I.

By the time summer approached the outer edges of fall in 1975, the twin had already made a name for himself. Nights were long and, even when he didn’t dream, the characters of his stories often sat with him and talked. The twin, Adam Burns, was the younger of the two though not by much. His brother often appeared in his stories, but as a mortician or a homeless man sleeping on a bench. That night, Adam had spent most of the evening staring at a brick wall on the corner of 3rd and L Streets, N.W. The letter from his brother, Lance Burns, hung from the tips of his fingers like a cigarette. It was their first communication since the accident; Lance had said yes to the surgery.

II.

Five years ago Lance Burns had been the twin with the greatest chances for success. He had spent most of the time in their double wide writing equations until the pencils either snapped in his fingers or were worn down to a stub. At this point, he could hardly imagine lazy Adam passing him up. That was, until their father broke his back at work and Lance, the oldest by a minute, was expected to take over his job. Years later, he wrote his response to his brother. When he licked the stamp, it tasted sour.

III.

November passed and the older twin met him in the ER. They spent no time on hugs.

“Thank you,” Adam said. It seemed the thing to say before someone gave you his kidney.

“I’m doin it for pa,” Lance answered and tugged at his starchy gown. Instead of answering, the older twin lay down again and closed his eyes. He pictured the character for his recent story and gave him Lance’s face and his love for solving problems.