Mirror, Mirror

“Scott and I have been brothers for almost 22 yearsnow, and we've been friends for about half as long.”

Laughter. A good sign. I was nervous about having to speak at my brother's wedding reception.

“Actually, we spent almost as much time playing as fighting while growing up, but at some point – I don't exactly remember when – our relationship changed. We became something more than friends, more than brothers. Something deeper...”

POW! My shoulder ached. The pain didn't register, though; all I could see was red. I was so pissed off. Scott and I had been playing G.I.Joe in the living room, and getting along fine. I threw one at him, playfully, and accidentally hit him with it. That set off his notorious temper, and the fight was on. He punched me in the arm, hard. I hit him back, and we rolled around slugging one another for a few minutes, both of us pissed off at the other beyond rationality now.

I hit him again; I think I might have punched him in the face this time. Scott fell over next to the big green chair, and lay on the floor, unmoving. I sat there for a minute or two, waiting for him to get back up and resume fighting, letting the adrenaline drain from my body.

“Scott?”

He still hadn't moved.

“Get up.”

We often got into fights over the stupidest things while growing up. I suppose it's just the sort of thing brothers do. Now, though, with him lying on the floor insensate, I was beginning to panic. Neither of us had ever really hurt the other before. He didn't seem to be faking, though. Or breathing.

“Come on. Get up,” I ordered. “This isn't funny.” He just lay there, eyes open. Unmoving.

How long this went on, I can't recall. One minute? Five? It seemed eternal. I started to freak out. I shook him. He didn't move. If he was breathing, it was so shallow, that I couldn't tell.

“Scott!”

I jumped up and began running around the house, looking for our mother. “Mom! I think Scott's hurt bad!” I yelled. I couldn't find her anywhere. I ran back to the living room to try and wake him again.

I shook my brother again, and this time that face – near mirror image to my own – grinned back at me in laughter. He had been playing dead, and far more convincingly than I'd ever seen him do. I was shocked.

“You jerk!”

Scott laughed as he sat up.

“I had you fooled,” he said, with self-satisfaction in his voice.

But I wouldn't concede. I shook my head. “I knew you were faking it.” Deny, deny, deny. “I was just playing along.”

We both knew he'd gotten the better of me, though. We went back to playing with our G.I.Joes, argument forgotten.

I'm certain that we fought many times after that, but that's the last time I remember actually getting into a serious physical altercation with my brother.

One day, a few years later, my brother and I were playing Euchre in that very same living room with two of his friends—Jen and Heather. It was a Midwest card game of choice. The two of them were a team, while Scott and I were on the other team. I had only played Euchre a couple of times, while the others were all old hands at it. Nevertheless, Scott and I were of one mind we were taking tricks left and right, setting them up for one another like we were old pros.

I stared across the playing field at him. My face, but different. Chocolate brown hair, brown eyes to my green, mole on his upper lip. He smiled back at me; one of his wide-mouthed, toothy smiles. Jen asked him what we were smiling at.

“We're exercising our psychic bond,” I replied.

In response, Scott scrunched up his face as if he were concentrating really hard, to further illustrate the point. As we were winning seven to two, it wasn't hard to believe that we were “psychic brothers.”

On the next hand, though, my brother reneged, failing to follow suit when one of the other girls threw down a club. That scored them six points, and lost us the game.

“Way to go, craphead!” I remarked. Scott gave me an “I'm such an idiot!” expression.

We both laughed. So much for our psychic bond.

“I'm going over to Joe's later for a party, Crapper.” He used his nickname for me. “Do you want to come along?”

Scott was home from college for the weekend. I was just a sophomore in high school at the time. He occasionally invited me to hand out with him and his friends – I think because he was concerned for my social development, or lack thereof – and of course, I eagerly accepted his invitation.

It wasn't much of a party. The high point was seeing Joe and Clark again, two of my brother's closest high school friends and two really fun guys. There was some drinking, which I wasn't into at the time since I was still dealing with issues about my mom's alcoholism and how that related to me. As such, it wasn't a topic much discussed among my siblings. Given that, I was pretty surprised that my brother brought it up on the way home from the party.

As we pulled out of the driveway, an inebriated Joe and Clark waved good night to us both. My brother turned to me as he drove. “Clark isn't having an easy time adjusting to college,” he said, out of the blue. “He doesn't go out and party or anything. Joe and I wanted to try and help him loosen up a bit. He's never been out drinking.”

“Yeah?” I remarked, dully. I was rather taken aback by the turn of conversation, which had become rather serious out of the blue.

“I think Joe drank too much tonight,” my brother added, apologetically. “He was starting to become a jerk. I hope he didn't bother you.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said, soberly. “I don't drink, but some of my friends do, and I've accepted that casual drinking is okay, you know?”

Scott nodded as he watched the road. “I like to have a beer or two on occasion, as a social thing. For the longest time, I couldn't stand alcohol, knowing about mom. But I think it's okay, as long as it's done in moderation. Joe went over his limit tonight, I think.”

I didn't have any suitable response. This was the first real “adult” conversation I could recall having with my brother, so I was a bit taken aback. That it was happening, and that he would confide in me this way. We drove home the rest of the way in silence, but nothing really needed to be said. We were simply sharing one another's company. It was the first time I realized my brother and I could share anything with the other.

“... It is truly an incredible feeling, knowing that there is someone out there you are so close to, that you can share your life, your experiences with. That's why when Scott asked me to be his best man, I was honored beyond words, to be able to share in this experience with him, the start of a new chapter in his life.”

“I'd like to wish Scott and Melissa all my best, and hope that they live a long and happy life together.”

I raised my glass in a toast to the newlyweds, as applause broke out across the room.