Jeremy (revised)

My older brother called me Saturday night
from Colorado, while driving in his red Ford Ranger,
rambling incessantly about a high school girl
named Xterra (of all names), that he slept with
the night before.
"Dude, who the fuck names their kid 'Xterra?" he said,
immediately washing down his words with what was
left of that night's romantic wine in the form of
some cheap James Fox Canadien whiskey.

For the 21 years I've known my brother,
the only memories I want to remember of him are his talks involving
nights of debauchery with a few of the girls I graduated with,
and the one time he wanted me to come see him
the night before I left for summer camp.
But instead of getting to spend time with just him,
I got to see three of his friends with him
shoving empty Bic ink pens into their right nostrils,
snorting up freshly cut cocaine against a dirty
piece of glass, leftover from a broken mirror.

I wanted to remember the time when
the "smelly kid" at school,
Daniel Clingan,
showed up at my door back in the 7th grade to kick my ass
over talking about how I told people his daddy liked
to make babies with his two older sisters.
My brother ran outside immediately,
shirt-off with an old pair of blue jeans
barely clinging to his 105 pound lanky body.
Staring right into my classmate's eyes,
he leaned back and lunged forward with
his fist, connecting with the left-side of Daniel's jaw,
breaking his hand to protect his little brother.

"Goddamn dude, bitch was crazy! Anyways, man, I'm
gonna get off of here.
I Love you, bro," was the last
thing he said to me after nearly ten minutes
of alcohol-induced idiocy.
Caught up in my own selfishness
and the denial of seeing the regret
I was allowing myself to make of never
getting to know my brother past a few things
I didn't agree with,
all I could say back to him was,
"See ya, man."