24 Years Ago, I Sold My Brother A Car, And I Haven’t Seen Him Since
The back of my legs sizzled like this is your brain on drugs. I opened the door to let the devil escape, then turned the key, cranked the AC, and lowered the glass. I’d repeated the process so many times I could do it blindfolded.
Selling cars in a beach town is better than selling cars someplace else, that’s for sure. Still, when you aren’t facing the ocean with your toes in the sand, Wilmington looks an awful lot like Fayetteville, and it’s every bit as hot.
It was 1999, Smashmouth’s, All-Star looped eternally on the radio while I was stuck on a car lot a few miles from the Atlantic. Joy. Somedays, I’d let it bother me; most days, I’d sneak a toke and get’r done. I left the Mazda store, where I was the top producer, to work for the competition.
It didn’t matter that I’d be selling Chrysler, Plymouths, and Hyundais; I switched jobs for the three D’s, a demo, a draw check, and a day off. Plus, the pay plan was better; they had a lot full of used cars, and you could wear shorts to work, a mega perk for this old skater.
The day started like every other, except for Sunday when we were closed. One of the other FNGs and I would unlock every car on the lot and then put the keys above the driver’s sun visor. This unusual practice helped to keep our customers from sweating through their clothes while waiting for someone to unlock a car.
When it’s a hundred degrees in July, it’s a hell of a lot hotter on a field of blacktop that bakes cars like potatoes. That’s why we’d opened the door first, crank the air, and drop the windows before letting a potential customer in. You only get one chance to make a first impression.
Since all the cars were unlocked with the keys inside, we had to keep our eyes peeled. We watched that lot like a flock of hawks rather than vultures, regardless of what the tire kickers may have said behind our backs. This place was unique. In my late 20’s, I was the youngest person working there.
Most other guys and gals I worked with were veterans who previously managed or owned dealerships. It was a country club. Unlike where I worked before, nobody here ever ran in front of another salesperson to greet a customer; that looks desperate. We appraised our own cars and rarely made someone uncomfortable by riding with them on the test drive. We sold a lot of vehicles because it never appeared as though we needed to.
One of the perks of working in such a laid-back environment was that you could split on Saturdays after your second delivery that day. Of course, leaving after your second sale meant you’d become ineligible for the weekend hat trick bonus. Hat trick bonuses were paid in cash at the end of the day if you sold three cars.
Cash bonuses usually meant a few c-notes of Momma don’t know money. A fist full of cash was always an excellent way to start the weekend. Then again, if you sold two by noon, and they were highly profitable, it wasn’t frowned upon go ahead and hit the road. That must have been the case for a bunch of people the Saturday I met Larry.
We rarely stayed late on Saturday and closed earlier than any other car store in town. It was especially quiet on South College Ave when I walked out to greet the guy looking at a sporty red coupe.
There wasn’t another salesperson in sight, and it was getting late. Strange. Maybe I was inside while the keys were collected and the cars were locked. I wanted a deal, so I walked out to say hello.
I’m notoriously terrible with faces. I can recall facial features when I look at somebody, but if they don’t have a distinctive feature, I’m below average at connecting the dots. It’s weird.
Whenever approaching someone looking at a car, I tried to be as open-minded and nonjudgmental as possible. Of course, it’s human nature to judge others on some level; we do it continually. Mostly I’m looking around to see what he drove up in. Nothing obvious. He must have parked across the street and walked over.
Once I got within earshot, I probably said something like, “Happy Saturday! Welcome. I’m Joe.” Greeting people with a friendly smile, a quick hello, and a wave is better than an unwelcome handshake, and he seemed to agree. Our dialogue began just like you’d expect from anyone shopping for a car. The customer’s usually a bit apprehensive, and the salesperson isn’t; that’s just the natural order of things.
He said, “Hey Joe, I’m not buying anything today. My girlfriend’s across the street at the bookstore, so I thought I’d come to look at cars instead.” I gave him an empathetic, “I’d rather be looking at books than cars myself, but I’ve got a job to do.” This earned me a grin and a chuckle. He turned towards me and reached out to shake my hand. When I locked on to his grip, we made proper eye contact.
Time stopped for a second. Not the way time stopped when I met my wife. This was totally different. Still, time came to a screeching halt for both of us the moment we were face to face, looking each other in the eyes. Then, after the longer-than-usual handshake and an awkward pause, he said, “Do you see what I’m seeing?” Dumbfounded, almost speechless, I replied, “We look exactly alike.”
Now, as I said before, I struggle with faces, but I’ve never not recognized my own face, and that’s what I was seeing. We were looking in a mirror. No joke. It was scary. We probably stood there and stared at each other for a solid minute without saying a word. Anyone who may have been looking could have mistakenly thought we were falling in love; it was that long of a stare.
He said, “I’m Larry. This is crazy.” I fired back, “Right. They say everyone has a doppelgänger, but this is ridiculous. You said, Larry. Right?” “Right.” Wow. We both chalked it up to, “what the fuck?” Obviously shaken, we quickly agreed this was one of the most bizarre experiences either of us had ever had. Maybe we were trippin’, but this was unusual.
That’s an icebreaker for the record books. Larry came clean and told me he was driving his girlfriend’s car because his car needed a new transmission, and it wasn’t worth repairing. “I actually need a new car.” He confessed. That’s when I checked the door handle. Locked. I must have had my head up my ass while someone else was thinking about getting their weekend started.
I told Larry we usually keep the cars unlocked, so I’d run in and grab a key. He tried to stop me, but I insisted it was no trouble, “We’re lower pressure than 90 over 60. Besides, we close soon anyway. You’d have to sell me on selling you the car today.” He liked my easygoing demeanor and agreed to wait.
When I returned with the keys, I unlocked the car, hopped in, started it up, flipped on the AC, and rolled down both windows. While the car was cooling down, I said, “Larry, you look more like me than my brother Greg. I wish he were here right now. He’d be freaking out. It’s almost like you could be my long-lost brother. How old are you?”
Larry told me he turned 26 in March. “That makes you about six months older than me,” I replied. Then jokingly, I said, “Well, that rules out Mom. Too bad, you could have been my older brother.” Larry laughed and said, “I know this is crazy. I’ve always wanted a brother or sister. I’m an only child. Besides, it’s impossible. I’m not from anywhere near here. I moved here from Pennsylvania to live near the beach.”
With some excitement and trepidation, I said, “Interesting. I was born in PA but grew up in Fayetteville, a couple of hours west of here. What city did you move here from?” What he said drained every bit of the color from my face. “Oh, a small town you’ve probably never heard of. I was born and raised in Johnstown, Pennsylvania.”
I must’ve looked like I’d seen a ghost as I told him I was born at Memorial Hospital on November 13th, 1973, in Johnstown, PA. His jaw dropped, and I think he held in a puke. Our minds were racing as we undoubtedly felt the same thing. Was it possible? Could we really be brothers?
Mom turned 19 six months before she had me, and Larry was six months older than me, so if anything, we were half-brothers. This was an insane idea that was growing likelier by the minute. Suddenly the red coupe became a lot less important to both of us. We were in shock.
We agreed that exchanging info about our parents would be a good idea. I quickly gave Larry my mom and dad’s names and where they graduated high school. He swallowed hard, and with some hesitation, he told me who his parents were and where they went to school.
It was clear that if this half-baked idea was reality, his dad wasn’t his biological father. That’s a lot to take in when all you wanted to do was look at a car. It’s also a lot to take in if you only want to sell a car. It was clear Larry had more to lose than I did. He went from easygoing and amiable to looking sunken and utterly confused. Maybe even somewhat sad.
At that moment, he looked me square in the eyes and told me this was exactly what he’s been looking for. He meant the car, not the drama that was likely to unfold when we confronted our parents. He asked if we would hold the coupe until Monday; if so, he’d return and buy it. “Holding cars isn’t something we normally do, but in this case, I don’t think anyone will argue with me. I’ll hold the car.”
There was too much to take in to do anything other than decompress and figure out how to approach the situation we found ourselves in. I felt relieved. We were on the same page. I told Larry I’d call my parents this weekend. “My folks have been divorced for decades; I’ll call dad first,” He told me his parents have been together forever and are happily married; he’d ask his mom if she knew my dad. Exhausted by the gravity of it all, we swapped business cards and said, “See you Monday.”
Back inside the dealership, I told some friends who were locking up what had just happened. It was unanimous, my dad cheated on my mom, and his dad isn’t his biological father. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Only, this is my life; it’s my mom and dad we were talking about. Not some movie.
And I thought about how Larry must feel. The dude came to look at a car, and now he may have to face the possibility that his parents have lied to him all his life. “This is a total disaster. He probably won’t come back.” I decided. Regardless, the car would be there for him through Monday if he was willing to come to face the music.
Later that night, I told my girlfriend what had happened, and she seemed to be in the same camp as my friends at work. I get it, though. What are the odds? Regardless, Jen and I were both interested in hearing how my dad would react. So, I picked up the phone and dialed.
He picked up after the first ring, which was fortunate because I didn’t want to talk with his wife. That’s when I told dad I had something to say to him that would blow his mind. I asked if he had a few minutes to listen. He was interested and agreed to hear me out.
When I finished, the line was so quiet I thought he had hung up. “Do you know his mom’s name?” Dad asked. Of course, I did, and I told him her name without hesitation. He may have given the words a few seconds to bounce around between his ears before saying, “Nope. I don’t know her. I’ve never heard her name before.”
I was stunned. How could it be? Was he lying? How would this impact his life if it were true? What are the implications of learning you have an illegitimate son when you’re in your mid 40's? I didn’t push the issue beyond that; I didn’t call my mom that weekend either. When I hung up the phone, I knew it was a lie. Jen agreed. She also encouraged me to forget about it until Monday so we could enjoy the weekend. That sounded like a great idea.
When I arrived at work on Monday, it was business as usual. I helped to unlock and key up a bunch of cars. Then we lined up the hastily parked vehicles left after a busy Saturday. I went to the lounge, grabbed a coffee, and walked out the side door to find Larry talking with some of my coworkers.
One of his friends had just dropped him off. People were blown away by how much we looked alike, and they were speechless after hearing our story. The conversations buttoned up quickly when I arrived.
Larry and I walked out to the car. He said he didn’t need to drive it, but I encouraged him to take a spin before pulling the trigger. He agreed, and we took off. The demo was quick. The car checked out, so he said, “I’ll take it.” without being asked. As we pulled onto the lot and parked the car, he wanted to know if I had talked to my dad. I said I had and relayed what I was told.
“He said he doesn’t know your mom. Did you ask your mom if she knew my dad?” “She told me the same thing your dad told you. I don’t know what to think.” “It’s synchronicity, man.” It was all I could come up with. He agreed, noting, “This is one hell of a strange coincidence if that’s what you mean.” “That’s exactly what I mean.”
An hour later, Larry walked out of the business office smiling. He and I walked out to his freshly detailed, little red coupe. “It’s full of gas and ready to roll,” I smirked. He thanked me, then moved in for a solid bro hug, and with a grin I’ve only seen in a mirror, he said, “See ya around, Joe.” Somehow I doubt it. “Drive safe, brother,” I replied with a smile.
At that, Larry hopped in his new car, fired the ignition, cranked the AC, then rolled down the windows like he’d done it a thousand times before. He tilted his Wayfarers, and I did the same. We couldn’t help but wonder who we were looking at as we gave each other a wave. He pulled off the lot and headed towards the beach. I haven’t seen him since.
