A week or two later, the same scene would play out in reverse: though my methods were less prosecutorial, more compassionate; less prescriptive, more philosophical.
The point is we loved each other, Greg and I. We were there for each other, always. If I’ve made us sound like the Bobbsey Twins, or like the twins in matching sweaters riding a bicycle built for two in those old Doublemint gum commercials, I don’t mean to. We were nothing like that, Greg and I. We didn’t dress alike, or share dates, or speak to each other in a private language that we’d invented and that no one else understood, or do any of the other creepy things identical twins are known to do. Unlike most identical twins, especially when we were younger, we fought — a lot, gruesomely at times. We wrestled, punched, kicked,
