savage. grunting, tearing at the meat. family roaring in laughter, the only scary way to take that razor blade of borderline emotions running through the house and juggle swords with it.
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he brought me back to my dad. said my dad missed me. gave me money. how our family never could speak directly until we were old enough to fail at it ourselves. the middle man. a middle child who has always been able to see through our parents.
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how to be strong. my brother and i, we are always looking for ways to be strong, even smart as we are to recognize the inevitability of a weakness
