“Do what I do to you, to me!”

Jared had a constant, irritating request for Audrey all his life: “do what I do to you, to me.”

It was simple. When it came to their little childhood games, wordplay, inside jokes, and other nonsense, Jared was the one who devised it all and kept it going. He would be the one to shake his head in her face, ask her to think of an animal in their familiar guessing game, or tell her she was “soda, mmm.” She did not reciprocate, and when she did play along, it was only as a reluctant participant. She rarely ever led the game, bit, or silly premise.

Jared could keep the nonsense going till he was blue in the face, but he wanted to be entertained, too. He was curious about what kinds of little games Audrey would come up with for them, if she tried.

She couldn't have cared less. She never did what he did to her, to him. There were even a few birthdays that Jared's only ask was, as always, “do what I do to you, to me” — and nothing.

As time went on, he tried to simplify the wordiness of the request, reducing it to the snappier “act like me!” He thought this may have been easier for her to grasp. Still, forever, always — nothing.  ❐

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