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I miss my brother when he’s gone for months at a time.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
But then, I don’t have to tell him. He knows.
“How’s Dad?” he asks, like he always does before we end the call.
“Same.”
What I mean is, he’s no worse. Which at this point is probably the best Reese hoped to hear.
“Good,” he says right back to me.
If you played a recording of our two “goods,” they’d sound exactly the same.
It’s a little eerie, even to me.
We hang up without saying goodbye. It’s not goodbye, it’s just until the next chat.
Which is two seconds later when Reese texts me:
“Did you know Robert Downey Jr. was uninsurable before Iron Man? Couldn’t even get a movie made.”
I send back:
“Unsubscribe.”
In return, my brother types the pithy and accurate:
“You can’t.”
Reese is lucky that I love him because I’ve barely retaken my seat at the bar before the big, beefy guy next to me squints blearily and says, “Hey…you look familiar…”
“I have that kind of a face.”
I stare straight forward, hoping that will handle it. But it never does.
“No…” The guy keeps peering at me, tapping his meaty finger impatiently on the bar. “Iknowyou…”
I’ve been getting this for thirteen years. It would be annoying enough ifIwere the one on the TV show. But as an innocent bystander, it’s goddamned intolerable.
“You really don’t.” I grab my drink and stand up from the stool.
“I know!” He seizes my shoulder. “You’re that kid from that show!” He points in my face, grinning with glee. “Rocko Rodriguez!”
If I never hear that name again, it’ll be too soon.
I’ve heard it at bars, grocery stores, and job interviews for my entire adult life. It has notlent legitimacy to my career, which isnotas a pretty-boy actor, thank you very much, Reese.
What was fun for a couple of years in high school has haunted me more than it has him.
“Say it!” The beefy guy orders, like so many have before. “Say the catchphrase!”
What’s maddening is that Rocko never actually said the catchphrase—it wasn’t a catchphrase at all, just the name of the show. But they always ask for it.
It’s so old at this point that I’m not even mad. Just exhausted.
I tell the guy one last time, “I’m not him.”
