My brother came back to town this weekend. Let me tell you about him.

Where to begin about Jack? He's the coal-black sheep of the family. Nine years older than me, and Julie's twin. His exploits are legendary and have always provided me with hilarious stories to tell my friends.

An example: It was very cold. Jack was going to a concert once, and asked my grandmother for money to buy a t-shirt. She gave it to him. Late that night Jack called, from jail, wanting someone to bail him out. My grandmother had already stopped bailing him out (!) by this time, so she went to bed. The next morning my sister leaves the house to go to work and finds Jack, unconscious in the front yard, next to a huge puddle of frozen puke. He was also wearing a new t-shirt.

That, in a nutshell, was life with Jack. Demands for money, late night call, nasty messes. When I was a kid my mom asked me why I always left the room whenever Jack came into it.

I told her, "I don't know. He just kind of pushes me out. There's only enough room for him." Smart kid, wasn't I?

Jack is still the same, as far as I could tell Saturday night. I saw my sister Saturday morning (when I was out Christmas shopping) and she told me Jack had gotten to my mom's house the night before.

"He looks bad," Julie said, "he shouldn't have made the drive."

Jack had surgery a few weeks ago. Back surgery. But they had to go in through the front - a risky and potentially lethal surgery. Now he has what looks like a caesarean scar on his stomach.

Why he had the surgery and how he ended up at my mom's house is far too tiresome to go into here. My mom called my Saturday afternoon.

"We've got company," she said.

"I heard," I told her, "how's that going?"

"Mmmmm," she said noncommitally.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"Mmmmmm," she said again.

"Can you talk?"

"Mmm-mmmm."

My mom and Jack got in to it bad a few years ago; relations have been strained ever since.

So Sonya and I went over there. Jack's ego still tries to push you out of the room, but I'm grown enough to hunker down and weather him better than I was as a kid. To this overblown ego he's added a nonstop talk feature.

When he came into the kitchen he went for a fast back-front punch combo, something he's done to me since I was big enough to walk, I suppose. He hits me in the back, them the chest, and then pulls back. He got me in the back, then the chest. Then I grabbed his wrist and cocked back my right. That, you see, was how I broke him of that habit: by popping him in the nose as quickly as possible. I guess we'd both forgotten about that.

Later, Sonya said, "I thought you were going to lay his ass out then."

So Jack and I sat at the kitchen table and he regaled me with lurid tales of his long illness and subsequent surgery and recovery. My feelings are pretty much the same as they were when I went to my mom's. I love my brother and all, and I'm certainly glad he's not dead, but I like him much better in Texas, where all he can do is call once in a while. Here, with the family within shouting distance, he can get up to all sorts of mischief.

I predict he'll stay at my mom's a week or two, until he's fully recovered from the surgery. Then he'll be ready to drink beer and raise hell, which will be difficult at my mom's house. At that point he'll emigrate to one of my sister's houses. He'll wear out his welcome there pretty fast, and then he'll either go stay with other friends or relatives in the area or go back to Texas.

He was talking about staying here and starting a business, but I'll believe that when I see it.

Two Funny Episodes yesterday, both involving Sonya's input.

When we pulled into the Kroger parking lot yesterday afternoon to put Sonya's check in the bank, I asked her where she wanted to park.

"I don't care," she said, "just pick a hole."

I grinned hugely at her. "I love to hear you say that!"

Later, we were in bed and chatting about TV schedules, of all things.

"They should move Frasier," Sonya said, "and switch around Jessie's Girl and Veronica's Closet."

I was already laughing. "Do you mean Jessie?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. Then we were quiet for a few seconds. The lights off, the dog under the covers, licking our ankles.

Then Sonya started it.

"Dun da dun da dunda
dun da dun da dunda
dun da dun da dunda
dun da dun da dunda..."

And I had to sing.

"Jessie is a friend
yeah you know he's been a good friend of mine
but lately something's changed
it ain't hard to define
Jessie's got himself a girl
and I wanna make her mine..."

We got all the way to the bridge doing this, getting louder and louder all the time.

"I look in the mirror all the time
wonderin' what she don't see in me
don't I somethin' somethin' with the lines
ain't that the way I'm supposed to be?"

Then I took the guitar solo away from Sonya, screeching and yowling like Beavis. That was it. Huge, hiccuping, laughter. Rolling around on the bed. It was so fucking funny. I don't know what the neighbor thought.

Maybe you had to be there.

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