I Remember

You're stuck in my mind
All the time

My brother was only a few feet away from me at any time it seemed. All I had to do would be to reach out to touch him, make a rude comment, even just give him a look, and I'd have captured his attention completely. I knew that it was the same for him that it was for me; even though Murphy could look completely submersed in whatever we were doing at the time, he was paying at least half of his attention to me. Making sure I didn't get too far away from him, or making sure that I was watching his back, or just making sure I was still there.

It wasn't even just with the fights that we found ourselves in sometimes. It happened at work, it happened at the bar, it happened at the goddamn grocer's. Not that I minded. We constantly needed to prove to ourselves, to each other, to anyone who cared enough to disect our actions, that we were there for one another.

Murph wasn't one to draw too much attention to us if we were in public. Away from peering eyes, he'd let a hand roam over my back or stomach, reach up and squeeze my shoulder, show his affection that way. It was always a game for me in public, to try to get a reaction from him. A heated look would sometimes get one in return. Me running my hands suggestively over his back and hips would either get a glare or a groan, depending on his mood. Away from our usual haunts, I could even dare to drag my lips across his cheek and linger at the corner of his mouth. He'd gotten angry with me once or twice because of my taunts, but usually he just drags me (discreetly, always) into a bathroom or storage room or alleyway to exact his revenge.

As kids, we had the same friends. If they wanted to do something with one of us, they ended up doing it with both of us. Of course as we got older it didn't change too much. We had our own friends, though we stayed together more often than not.

If I had to think about it, I could probably count the number of times back in Ireland that Murph had slept at someone else's house without me on both of my hands without needing to take off my shoes. The number was about the same for me though. We didn't like being apart. It wasn't because we had sexual tension to deal with, though there was that. It was more that we just didn't feel like ourselves when we weren't with each other.

I may have joked once or twice that I was Murphy's better half, but if that was true, it was true for us both. It would explain our connection, beyond just brothers or lovers.

It was a damn rough night when Murphy wouldn't be sleeping on his mattress across from me. I never imagined that he was curling up in a bed with someone else (male or female). That wasn't why I was on edge while waiting for him to come through the door or even just call.

It was because I wasn't there to back him up if needed. He was like Rocco, if lessened, with his mouth going off at the wrong times. Not that there's really a right time to run your mouth. Where Rocco uses jokes and humor to get his face bashed in weekly, Murph just uses his threats. He can handle himself. I knew him well enough to know that without thinking twice. But him, me, or almost anyone, couldn't handle themselves against six men. It had happened before and seeing my brother like that tore at me. I hadn't been there to even the playing field.

And when Murphy walked in, if I hugged him a little tighter than he was expecting or in the times that I could push him against the door or wall or couch or floor or bed (or really any surface that would stand still long enough), he never complained. Except for the once, but I really hadn't meant to shove him back so hard. He'd given me a good smack or two for that one before we found ourselves fumbling with clothes once again.

That was the way we worked. We fought, we fumbled, we fucked. It was how we moved so smoothly from brothers to lovers.

It fit, it seemed, that even when we weren't together, I was thinking of Murphy constantly. It wasn't just the sex, though those images did splash more often than not. It was the lack of connection, one that only him and I shared. Our memories of Ireland, our thoughts about work, our tales of drunken fun, our unfaltering sense of keeping each other safe.

Three feet away or three hours since I'd last seen him, Murphy was the one on my mind.