I am sitting with Matt at the bar around the corner. His curly hair is sticking up in every direction. His eyes wide apart and darkly likable are translucent tonight, like ale held to the light.
His new tattoo says, “All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie.” It’s a Dylan quote. Its sprawled across the bicep of his left arm. We’re halfway though a bottle of Jack.
My brother is a lonely planet. A strange, singular orb in a universe that can sometimes sustain itself, sometimes not.
I search his eyes for some clues. I want to run my fingers along his face, treating it like a map with some destination I can get to. Has he just come out of a sadness or is he going into one? Is he manic right now? Are his pills making him dopey? Is this Matt? Is this the illness?
He is a language that I understand but don't speak.
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