One day, not nearly long enough ago, my brother called me to say that a friend of his had seen “his sister” on the bus. This girl had never met me or even seen a photograph, but she knew that I lived in Seattle, along with, you know, more than half-a-million other people. And she’d recognized our family resemblance on a crowded city bus.
It was me. I did exit on Broadway. I was wearing a purple sweater.
But do I really look that much like my brother? I’m almost five years older. His hair is blond, while mine, especially when I lived in Seattle, is more brownish. Our eyes are different shades of blue. But the main thing–he’s a foot taller than me, as in a dozen inches. Tall and thin to my short and curvy. So how did this stranger know that I was my brother’s sister?
It had to be the nose.