Page 19 of Mr. Picture Perfect
I find it odd he worries what first impression I have of him. I run through a few possible responses to that, all of them seem too weird, so I decide to just turn my attention back to the TV again.
Cole leans into me suddenly and lowers his voice. “What kind of game are they playing, by the way?”
His body.
Is touching.
My body.
His shoulder against my shoulder. His arm against my arm. Even each word he utters, the breath of his speech, it touches my ears like tiny fingertips.
I can barely breathe suddenly.
Why is he attacking me like this?
“I don’t see them at each other’s throats,” says Cole, oblivious to all of this, “like brothers are supposed to be.”
“It’s a co-op game,” I blurt out too stiffly. “So they play as a team and help each other get to the end of the level.”
“Oh. That sounds … different.”
Every word he says. Every single word. It’s like he’s stroking my ear with his fingertips. He might as well be running his tongue across my earlobe at this proximity.
Normal people don’t communicate like this.
But why am I not stepping away? “Co-op games are common nowadays,” I recite, sounding just like a machine, like the robot I’m always accused of being. “Online gaming and all that.”
“Well, that should tell you how long it’s been sinceI’veplayed one.” He chuckles. “I’m at the gym so often lately, I haven’t had—”
“I’ve never been to a gym in my life.”
“Oh.”
We go silent again. Cole makes no effort to move away from me. Our shoulders are still touching.
I can hear every single breath he takes.
After a while, I realize it’s almost like music.
His breaths are the rests between notes. Soft and pleasing to the ears. Nearly melodic.
And my ever-pounding heart is the frantic, amateur drummer who can’t keep a rhythm to save his life.
The older brother pauses the video game suddenly to give his younger brother tips on how to survive the challenging next level they’re about to face.
I’m struck suddenly by their cooperation.
I’m witnessing a luxury I was never afforded as an only child.
“I wonder how different my childhood would’ve been if I had a brother,” Cole says suddenly. I flinch, surprised by his remark, as I was having a similar thought. “But my mom was always of the opinion that one’s enough.” He lets out a wistful sigh. “You ever wonder how your life would be? If anything about you was totally different? How you’d be like today?”
I keep my eyes on the pair of brothers. “No,” I answer simply. “It’s pointless to do so.”
“It … It is?”
“There’s no sense in wasting time wondering how differently our lives could have turned out. It’s a better use of our time to deal with the way our lives already are. To accept what we have and make the best of it.”
“Oh. I … I guess I see your point.” He turns more toward me, which makes him feel even closer to me. I fight my body’s instinct to panic. “But can’t we use our imagination? What if imagining other possibilitieshelpsus deal with how we turned out?”
