Remember My Name (17 page)

We just look at each other,
taking in the abrupt change in our relationship. We’re definitely not just
buddies anymore. I’m pretty sure that happened the moment he took me in his
mouth.

Watching him stare at me
with that earnest look in his eyes makes me flush. “Why are you smiling like
that?” I ask.

He drops his voice, but it’s
not enough to keep from understanding him. “I like the way you taste.”

Embarrassment burns in my
face at his confession. What he just said could easily top the list of things I
never thought I’d hear from another guy. He’s still watching me, and after a
moment I realize that he still hasn’t gotten off. Sure enough, he’s hard
against the fabric of his shorts.

Resolving to fix that
problem, I lean forward just as the sound of a door shutting downstairs makes
us both freeze. The bottom drops out from under my stomach as my eyes grow
wide.

“
Shit!
” Matt hisses.
“They weren’t supposed to be home for at least another hour.”

The clink of keys being
dropped on a table is followed by the creaking of someone coming up the stairs.
I stare at him unmoving, gripped by panic. This can’t be happening. Matt has
already landed on the floor, scrambling to pick up our shirts. “Don’t just sit
there. Put your clothes back on!” We both still have our shorts on, albeit
unzipped in the case of mine. Tugging my shirt over my head, I hastily
rearrange myself and zip up.

By the time Matt’s mom stops
by the room, we’re both fully clothed and in the middle of a TV show on
Netflix. God knows how it loaded in time. I have no idea what we’re even
watching, but my attention is locked on the screen like it’s a preview of the
apocalypse.

“Hi, Jackson,” she says.
I’ve seen her a time or two this summer, but for the most part Matt has managed
to minimize our contact. I’m not sure if that’s intentional or not, but it
doesn’t bother me.

“Hey,” I manage, certain
that my voice betrays what we were just doing. If not that, then the mess of
blankets we’re sitting on that make it look like a tornado ripped through here.
Even Matt’s hair is a disaster. We chat for a little bit, and finally she
leaves without hassling us further.

“So,” he says, weaving his
fingers through mine. “What happened between you and Ben?”

The sound of a humming
garbage disposal carries up from downstairs. It makes me feel like even when
we’re alone, we’re not. “Ben got pissed at me,” I admit.

I feel his eyes on me, but I
don’t turn toward him. “I gathered that, but what actually happened?”

Hoping to dodge the
question, I muse, “We used to be so close, but we just aren’t anymore.” I sigh,
glad for the chance to talk to someone about this.

Matt adjusts his fingers
still linked with mine, the moisture from his skin making his hand feel hot.
“You still haven’t said why he’s mad.”

“It’s probably a few things.
I think he’s upset that we’ve changed,” I say, pausing. Pulling a full breath
into my lungs, I spit out the words before I change my mind. “And he’s mad
because I’m into guys.”

Letting out a low whistle,
Matt squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry, man.” A moment passes, stillness
overwhelming the air between us. “I thought you weren’t going to tell him.”

“I
didn’t
tell him.”

“Um… how did he find out,
then?” When I don’t respond, his voice becomes more insistent. “How did he find
out?”

Matt sounds worried. But
about what? Does he think Ben caught me with some other guy? “Are you jealous?”
I ask, disbelief flitting through my words.

Matt pulls his hand away.
“Don’t screw with me, Jackson.”

“Whoa, it was nothing like…
whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“What was it, then?”

I bite my lip. “I’d rather
not say.”

Crossing his arms, he shifts
over a little bit. Jesus, he can be touchy. He and Ben should start a club. I
run my hand lightly along his leg, but he pulls away. “For fuck’s sake, Matt,
he walked in on me jerking off, all right?”

His expression softens, but
only a little. “Everyone jerks off, it doesn’t make you gay.”

“It does if gay porn is
involved.”

His laugh obliterates the
uneasiness between us. “That’s so awesome.”

“No, it sucked,” I say,
glaring at him. “He just stared at me like he couldn’t figure out up from
down.”

“Clearly it was up.” Matt snickers.

“That’s not funny.”

He smiles like he disagrees,
but he has enough sense not to say so.

“Um,” I say, “I’m going to
head home now.”

“Sure.” Matt doesn’t sound
irritated, even though he’s probably horny as hell. In a way I’m kind of glad
his mom showed up, because it prevented me from having to decide if I was going
to reciprocate. The idea of doing that really turns me on, but it’s also the
scariest thing I can imagine. Receiving is one thing, but taking the active
role is different. Way different.

I wave to Matt’s mom on the
way out, convinced that my guilty expression will give me away, but she just
smiles and says goodbye.

As I ride homeward, I allow
myself to think what I was holding back in his room. Him acting all suspicious
or jealous or whatever, it made me feel like he really cared. In the moment, it
was annoying and a little unsettling, but I like that he feels possessive about
me.

If I thought
he
was
seeing some other guy, I would probably deck them both. I might not hit Matt as
hard as the other guy though. It would be a shame to damage such a nice face.

Finally passing the city
limits, I twist down with my right wrist, and the bike buzzes forward. The sun
catches me in the eyes as I take a long curve in the road. With a few hours
left in the day, I should really try to patch things up between Ben and me. He
is my brother after all. My thoughts wander to our fight earlier. Two hours ago
seems so far away, almost like it happened to someone else. As much as I don’t
want to think about what he said, it’s the things he didn’t say that actually
hurt.

Dad’s truck is gone when I
get home, which means that I can talk to Ben without interruption. Dragging
myself up the stairs, I push open my door and drop face down onto the bed.
Ben’s probably out running or something. My eyes closing, I let the moments
from the day replay in my head. My body reacting so strongly to that magazine,
Ben bursting in on me, and Matt. Just… Matt. I don’t even know where to start
with that.

Propping myself up on my
elbows, I realize that something is off. All of Ben’s shit is gone. His bag,
his clothes, even the pillow I tossed him that first night isn’t here.
Trepidation creeps down my spine. I hope he didn’t do anything stupid. Dad’s
truck was gone. Did Ben tell him what he saw? Did Dad agree he didn’t have to
live here with a homo and then took him to the airport? I hope I’m just being
paranoid.

Chest thudding, I dash out
of my room but catch myself at the top of the stairs. The door to the spare
bedroom is shut, but earlier today it was ajar. I try the handle. It’s locked,
but I hear movement behind the door.

Rapping a knuckle on the
wood, I call softly, “Ben?”

The sound of cheap metal
clinking precedes the door opening. He’s trying to block the door with his
body, but I can see all his stuff shoved into the corner. The walls aren’t even
painted yet, and dust still covers the floor. “What do you want?” he asks.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to sleep in a
bed where you’re jerking off all the time,” he spits. “That’s fucking gross.”

Pressure builds in the back
of my throat, and I drop my eyes. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
You should just say what you mean. You won’t sleep in my room anymore because
I…” The words get caught on something on their way out, but I force them free.
“Because I like guys,” I finish quietly.

“I meant what I said,” he
counters. “This is what you wanted anyway, to have your own room. And your own
life.”

The hurt building inside
from hearing his lies and his attempt to cover them morphs into anger. So many
times I’ve held back with him and said what he wanted to hear instead of what I
really thought. But not now. “You know what, Ben? When you first got here, I
thought you were the same as when we were kids, but I was wrong. You’re definitely
still a coward, but you’re an asshole now too.” I hope he can hear every bit of
my churning rage.

He flinches like I’ve just
hit him. In return, his tone is pure ice when he speaks. “Go fuck yourself,
Jackson. I know you’re good at that. Just remember to lock the door next time
and save me having to see it.”

“Fuck you!” I scream, my
face red with fury. I want to slam the door in his face, but I’m on the wrong
side for that. Instead I shift weight to my back foot, readying myself to lunge
at him. Apparently he anticipates that, because his flat palm slams into my
chest, driving me back. A moment later the door flies closed with the force of
an avalanche, the shrieking protest of the breaking trim boards almost being
swallowed up by the bang of the door.

“Argh!” I shout my rage,
kicking the wall as hard as I can. My foot goes through, and the impact knocks
a picture frame off the wall. It falls and the glass shatters when it hits the
floor. Chest heaving, I stare at the pile of broken glass. It’s a photo from
years ago of the four of us. Mom, Dad, Ben, and me.

Dislodging my foot from the
wall, I make it down the stairs and through the front door before I double over
and collapse on the front lawn. Tears slide down my face. Arms clutched around
my stomach, I rock back and forth on my side.

It shouldn’t be a surprise.
It was his fault we split up in the first place, all those years ago. I was
stupid to think he’d have changed, or that he’d want to fix things. To think he
would want to be the brother I desperately need. Pushing down the pressure
building in my throat, I force myself to breathe normally.

The weight of the world. I
always thought that was a stupid expression. I think it’s based on the Greek
god Atlas. Or was he a Titan? My knowledge of fictional entities doesn’t extend
much beyond Star Trek. Regardless, the world feels pretty goddamn heavy right
now.

I don’t know how long I’ve
been staring at my feet, but only now do I notice my shoe. Ben’s shoe,
actually. The trip through the wall tore up a section of leather from the side,
the stitches now hanging loosely from a two-inch wide strip. A hoarse laugh
erupts from me in stilted bursts. Ben is going to be so mad. It gets easier to
laugh as I continue, imagining his face and him throwing a fit. I’m laughing so
hard now that I’ve actually started to cry again.

Finally sitting up, I wipe
the moisture from my face and the plaster dust from my shoe. Ben’s shoe,
whatever. Taking a deep breath, I start toward the woods. Walking through the
trees blunts what’s left of my anger, and by the time I reach the giant stone
at the very back corner of our property, it’s possible to think clearly again.
Lying back on the flat gray surface, I rest my head on the palms of my hands.
All the years that Ben wasn’t here, I would come here to sort through stuff
without him. Ironically, he’s now the problem I’m trying to figure out.

I wish I could make myself
not care about what Ben thinks. I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier, but I
don’t think it was untrue either. Ben
is
being an asshole, and he can be
pretty spineless at times, but damn it he’s my brother. At the last thought,
longing flares in my chest.

Picking up a fallen stick
from the stone’s surface, I turn it over in my hand. When did he turn from
mild-mannered Benny into angsty, spiteful Ben? What I said was mean, but at
least it was founded on what’s actually going on between us. He was just trying
to be hurtful. And it was. I toss the stick into the weeds and get up to head
to the house. Today I’m going to take the long way back.

*     *     *    
*

Dad’s truck is in the
driveway when I traipse back into the yard through the darkness. Taking a deep
breath, I let myself through the screen door. It slams behind me, sounding
louder than normal. Dad is sitting at the kitchen table sipping a beer, and his
eyes rise slowly from the table to my face. Yeah, he knows about the trim and
the wall. His gaze dissects my expression with the ease that only a parent of
almost two decades can achieve. Even if he didn’t already know that something
had gone down between Ben and me, he would have read it off my face just now.
I’m not as painfully obvious as Ben, but Dad can still figure me out.

“Follow me, son.” He waits
until I nod before standing and ascending the stairs. I venture a glance at his
beer left half full on the table. Downing the rest would make the next few
minutes go a little smoother. If only I could ever get away with something like
that. “Jackson,” Dad calls down the stairs. His tone doesn’t leave any room for
interpretation.
Get up here, now.

He’s standing at the top of
the stairs in a spot where he can survey the damage on both the door and the
wall. Light spills into the hall from the spare bedroom where Ben is
silhouetted in the doorframe.