My Brother

  I have a lot of siblings, so to say he is the brother I've never had isn't because I've never had a brother, or that I compare him to the brothers I did have, but because we were brothers, no matter the blood lines or heritage or science of it all. He was tall and goofy, and lived only a few streets away. We had a class or two together. We hung out and had the same friends. We would play video games at his house and hang out before and after school. He was a talented artist, with an imagination as open as the sky. He could draw anything, and it would look amazing, even though he would always say its not done yet. I have to wonder if he's ever truly "finished" any piece of art he's ever started, not because he procrastinates, but because he always wants to make it better.

 We wrote a story in creative writing class, me him and a third boy. The third boy gave us some help, but he and I were the driving force on the small novel we had started. We wrote more than we needed to, and our teacher said she liked the vividness of our story, although she thought maybe we had a little too much description. The story was about a convict being given freedom if he would fight in the war, and we used our extensive knowledge through all the books of different soldiers we've read to capture every gruesome detail. It was the most fun I'd ever had writing anything at the time. We were friends before this story, and better friends after, and then somewhere along the way we just became brothers.

 He lived with me senior year of high school. My parents let us make our room in the loft over the garage and we were as free as two guys could be. We played video games and talked and stayed up all night and, though I'd never admit it to my mom, we played hookie from school more than a few times. It was messy and dark, but it was a great time, one of the most comfortable places I've ever lived. We also worked together at a hardware store and walked everywhere in our small town, he with his tall lanky legs and me with my determined stride to keep up and in step with those I walked with. I was shorter than him even when I finally grew which didn't surprise me, but being short for so long and then having some actual legs underneath me instead of toothpicks made me fast. There was a time when, on our way to my house, I had the sudden urge to urinate, He had his bike that day and was riding slowly next to me. I think I got out "I have to pee!" before I started sprinting the last block to my house. He never caught me, even with my turtle shell-like backpack bouncing on my shoulders the whole way.

 There are a million such memories that I have of hanging out with him, and though we are roughly the same age, there were times he felt like a big brother to me, a mentor. I can't explain exactly when or why, but that's just the way it was. We were different in so many ways, but no two brothers are exactly alike, not even twins. I was quiet, book smart, and had the artistic ability of a rock. He was very artistic, could be loud and outgoing when he wants to be, and had street smarts. We've gone our separate ways since those days in the loft. I joined the army, went overseas, and being quiet as I am, I did not write or call often. He did write, and we talked sometimes, and I always knew if I needed him, he would be there. For his part, he fell in love, he married, and had kids. He also joined the army, and is a great soldier, husband and father, and still an exceptional artist. We don't talk often, and when we do it is simply catching up, but even with the distance, and the time, and the long silence between talks, I still know he's there, my brother.