Lessor Brother

There is so much life in me its spilling over into tomorrow.

But if it is the stories we tell about ourselves that define us, allow me then if you will, to not tell you about my day, my recent obsession with Leona Lewis or my curmudgeonly bowel dilemma. Sit back.

A story now.

Glad you could be here.

To hear.

To see.

Go back. The Point.

A beach.

By the lake.

Late afternoon, a cool breeze off the lake and two boys who have been there all day. One of them is me. I have been watching the girl from a distance all day. Her red hair. Her green towel. Her blue magazine. She is beautiful and the silent freckled secret of her existence under the sun would have sustained me for years to come— but Nigel saw my daydream eyes and gave me a grinding punch to the ribs.

"Be brave brother," he said with a truculent grin and took off bravely for her.

Fresh from the water, my twin's skin glistened. I bristled with goosebumps trying to throw on a T-Shirt as I rushed after him. Nigel walked in rushing deep strides, as if his feet were always ahead of his body.

"Beautiful day," he said to the girl. Burnish the living moment. She looked up and smiled, radiant behind her big silly sunglasses.

"Uh huh."

Just then I caught up.

The older brother, Nigel propped himself subtly ahead of me, so I was left gawking behind his pale bare 10 year old chest.

"My brother's been looking at you all day. He just wanted me to tell you how pretty he thinks you are."

Blushing. I wanted to slap him. Right square between the shoulders. I could swear smoke was coming out of my ears. Now for the kill.

"Hey do you want to come back with us?" Nigel asked. I slapped him. The girl smiled querulously.

"I'm sorry," I commandeered, "about my brother. He gets carried away sometimes." Nigel spun like an angry top, trying to rub the sore spot on his back. I introduced myself, "and this is my twin brother Nigel."

"The older brother," Nigel added regaining pride.

"Janice," a clear care-free voice declared. She held out her hand. Nigel took it. "Call me Jan," she looked at me.

Now a word to the wise concerning Nigel.

You know that thoroughbred glow that some colts seem to be born with regardless of their bloodline. The ones that seem to hit the racetrack already galloping full out. That was Nigel. I really was the better looking of the two. But when they cast parts for the school play Little Red Riding Hood that fall Nigel got cast as the greasy haired leather jacketed slick con-man Wolf, while I got to be the disfigured woodsman who storms in wearing a mask as a flannel shirt to save the day. An ugly deus ex machina, that was me. The novelty item you pick up after you've got what you want. The younger brother.

With his hair back you could see that it was already receding, I thought as we all met that next day on the beach again. Nigel had brought Jan flowers and suggested that we all make sandcastles. They built one together, with a moat and a wall and castle spires. I watched jealously from my own pit of tidal spew, fighting the elements in vain as his charm and swagger won out over my introversion and social aversions.
"Man, you're getting swept away," Nigel said with a grin, and Jan laughed. But later she winked at me when Nigel had run off to buy ice cream with our allowance money, and that saved the day.
Her favorite summer pastime was lying on her back in the cool grass, gathering its lithe sweetnesses into her freckled skin. A cool breeze off the lake, fingers touching like shared secrets, yours and mine.
I know this because Nigel knew this within two days of having met her and I dreamed of it constantly after he told me. She and I. Talking movies. Telling silly stories and her laughing and rolling over against me. I would dream she was there while I lie on the grass alone. She and Nigel gone off somewhere and me left alone with my dreams.

I took up drawing to pass the time. I drew a comic where a boy loves a girl but there were never any words spoken between them so by late August all I had was about 60 pages of stick figures staring longingly at each other across the white pages. The plot was entirely in my head, but if anyone were to ask, especcially Jan, I was ready to explain the deeply inferenced meaning of each and every stroke line and shading.

During one of my drawing days before school started Jan came by and I was too shocked to even say hello.

"I just came by to wish you well," she said.

"Where's Nigel?" I asked.

"Oh he's around, somewhere. I'm leaving today. Going back home to my mom. Dad and I are coming back next summer of course, but I don't know if you two'll be here. It's been really great meeting you both."

"Well, I ... "

"Nigel's given me your guy's phone number to call. Maybe we'll talk."

"Uh, yeah! Yeah that'd be great."

"K, well bye." And that was that. She was gone. She called Nigel once or twice, and he called her maybe once but once she was out of his sight he'd almost forgotten she'd existed. I called her number a few times myself but I'd always hang up right after the first ring. They'd see on their phone bill that our house had called right? And then Jan would call back thinking she'd missed Nigel. And maybe she'd ask for me. Right?

That was the hope anyway.

That was my hope.