Rusty

He was sitting alone on a short aisle of chairs, the seats-fold-down-kind found in most auditorium type areas. He was young, but I couldn't narrow down an age. Just young in that beautiful way that people look when you, the looker, have passed into your 40's. Blonde hair and a lean body. He could have been anywhere between 16 and twenty something.

One row ahead of him and several seats over were three other people, by appearances a father, mother and adult son. This young man was also hard to define by age. His eyes didn't seem to focus on anything. Perhaps blind, or perhaps he looks at everything? His torso rocking back and forth constantly in his chair, his arms seeming to flail in the air. Perhaps to the beat of a tune only he could hear.

The father left his seat for a few minutes, and in that time I saw a moment of frustration in the mother's face. His rocking must be never ending, his arms forever in the air.

And then I noticed the jaw lines, the shape of the two noses. The young man on the aisle by himself, and the other, were brothers. There was no mistaking it.

I leaned over to my right, close to Jamie, and said the same words I've said to him many times before. "I love you so very much. You are my best friend and I love you."