Brother, you jaywalked your way out of the womb. I could recognise you anywhere from the hiccup in your swagger. Tell me, where in the world did you find all that thunder? There have never been any seat-belts on your side of the car. You have always known the better magic tricks. You told me once that I was just the first draft, and I’m inclined to believe you but you came with a lot more pieces to assemble than I did, and mum and dad, they never got the manual.
Your compass always points north, though it’s a bit of a crap shoot as to whether or not you’ll ever walk in that direction. And I like that, it keeps people on their toes. On the merry-go-round of your life the carousel ponies are all narwhals, their horns points straight up. The day they build you a constellation, it will be the entire F-train, spread across the entire galaxy. You will be a satellite that dips in and out of every single party the instant the train comes to a stop, pissing off everybody on the subway platform and kicking up stardust in your wake. You can solve the Law and Order before the first commercial break.
Once, when you were seven, you came into the kitchen and asked mum: “Does my name begin with the letter P because P is the 16th letter of the alphabet and I was born on June 16th and is Sarah just Sarah because S is 19th letter and she was born on the 19th day of June?”
And when mum said no, you nodded your head and left the kitchen mumbling to yourself, “Okay, just salt and pepper then.”
You are my favourite stick of dynamite. You are the opposite of a rubber band. There are so many things I would tell you if you thought that I would listen and so many more that you would tell me if you believed I would understand.
I hope you know that you were never meant to wear this shadow. In fact, I’m the one who always steals your shoes but- is that my sweatshirt you’re wearing? It’s okay, you can keep it, I won’t tell your secret. In fact, it really does look better on you.