when i looked at him across the table, it was like looking at his nonexistent brother.  i mean, i know he has a brother, but they don’t look much alike.  no, he looked like a brother he doesn’t have, one almost exactly like him except that he wears sandals and cutoff shorts.

i watched him for awhile, engrossed in conversation with people i didn’t know, telling stories about a place he lives that i’ve never been.  i watched as he crossed his legs, took off his glasses, put them in his shirt pocket.  i’d never seen him do that before.  i’d never seen him with glasses.  i’d never seen him gradually abandon a discussion, eventually sitting with his eyes closed, mouthing the words to the song being piped in through the restaurant speakers.

i’d forgotten what it was like to have him around, in person.  i’d forgotten how he makes fun of me for drinking coke in the morning.  i’d forgotten how sometimes he interrupts people if he’s got a good joke to make.  mostly, i’d forgotten about when i’m tired and hung over and i glare at the breakfast menu, snapping about how i don’t know what to order, and he knows exactly what to say to calm me down.

but things are different now.  while everyone inside the house played video games, we sat out on the front porch.  as i told some inane story about people from work and the nicknames they have for everyone, his eyes glazed over a bit, and he stared off down the street.

he doesn’t know about me anymore, either.