Chapter #43The New Brother by: Seuzz   "I've got a score to settle with Blackwell," you say. You shuffle your feet uncomfortably. "And I guess I'm a little nervous about meeting your dad."
The brothers exchange glances: Frank frowns, but Joe smile wryly. "It'd be tough, but you'd do okay," he says. "Still, maybe it's not a bad idea. I can give you a little prep for when it happens, tell you how to screw your head on right."
On the drive back to Frank and Joe's house, Joe keeps the conversation light and convivial. Not until after you're back at their place do you catch them talking about you and your decision to stay behind. You have the TV on, but duck into the kitchen to get a snack; the boys are in the dining room, talking in low voices. Not so low, though, that you don't hear Joe: "Give him a break, okay? We were kids when Dad found us, or we'd have been scared too." Frank says something you can't catch. "You really wanna leave me behind alone? Don't you think I need watching?" You can hear the grin in Joe's voice.
You rattle a bottle in the refrigerator so they won't think you're trying to eavesdrop, then return to the living room. Joe comes in a few minutes later, his eyes gleaming in a way that suggests he knows exactly what just happened, but he says nothing except, "How about we get that new mask of yours finished up?" and gestures you into the dining room.
Frank is seated at the table, and he looks at you with a carefully composed expression that can't quite hide a look of disappointment. He rears back as Joe scoops up the new mask--which already has his image in it--and hands it to you. "I think you better do the honors."
You feel very nervous as you turn to Frank. "Are you really okay with this?"
"Making this mask, sure. It's the best way to go." He doesn't say anything about what he is not okay with. You try to keep a tremble of resentment out of your hands as you carefully lay it against his face.
* * * * *
You make yourself scarce by going off into another room to seal up the mask while Frank finishes his preparations for leaving. His parting words to Joe seem to carry opaque implications, but his expression--to your relief--clears up when he turns to you. "You did a good job," he tells you quietly, and claps you on the shoulder. "Really, and that's the reason I wish you were going with me. You are ready for this."
You shrink. It's like when you were told you needed to get braces: You dreaded having it done, and fought like hell to put it off, even though you knew it was going to happen eventually. But you still kept fighting it off, just because you didn't want to deal with it yet. "Is it really so bad, me wanting to wait until Joe goes with me?" you ask.
To your surprise, Frank winces. "I wish I was the popular one," he mutters. He and Joe fumble at a handshake before embracing. And then he goes.
Joe leans against the door after it closes, his frame shaking with suppressed laughter. "What a doofus," he snorts.
"I didn't mean to insult him."
"Of course you didn't, and he knows that. But he would take it the wrong the way." Joe slaps you on the stomach. "Let's see what's in the ice box. You couldn't have found anything real filling on that earlier trip." He winks.
"Mind telling me what you were talking about?" You'd never have asked Frank such a blunt question, but with Joe--
"I don't know how much you overheard," he replies. He pulls open the refrigerator door and peers inside while you tell him what you heard. "Oh, that," he says dismissively. "Okay, there's two things you have to understand. Fuck, we haven't got anything to eat, except soy sauce and celery."
"And what's the other?"
He gives you a look. "That's Frank's job, trying to turn me into the team's straight man." He chucks you lightly on the side of the head. "Okay, first thing is, Frank doesn't wanna go out there alone. You think you're scared to meet Dad? Frank is shitting big enough bricks and enough of them to extend the Great Wall of China to the suburbs of Timbuktu. You ever read Winnie the Pooh? 'It's always friendlier with two'." He looks back in the refrigerator, and pushes around the bottles of milk and juice, perhaps in the faint hope that a package of rib eye steaks or maybe a whole cooked turkey will be lurking behind them. "We've gotten in trouble before, and there's always been one of us to help the other one feel better. This is the first time he's going to get it alone."
"You're making me feel guilty," you murmur.
"Don't, and I don't mean to make you feel guilty. And maybe it'll make you feel better when I tell you the other thing, which is--" He peers at a jar, then puts it back with a snort: pickle brine. "Well, I told you back before, I think, that the Stellae Errantes is a little bit like a prison. We keep an eye on each other. Frank and I keep an eye on each other." He shrugs. "And I'm supposed to keep an eye on you while we're together."
"I don't mind," you say, and you're pretty sure you mean it.
"Yeah, but Frank would rather be the one to keep an eye on you, and he'd much rather you were going with him, so Dad could keep an eye on you." He winks again. "So maybe you can balance a sense of guilt with a sense of resentment, and come to some kind of emotional equilibrium?"
Actually, it makes you feel a little worse, because you were feeling resentment.
He flashes a smile, then tugs the crisper open with a sigh and extracts the celery, breaking off a few stalks and offering you some. "And here's a third thing to consider. He also thinks I need watching. And though he won't say it out loud, I know him well enough to know what he really thinks, and it's none too flattering to either of us."
"What's that," you ask. Just looking at the celery you'd felt your appetite lessen, and now it gets swallowed up by a swelling pit inside your stomach.
Joe's eyes dance merrily as he bites down hard on the celery. "He thinks that without him around to keep an eye on us, you and me are going to get up to absolutely no good."
* * * * *
He declined to characterize "absolutely no good," unless that was the subtext when he badgered you into calling your own doppelganger and getting it to buy and bring over a pizza. "And let's try that mask out," he says. "You finish it? Awesome. I wanna see if you can fool your old self."
Back in the living room you drop onto the sofa and pick up the mask. Joe grins as you hold it up and then, with a murmured "Here goes," put it on.
The next thing you know, someone is gently shaking you, and you sit up with a start. Joe laughs. "Nice reflexes, little brother."
"What do I look like?" you ask guardedly.
"Let's take you to a mirror. I'll say this, though. The best genes will out."
You're pretty sure what that crack means, and so you're not surprised when, in the bathroom, you see that you now bear a strong resemblance to Joe himself. But a closer look shows it's more apparent than real. Mostly it's the blonde hair--almost the same shade as his, and also draped low over eyebrows and ears--that accounts for it. Your eyes are also rather large, like his. But your eyebrows are very dark, like Frank's, as are your eyes. Your face is also fairly lean, and when you try smiling, to compare your expressiveness to Joe's loose and easy grin, it comes out looking much more subdued. Maybe it's also because you feel self-conscious, but you seem to have picked up a lot of Frank's "watchful" qualities.
Joe seems to have reached a similar conclusion. "It's like my features, but filtered through Frank's face. Or is it his features filtered through my face? Well, you look more like my brother than Frank does, and more like his brother than I do. I guess that's to be expected." He turns from the mirror to take you in directly. Then, to your astonishment and discomfort he grabs you around the neck, bends you over, and wrestles you through the doorway and onto the floor of the bedroom beyond. "This is so cool!" he exults. "I finally got a kid brother I can push around!"
Except maybe he doesn't. Your limbs are lean, but there seems a power in them, and Joe starts to cry, and then to shout and flail, as you push up, push him over, and press him down. "What was that about pushing me around?" you gloat.
"Oh, fuck! Not another one!"
* * * * *
"What are we gonna call you?" Joe asks afterward. The doorbell rings, but he ignores it to look at you quizzically.
"What's wrong with my own name?" you reply.
"'Joe' and 'Frank' aren't our real names, you know. You should come up with a fake one for yourself." He pauses at the door with his hand on the knob, even as the bell rings again. "C'mon, how are we gonna introduce you when I take you to school tomorrow?"
Go to school?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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