No, I dont know what started it. Neither does he, I think. Something, years ago, now so far back in memory that it no longer matters. Maybe I brushed against him the wrong way in a bar one night. Maybe he did that to me. But whatever it was, that night started a chain that's never stopped. Now, whenever we see each other, we have to fight. It's like we cant stop. I can be in my office, and he'll come in the door, and within seconds we'll be rolling on the floor, pounding the crap out of each other. Or I'll go to a restaurant, and he'll be there, and you know that tables will be overturned and chairs smashed.
I dont know why. It's just unavoidable. For a long time, I tried going to other places, consciously trying to avoid him. It didnt work: he apparently thought the same thing. One summer I took a cruise ship to South America. The only thing I remember of that trip was that he and I fought the entire nine days.
It doesnt matter where I go or where he goes. Somehow, we always manage to wind up in the same place. We've fought almost everywhere around the globe: beaches in Hawaii, hiking trails in the Pyrenees, in an elevator in midtown Manhattan, behind a diner off the interstate somewhere in South Dakota. No matter where I am, so is he.
We no longer question our fate. We know that we will spend our entire lives battling it out. We wont stop because we cant. One of us may win a particular fight, but that doesnt mean it's over. Chances are, the other one will win the next time.
So we no longer keep score. We just fight. And we are not the only ones so cursed. One night, we met two others, like us, driven to battle. I fought one of them. He fought the other. We both knew: it wasnt the same.
In a curious way, I cant imagine life otherwise. Part of me would feel empty without knowing that, around the corner, he would be there, fists up, ready to strike. Chances are, he feels the same way. It's like, we need this to survive. We are blood brothers... of the most literal kind.
And without that, we die.
