Remember My Name (23 page)

Ben

For me, the next few days
pass as if almost nothing happened. Jackson keeps to himself for the most part,
and after a few failed attempts to drag him into conversation, I give up and
grant him the distance he wants. When I’m working at the greenhouse, Dad is
likewise aloof and barely leaves his office during the workday. Not that it’s a
huge change from before, but he appears even less than he used to, leaving me
and Katie to keep everything running smoothly.

Katie seems to have forgiven
me for the night of the Fourth, but it’s not the same between us anymore
either. She’s not flirty like she used to be, and if we end up working near
each other, it’s purely by coincidence. I know I should apologize again and
tell her that she’s important to me, but I can’t bring myself to worry about
anything besides my brother right now. Maybe she knows it, and that’s why she’s
keeping her distance from me too. It’s probably for the best. I can’t give both
her and Jackson the time they each deserve, at least not right now, and it’s no
contest who comes first.

*     *     *    
*

A soft knock on the door
precedes Jackson’s nose poking inside my room. I glance up from my phone.
“What’s up?”

“Can I come in?” he asks,
stepping inside and taking a seat on the bed. “Don’t freak out, but I invited
Matt over.”

Working to control my annoyance
at realizing he’s coming over, I do a pretty good job of keeping my voice
level. “Okay…”

“I, uh, thought we could do
something together. I hate that you guys don’t get along.”

I sigh, briefly closing my
eyes while I massage my forehead. “That guy is trouble.”

“I know you think that,” he
says with a touch of exasperation. “But if you guys spent time together and
actually tried, you’d see that he’s not such a bad guy.” He takes a deep
breath, adding for effect, “I really like him.”

“I get that, but that
doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole.”

“Please?” Jackson is
practically pleading now. I suppose it makes sense that this is important to
him, but how am I supposed to ignore my deep and abiding dislike for Matt? He’s
obnoxious, and Jackson deserves better.

I make a face, but then
concede. “Fine. What did you have in mind?” The only reason I’m agreeing to
this is because Jackson has had a rotten week and he’s been shut in his room so
much that I’m desperate to actually spend time with him.

Jackson’s smile stretches as
wide as the wheat fields outside. “I got a hold of some weed.”

My eyebrows lift upward.
“Really?” I was never that into smoking pot, but I’ve always been curious to
smoke with Jackson, to see how he reacts.

“Yeah! I knew you’d be
interested,” he grins, genuinely excited.

“Why not just us, though? Or
if you really want to smoke with someone else, can’t you find someone other
than Matt? Like a random homeless person or something?”

“That’s not funny.”

I shrug, my face impassive.
“I wasn’t really kidding.”

“You said you’d try,” he
insists.

“No, I said I’d hang out
with you guys. I didn’t say I’d try to be nice.”

A knock prevents Jackson
from responding. “Hey guys,” Matt says, pushing the door the rest of the way
open. “You got the stuff?”

After some back and forth,
we decide to smoke on the boulder at the edge of the woods. The house was
definitely out, and the yard seemed kind of risky. Then Matt suggested his
truck, but I didn’t want to be in such an enclosed space with him, so that’s
how we ended up sitting next to each other with hard, gray stone underneath us.

“Don’t worry, guys, I have a
pipe,” Matt announces, withdrawing a blue and yellow blown glass implement from
his pocket.

I roll my eyes. “Of course
you do.”

Matt looks at me like he’s
about to return with a snippy comeback, but Jackson elbows him in the ribs and
he stays silent. Taking the bowl from Matt, Jackson packs the off-green weed
into the end.

Matt hands him a lighter.
“All yours, dude.”

I’m trying to decide if it’s
odd that Matt just called him “dude” when Jackson flicks his thumb down and the
flame springs to life. He inhales, drawing the droplet of fire into the pipe. A
moment later, the flame winks out, but Jackson keeps breathing in, persuading
the glowing embers to endure.

When his chest is puffed all
the way out, he passes the pipe to Matt but doesn’t exhale. He starts to cough
but suppresses it, and only a little puff of smoke escapes from his nose. Finally
he expels a stream of hazy gray, coughing a few times but for the most part
keeping himself together.

“Nice work,” Matt tells him,
touching him on the back in something between a sportsmanlike slap and an
affectionate rub. I ignore this action, but I’m actually impressed too, even
though I’m not sure if I should be.

Matt goes next, taking a hit
with more practiced ease than Jackson, which doesn’t surprise me at all. When
he hands the pipe and lighter to me, I do the same, inhaling a bit less than
Jackson did before having to cough.

We continue to pass the pipe
until the relaxed tingling has diffused through my fingers and time has slowed
to a crawl. At last when the pipe is cashed, Matt sets it to the side and leans
back, propping himself up on his arms. Jackson’s eyes glazed over a few minutes
ago – at least what felt like a few minutes ago – and now he’s
lying on his back, eyes closed.

This was actually kind of
fun, and Matt hasn’t been that bad. “How you feeling?” Matt asks me.

“Pretty good,” I say with a
smile. Am I really smiling at him? Oh well.

He reaches over, tapping me
in the chest with the back of his hand. “I’m glad we did this.”

I look down at his hand.
It’s still touching my chest. I can’t tell if that’s weird or if I’m just high.
He’s staring at me. “Dude,” I say, shooting a look at Jackson. He’s still lying
back, eyes closed. Christ.

“Shh,” Matt whispers.
Leaning closer, he presses his lips against mine. They’re kind of dry and not
as soft as I’m used to. It’s so unexpected that I can’t even react at first.
Not until he touches his tongue against mine. My arm flying forward, I shove
him backward so hard that his head thuds against the stone.

“You piece of shit,” I snap,
jumping to the ground.

“Huh?” Jackson looks up for
the first time since we finished the bowl. He’s got a goofy smile on his face
and seems generally content. “What’s wrong?”

Matt doesn’t appear fazed as
I give him the worst look I can muster, hoping that it conveys exactly how mad
I am. Then I direct my words to Jackson. “Nothing. Matt is just being stupid.
I’m out.”

Without turning back, I walk
away from him and the clearing. The rage inside me is almost too much to
control. How can he be such a shitty boyfriend? And now I either lie to my
brother, or tell him the truth and hurt him even more than he already has been
this week. I hate Matt, but I feel like he’s the only thing keeping Jackson
afloat right now. Which means the only way for me to protect him is to keep my
mouth shut.

*     *     *    
*

The December sun is warm on
my neck, but the day is cool enough that I’m uncomfortable in just my t-shirt.
Stepping inside from the balcony off the living room of our condo, I wander
into the kitchen and open the fridge. Mom won’t be back for hours yet, even
though I got home from school a while ago. I hate it when she works so late.
Her working hours vary with the time of the year, but around the holidays it’s
always long days for her. And for me alone at home. Sometimes I’ll hang out
with my friend Cody after school, but usually I just come home and wait around
for something to happen.

My stomach feels empty but
I’m not really hungry. Closing the door to the fridge and flopping down on the
couch, I grab the remote. My thumb hovers over the power button. Instead of
pushing it, I set down the remote and run a finger lightly over the imitation
rubber of the channel change buttons. If Jackson and I had never moved apart,
would he be here watching TV with me right now? Or would we be somewhere else
entirely, sharing a hobby with no one but ourselves?

The last time we spoke was
almost a week ago, which feels longer than normal. Usually he calls me, though.

No matter how often we talk,
our conversations never feel like enough. Is it the same way for him? Maybe
it’s time for more than just a phone call. Before I’ve fully formed the plan in
my head, I have my phone out and I’m dialing his home number. I don’t think
Jackson has a cell phone. At least not one that I know about.

“Hello?”

Crap. “Uh, hi Jeff. It’s
Ben.”

There’s a pause. “How are
you, son?”

“Good. Is Jackson there?”

“Yeah, just a minute.” Was
that a hint of disappointment?

I hear shuffling while I
wait. My eyes wander over to the huge flat screen across from me, its expansive
surface currently matte black.

“Hey,” my brother says, breathing
like he had to high tail it from somewhere to get to the phone. “Who’s this?”

His voice resonates across
the line, connecting with some deep part of me. I get such a rush from it that
I realize it’s been too long since we’ve talked. More than a week for sure.

“Hey,” I say quickly, eager
not only to tell him everything that’s happened lately, but also to share my
idea with him.

“Oh. Hi, Ben.” And just like
that, he takes it all away.
Ben.
Why would he call me that? I’m not Ben.
I’m Benny. I’m his Benny, and he’s my Jacks. I feel like I’ve been punched in
the stomach.

I don’t know how to recover
from the declaration he’s just made, especially because I don’t understand it.
In response to the tightness clamping down on me, I struggle to create a
response to fill the silence. “How have you been?”

“Good. What are you up to
these days?”

He doesn’t sound mad. So why
is he doing this? Normally Jacks and I can talk for hours. “Um, good.” Afraid
of more awkward pauses, I tell him a few things about my year and what I’m
looking forward to over summer. But my heart isn’t in it.

“Nothing much. I, uh, was
just thinking that it would be cool if we… that is to say, I think we should,
um…”

“Spit it out, Ben.”

“Why don’t we get together?
Like for a visit. You can get out of that freezing state, and I can take you
around L.A. and show you how awesome everything is here. Christmas break is
coming up, and you could totally come out here.” Half to myself, I add, “I
haven’t actually asked Mom yet, but of course she’d love to see you. It will be
so sweet, we’ll be able to–”

“Ben,” he interrupts.

I take the opportunity to
finally breathe. “What?”

“I don’t think Dad can
afford to send me out there, especially on short notice.”

My shoulders fall and along
with them, my hopes to see Jackson again. A moment later, my excitement is
revived. “I’ll visit you, then. I have no idea how cold it must be there, but
I’ll fly out to you, and–”

“Ben,” he interjects again.

“
What
?”

He doesn’t say anything for
several seconds, and when he finally does, his voice is low. “I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”

My ears feel hot, and a
bitter feeling spreads through me. “What do you mean?” I’m afraid of the
answer.

“I just don’t think it’s a
good idea, all right?”

“Okay.” The word is so heavy
it must be made of pure lead. Pain prickles in the back of my throat, and heat
grows at the corners of my eyes. “I guess I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Good talking,” he says
before hanging up.

I want to be angry. I want
to throw my cell phone across the room and smash the TV. I want to rip my hair
out and break the windows of the balcony door. But I can’t do any of that. Not
because I’m afraid of the consequences, but because the pain in my chest is
paralyzing every muscle in my body.

Jacks was always the one
person I could talk to about anything, the one who made me feel safe and calm,
even when nothing else did.
Especially
when nothing else did. So what
changed?

I promise myself that next
time, I won’t be the one to call. I squeeze the remote control so tightly that
I expect the plastic to be crushed in my fist, but it endures. Tears drip out
of my eyes. I know what that promise means. It means we won’t talk again.

Jackson

I roll the silver-colored
ring between my fingers, letting the metal chain necklace slide through as it
turns. The metal was pressed against my chest before I pulled it out from
beneath my shirt, and it’s still warmer than the air in my room, even though
the weather has been stubbornly stuck back in the high 90s all week.

This is the worst week of my
life. Dad is brooding with a silent, corrosive disappointment that eats away at
me far more than if he just yelled until he was panting and blue in the face.
And while I should be able to rely on Matt, it feels like he’s pulling away.
The summer is half over, and it feels like he’s already half gone. I don’t
understand why, but I can’t pretend like it’s not happening.

Ben is trying, he really is,
but it’s not enough. I’m not sure why it’s so hard to let go of everything from
the years we were separated, but even when Ben is busting his balls to prove
that he’s there for me, even when we’re actually getting along, I can’t
distance myself from the resentment that has festered for years. Over time it
got in deep, and I willingly let it fill me. Now I can’t get rid of it, even
though I want to. What scares me the most is that I don’t know if I’ll ever be
free of it. Until I am, I can’t let Ben in, not completely anyway.

“Hey,” a voice says. Its
owner is the subject of my turbulent thoughts. “Are you ready? Matt is waiting
outside in his truck. I think he’s afraid Dad is going to do something to him
if he comes inside.” Ben seems really pleased about that.

If I could avoid coming in
this house, I probably would too. “All right, let’s go.” I grab my board shorts
and follow him downstairs and outside. A towel is tucked under his arm.

Ben takes the middle seat in
Matt’s truck without a fight, so I get shotgun. All the windows are rolled
down, but it’s still sweltering in here. “AC is broken,” Matt says dismally.

“How far is it?” Ben asks as
we pull onto the highway.

“About ten minutes,” Matt
says. Ben seems preoccupied by the scenery outside, but my attention is fixed
solely on Matt. On his tank top showcasing the toned muscles of his arms. As
our speed increases, the breeze coming in the windows becomes a gale force
wind, throwing his hair around and billowing under his shirt. I catch a glimpse
of his nipple and the dark circle around it before directing my eyes forward. I
would never have checked him out so brazenly in front of Ben, but now that Dad
and everyone from my school knows, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to let
him see this.

I’m amazed that Ben even
agreed to come along. After the three of us got high together, his opinion of
Matt didn’t seem to improve at all. If anything, it got worse, and I have no
idea why.

Accurate to Matt’s
prediction, just less than ten minutes have passed when he pulls off the
highway and onto a narrow dirt road that disappears into thick woods. Ben’s
curiosity attacks again. “Is this public land?”

“There’s a road into it,” I
point out as we bump over a pair of deep ruts. Matt catches my eye and smirks.

I don’t need to turn to know
the disapproval plastered across Ben’s face. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

When he realizes he’s not
going to get a response, he begins to make comments about our presence here,
progressing from the fairly innocuous “bad idea” to more pointed words like
“illegal” and “trespassing.”

“You worry too much,” Matt
chides.

“And you worry too little,”
Ben grumbles as we enter a clearing beside a river and hop down from the truck.
The woods behind us have given way to a sandy circle, rutted with tire tracks.
Clearly we’re not the only ones who come out here. I’ve heard of this place, but
it’s my first time actually being here.

Under the sun and humidity,
we venture toward where the banks have eroded, leaving a steep drop to the spot
where the water laps up against the earth. The river is narrow but deep, the
water meandering slowly along. About a hundred feet down from us, an ancient
railroad trestle spans the distance between the shores.

“Whoa,” Ben says the moment
he sees it.

Stepping carefully along a
path barely better than a deer trail, we reach the end of the ailing bridge.
The tracks are long gone, leaving only the wooden trestle. The timbers are
thick, but the gaps between them are even wider.

“Welcome to Paradise
Bridge,” Matt announces, grinning at both of us. “Best river jumping in the
county.”

Beside me, Ben’s mouth drops
so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t hit the ground. “You’re serious? We’re not
only going to climb out there, but jump in?”

I shrug, trying to silence
my own reservations, “It’s only like twenty feet.”

After several seconds of
indecision, Ben’s face hardens into a determined look. “Oh, what the hell,” he
says, tugging off his shirt. He looks around as if trying to identify a safe
spot to change into the swim shorts held in my hand. “Um,” he says.

Matt’s eyes move from Ben to
me. None of us are wearing our swim shorts yet. We’re in the middle of nowhere,
but there’s not really any cover nearby. “We’re going to end up changing in
front of each other anyway,” Matt observes, kicking at a clump of unruly grass.
“We could just… not bother with the swim shorts.”

It would be weird doing that
with my brother here, but the idea of skinny-dipping is kind of exhilarating.
Something about swimming naked, on top of already trespassing. Except Ben would
never go for it. This is the kid who wouldn’t shower behind frosted glass with
me in the bathroom. Of course he got over that a while ago, but this is
different.

Ben confirms my guess. His
expression is hard as he says, “I am
not
taking off my clothes in front
of him.”

Matt examines my brother,
his dark eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Why not?”

Pick a reason, any reason.
But the most obvious one is that he’s uncomfortable getting naked in front of
his gay brother and that brother’s boyfriend. Likewise turning my gaze to Ben,
I wait for his answer.

“Because you’re a tool,” he
says roughly. Holding Matt’s eyes, he steps behind the truck and kicks off his
flip-flops. I have full view of him, but Matt is blocked by the truck. I look
away as Ben pulls down his shorts and changes into the swim trunks, a lopsided
smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Ben has always had a flair for the
dramatic.

Pulling off my shoes and
socks, I change as Matt does the same. Unlike my aversion to looking too
closely at Ben, I allow my eyes to slowly sweep over Matt’s body. I saw him
naked for the first time last Saturday, but we were tangled up in a heap of
sheets on his bed. He returns my stare intently, grinning.

“Come on, guys.” He tiptoes
through the pokey grass and onto the timbers oozing black creosote. Venturing a
look over his shoulder at both of us, he steps farther out onto the trestle.
Clearly uninhibited by Ben snapping at him, he asks, “So are you guys identical
like
everywhere
?” The unabashed interest in his voice is impossible to
miss.

Ben looks uncomfortable.
We’ve both seen each other enough times to know that the answer is yes. When we
were younger it happened more, but there have definitely been a few times since
he moved here too. Modesty can only take you so far when sharing a bedroom and
a bathroom. It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not though. I glare at the
back of Matt’s neck. “Keep your eyes where they belong.”
On me
, I finish
mentally.

Arms held out for balance,
we step onto the bridge, moving across the railroad ties. The wind buffets us
with humidity, and the trees at the sides of the river whistle with the
movement. A drop of sweat slides down my back between my shoulder blades. Just
another minute and I’ll meet sweet relief in the water below.

Reaching the center of the
bridge, the three of us stand in a line. The water is a bluish brown, flowing
lazily onward. From up here it looks really far down, but I’m not worried. Ben
is, though. I can hear it in his breath. I reach over and give his hand a
squeeze before letting go just as quickly. His expression rises, but not with
displeasure.

“Woohoo!” Matt shouts as he
jumps. He kicks his legs in the air as he falls, straightening them just before
he hits the water. As he goes under, the cool darkness of the surface is
destroyed by an explosion of white. He reappears, shaking his head and spraying
droplets everywhere. “Come on, guys! The water feels great.” His hands and feet
propel him smoothly away from the spot directly below us.

I risk a glance at Ben. “You
ready?” I whisper. He nods. I hold out my hand again, and he takes it. His skin
is sweaty from the day, maybe nervousness too.

We jump together. There’s no
need to count off or say go. We just know. Ben’s fingers tighten around mine as
the water rushes toward us. He’s scared, but I’m here for him, and he knows
he’ll be okay because of that. We each take a deep breath just before the
surging sound of water roars in our ears.

I don’t kick for the
surface, and neither does he. The liquid between us is almost clear as his eyes
stare back into mine, his fingers still intertwined with my own. I want to stay
here with him and preserve the fleeting seconds. Our buoyancy is already
dragging us toward the surface, but until then, this moment is ours, and I
don’t want it to end. For the first time since he moved here, I think it might
be possible to get back what we had.

We break the surface and
take in gulps of air. I almost forget to let go of Ben’s hand. The sun is
bright in my eyes, but everything else about this day is perfect. What a stark
contrast to how shitty the rest of the week has been. All it took was hiding
away in the woods with my brother and… my boyfriend. The word still feels
strange.

“What was that?” Matt asks,
giving me a puzzled look.

“What was what?”

He paddles toward us. “You
guys stayed underwater. It was weird.”

I shrug but don’t answer
him. He wouldn’t understand, so I don’t even want to bother trying to explain.

We clamber back up the
abandoned railroad trestle again and again, our jumping positions becoming
steadily more ridiculous. After Matt has gone under with his hand on his heart
and reciting the pledge of allegiance, and Ben has flailed through his third
botched back flip, we finally dry off and pile into Matt’s truck.

When we drop Ben off at the
house, I expect him to be upset that I’m going home with Matt for the rest of
the day, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Maybe he’s warming up to Matt after
all.

“Have fun, guys,” he calls
after us, but it sounds a little forced.

Matt sets his arm on the
rest between us. “Did you tell him about us?”

“I never told him anything.”

An irritated grunt comes
from deep in his throat. “Well, he definitely knows.”

I watch the fields rush
past. “He’s my brother.”

“Is that supposed to explain
it?”

The gaps between the rows of
corn whizz by, forming a kind of geometric optical illusion. It’s mesmerizing.
“Yeah,” I say, not looking away from the corn. The field ends, replaced by tall
grasses, and my attention strays from the window, coming to a rest on the line
of white skin on the back of my hand. No matter how long it’s been and as much
as I’ve tried to forget, it still brings me back to that day whenever I see the
scar. The clean-cut scar that could never have been made by a mishandled saw
blade.

It was two summers ago. I’d
just gotten my driver’s license, and I was pissed at Dad for making me work at
the store so much. I wanted to be out with my friends. Instead I was slaving
away my summer five days a week for his business.

It was Sunday afternoon, and
I’d already made plans for the next day to go to the mall with my friend Jeremy,
even though I knew Dad wanted me to work.

He was sitting at the
kitchen table drinking a coke. He’d spent most of the day tinkering around with
his stupid plants and had just gotten home. He leveled his gaze on me and told
me I didn’t have a choice about working.

There was no room in his
tone for debate, but I was mad. I told him it was a load of shit and that I was
sick of working for him all the fucking time. It was the first time I’d ever
sworn at him before. I had no idea what was coming.

In half a second he was up
out of his chair, knocking over the coke can in the process. His fist closed
around my shirt collar so tight it threatened to rip the fabric, and his eyes
were so fierce I almost pissed myself. Yanking me close, the words he said next
are ones that I can never forget. His whole body shaking with rage as he
shouted, he told me that I was an entitled brat and an insolent little shit.
Then he threw me. The cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen ended my
flight. My head cracked against the edge of the counter. I thought that was the
worst of it, but the impact to the cupboards knocked Dad’s favorite chef’s
knife off the counter. It landed on my hand, slicing the skin open all the way
across the top. Drop forged German steel holds an edge for years, it turns out.