Priceless Cheap Memories

The frame was cheap. Ceramic, white and polished, rounded at the edges. It was supposed to resemble glass, I imagine. A knockoff of something fine, bought for only a dollar at some discount store. Two sets of eyes stared out at me. Two brothers, caught in a casual hug, posing for eternity. The younger, slightly embarrassed, attempting to avoid the lens. The other straight ahead. The stare penetrated the camera. It penetrated through film and time, it soared through ten years and struck against my chest. The power of it stunned me. It stared. He stared. It was Easter, unusually warm and sunny, though a chill ran through the air.
I heard a stir on the carpet several yards behind me.
"I took this picture," I heard myself say as I turned toward the sound. Why am I speaking, I wondered.
The staring eyes fixated upon me. But not through glass or time. They had only to go through the few feet of air between us. Useless air, as my throat was so constricted I could scarcely breathe. In his right hand he held a cold Dr. Thunder. He raised it slightly as if offering. I shook my head and smiled. He had no way of knowing I'd given those up years ago. He had no way of knowing anything about me. Absolutely nothing. And yet, his eyes said that he knew everything about me. Everything that mattered. He knew my soul, he knew my heart. He knew my mind. Standing there, I suddenly felt naked. A wave of panic rushed me. I had to leave, immediately.