My Brother

Sometimes I wish I had a brother, and of course there might have been a brother. I wonder if we would have overstepped the line, lying, twinned in our tangle of arms, a little question mark of hips and chests and knees tucked up and touching each other. I long for the damage that we might have done to each other. I long for the comfort.

Not having a brother, I can miss the potential complications that come with mismatched genitalia.

My sister and I did not have the kind of relationship where genitalia could be talked about. My sister and I were a tangle of cat arms and cat legs and when we hissed at each other bruises flared up on my pale skin like a bouquet.

If I found this twinned other, this male version of myself, I would want to fall into some kind of awkward romance, but I know that I would be more likely to find fault in the mirror image of myself.

For now, without the possibility of a brother looming in the distance, you will have to do. I make you a part of myself even if you are not. There are tell tale signs but I choose to ignore them.

You will disappoint me. This is what you say and it is true. I am disappointed from the outset because one day you will walk off into your life and one day I will find some other not-brother to replace you with and we will never come home to share Christmas or birthdays or graduation parties.

Still, for now there is the invention of all the transgressions we might have shared. And I find a little thrill in them and a sadness too for the way it might have been but was not.