Remember My Name (28 page)

“You promised,” he whispers.

“Promised what?”

“The day you gave me this.”

My eyes shift to the ring,
and I realize what’s in my hand. I’m not sure how I know, but I do. It was so
long ago, but I remember opening it before I gave it to him, so I would always
know what was inside. The one-dollar plastic bubble that I gave him. The ring
was indeed meant as a physical reminder of someone close to him. But it wasn’t
for anyone else. It was to remember me.

Despite the dimness in the
room, I examine the ring just as I did years ago. The metal is covered in
scratches, some deeper than others, but overall the abrasions bring out a dull
shine. Did he wear it until his fingers grew too big? From the weight and how
it’s taken scratches, it must be some kind of low grade steel, which is
surprising since it came from a vending machine. Then again, it was almost ten
years ago that I gave it to him, back when everything wasn’t made quite so
cheap.

And I remember my promise.
My promise to come back to him.

His stomach rises and falls
with steady breathing, but his eyes don’t move from mine. Despite his even
breaths, despite his intoxication, despite everything that’s happened today, I
can sense the tension contained within every cell of his body as he awaits my
response. The trillions of cells that have the same blueprint as every one of
mine. A wave of regret crashes over me. I don’t know what he’s gone through
over the years, but whatever it was, he didn’t deserve it. He’s my twin
brother, my other half, and we should have been together.

“I won’t ever leave you
again, Jacks,” I say quietly, using his childhood nickname for the first time
in years. The word feels simultaneously light and heavy.

Glistening liquid wells up
in his eyes. “How can I know you really mean that this time?”

I set the ring back onto his
bare chest, letting my hand rest on top of it. His skin is hot under my fingers
as tears pool up in my eyes as well, threatening to drip at any moment. My
voice is husky when I tell him. “I always meant it.”

“Did you really?” His voice
is tense, but underneath it I hear… hope.

Instead of answering with
words, I strip to my boxers and lie down next to him. Pushing lightly on his
shoulder, I get him to roll over onto his side. Moving behind him so his back
is just a few inches from me, I reach over and sling my arm around his chest,
holding him like he always used to hold me when we were kids. I pull us
together, feeling his timid heartbeat as he relaxes into me, and for the first
time in weeks, I’m able to breathe freely.

“I’m never letting you go,”
I whisper in his ear.

*     *     *    
*

When Jackson’s breathing
– always steady even when awake – deepens to a heavier note, I
extricate myself from him as carefully as I can. I’m pretty sure that he
managed to expel the majority of the alcohol he consumed, but whatever was left
must be working in my favor, because he doesn’t awake as I slip out of bed and
get dressed.

It’s completely dark now as
I steal down the stairs and out of the house. I’m not sure what time it is, but
the moon and the stars shine down through a clear sky. Dad’s truck is nowhere
in sight. Wherever he went, he hasn’t come home yet.

Reaching the clearing, I
take a seat on the stone where I sat beside Jackson several hours earlier.
Lying back, I gaze up into the night sky. The stars glitter above just as they
always have. Why am I even out here?

A midnight breeze caresses
my cheek, carrying with it a green poplar leaf. Taken before its prime, the
leaf flutters down, landing beside me. Sitting up, I reach out to touch it, but
at the last moment my hand detours, distracted by the leather of my shoe.
Running the tips of my fingers over the sueded leather, I stop at the torn
section from when Jackson kicked a hole in the wall while wearing my shoes. In
that piece of leather, I find the answer I’ve been looking for.

I have to go back to
California soon. I’m not sure exactly when Mom comes back, but her trip wasn’t
supposed to last
all
summer. She’s coming back soon, and when she does,
I’ll be on a flight home. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be leaving Jackson again.
Even if I wasn’t honestly scared to leave him here alone, he doesn’t deserve this
life here. He needs me now – maybe more than all those times I needed him
– and I’m not going to abandon him. Not again. And that starts tonight.

Back inside the house, I
peek into his room to make sure he’s still okay. Peacefully asleep, his chest
moves with his breaths, lifting and lowering the ring I gave him. As much as
I’d love to get my own rest, I’m still worried about Dad and what he might do
when he comes home. Closing the door once more, I sit down in the hallway,
blocking passage to the room. Leaning against the wall, I cross my legs. This
night might be a long one, but it’s better than the alternative. I won’t let
anyone hurt my brother again.

*     *     *    
*

I’m awoken the next morning
when the bedroom door opens. Jackson is staring at me. Pushing myself up to a
sitting position, I exhale a groggy breath and wipe the sleep from my eyes.

“Benny?” His voice has
always been able to pull me out of my own thoughts faster than anything else,
but his use of my childhood name brings a warmth into my chest and causes my
eyes to snap to his within a fraction of a second. “Jacks,” I answer. The
syllable glides across my tongue, tasting foreign yet at the same time deeply
familiar, like welcoming an old friend home. He smiles.

The two words we’ve just
exchanged are so much more than that. They contain more information than an
encyclopedia and are more heartfelt than a romance novel. They’re a
declaration, an affirmation, and an oath – of our brotherhood, and our
twinship.

I pull my knees up to my chest
and simply look at him. Sitting down beside me, back against the wall, he looks
right back at me. And then we talk. For the first time since I moved here for
the summer, we really talk.

I tell him about how I’ve
gotten to know Katie and how much I actually enjoy working with the plants. I
tell him about the friends I left back home. About how no matter how hard I
tried to make a friendship that emulated our relationship as children, it never
came close. I tell him how much I missed him. How much it hurt every day that
we were apart.

He tells me about how our
dad’s discipline slowly changed over the years to become punishment just for
the sake of it, occasionally crossing a line. He tells me about first realizing
he was gay, how he felt so alone, how he wondered if I was the same way. He
tells me how he always blamed me for leaving, and couldn’t bring himself to
accept my offers throughout high school to reconnect, even as it killed him
inside to turn me down. He tells me about getting to know Matt, and he tells me
what happened the day they had sex. He tells me how it hurt.

I bristle, more so than I
have at any point through all of his painful confessions. Jacks must be able to
detect the change in me too, because he says, “I’ll get past it. It will just take
some time, I think.”

Clenching my teeth as if
that will help stifle the rage inside, I lean over and wrap my arms around him.
He melts into me, his muscles relaxing.

I don’t understand how
someone could hurt him like that. It makes me want to scream and break shit. It
makes me want to hurt that fucker back. More than anything, it makes me wish I
could protect Jackson from the world. But that won’t help. The only thing I can
do right now is to be here for him, to hold him through the hurt.

I continue to hold him as
tears drip from his eyes, through his whimpers and mumbled words. I hold him
until he’s quiet and my white-hot rage has mostly burned itself out.

“What do you want to do
about Dad?”

“What is there to do?” he
says, shifting his eyes to the window and the early morning sun stretching its
warm fingers toward us. “We both leave here at the end of the summer, then it
won’t matter anymore. I’ll survive until then.”

“You can’t stay here, you
know.”

In an instant, fury
overtakes his expression. “Where the fuck am I going to go? I can’t run away to
California like you. I’m
stuck
here. I’ve always been stuck here. Don’t
you get that?”

I don’t respond right away.
Jacks is right to be angry, but that doesn’t mean he’s right about the rest of
it. The gears click together in my mind, systematically bringing me closer to a
solution.

“What are you thinking
about?”

I look up, still mentally
hammering out the details. “What if you came to live with Mom and me for the
summers? You would never have to see Dad if you didn’t want.”

“Dad wouldn’t allow it.”
Then after a pause, he says, “You think she would be okay with that?”

“I’m sure she would, and it
doesn’t matter what Dad thinks.”

Jacks rubs the side of his
thumb over his knee. “I don’t know.”

Without responding to him, I
withdraw my phone and call one of the numbers I attempted yesterday. On the
third ring, it gets answered. “Hello, this is Marjorie Speerman. Can I help
you?”

“Hi Marjorie, it’s Ben,” I
say quickly. “I left a voicemail on your line yesterday. I’m trying to get a
hold of my mom.” Jacks shoots a questioning look at me. I shrug and make an
impatient gesture. Marjorie is Mom’s secretary, and she’s always been nice to
me, so I don’t want to be rude.

“Oh, I see,” she says, using
an overly happy office voice. “Unfortunately, she isn’t back in the office yet
and won’t be for another week.”

“Thanks,” I say, my hopes
disappearing. If Jacks and I could have flown out now, there would have been
half a chance to get away from this place. But if Mom is still overseas and we
have to stay here, I’m afraid Jackson will never be able to come with me.

“You’re welcome.” She hangs
up.

Jackson

“Benny, talk to me,” I say,
gripping his shoulders. “Benny,” I repeat. His eyes slowly rise. The hollow
look I find there scares me. I’m the one whose insides have just been scraped
clean, but the vacant expression staring back at me looks exactly how I feel.

“I thought we could leave,”
he says, his earlier hopes fading into darkness. “What are we going to do now?”

“What do you mean? We’re
going to be fine.” I watch him, noting the changes in his expression. For the
most part, I’ve been able to suppress my feelings regarding all the fucked up
shit happening over the last week, but it’s only because I’ve had Benny. His
support and daring cheerfulness have kept me afloat through the storm, even as
the waves and wind and lightning have pummeled me into near submission. Without
him, nothing would be left to hold me up. Which is why it’s so damn scary
seeing him like this.

“Benny,” I plead. “What’s
wrong?”

His jaw clenches, his lips
pressing into a line. “I can’t let you stay here. I can’t do that to you. But
we can’t just up and leave, not at least without one of our parents knowing
what we’re doing.”

My fingers dig into his
biceps, I pull him to me. He leans in awkwardly, practically falling into my
lap. I hold him and wait. It’s always been impossible to force anything out of
Benny.

One by one, his muscles
soften, and he accepts my embrace. I exhale slowly, banishing every last
molecule of air from my chest. I squeeze extra tightly for just a second, and
then I release him. “Why not?” I breathe the words like a confessed secret.

“Why not what?” Benny asks.

“Why can’t we just go to
Mom’s place? You have the keys right?” I say, speaking faster now. “We’ll leave
a note telling Dad where we went, so he doesn’t report us as missing persons or
whatever. And then we go. We’re eighteen, no one can stop us.”

The hope in his eyes is
reflected in my own. After all these years it finally feels like we’re charting
our own course instead of having it done for us. The thought is exciting, and
terrifying. Standing up, I pull him to his feet as well.
Are we really going
to do this?

*     *     *    
*

Benny’s arms tighten around
my chest as we merge onto the freeway and get blasted by a gust of wind from a
passing semi truck. It’s one of the few times since leaving the house that I’m
glad there are two of us on the bike. We are
so
going to get pulled
over. And when we do, we’re screwed. The bike is street legal, but with only a
conditional motorcycle permit, I’m not supposed to have passengers, and I’m
definitely not supposed to be on the freeway with one. We took back roads most
of the way here, but there was no avoiding this highway if we want to get to
the airport. Benny doesn’t even have a helmet.

With the two of us, this
thing can barely do sixty-five with the throttle wide open. As irritating as it
is to have cars whizzing past us, I slowed down to sixty a while ago so the
engine doesn’t overheat or anything. Driving to work is one thing, but taking
the freeway toward Minneapolis is a whole different game. I flick my eyes to
the side mirror as we pass an onramp.
Please let us not get pulled over
.

We get lucky. In the ten
miles of freeway to the airport, we don’t pass a single cop. As we pull into
the long-term parking ramp and into one of the motorcycle spots, I exhale in
relief. My palms and forehead are covered in sweat. Behind me, Benny slips off
the bike so I can drop the kickstand.

Slung over his shoulder is
the small backpack with our stuff. Considering how fast I packed, even the
minimalist in me was surprised at how little we managed to bring. Our
passports, two pairs of boxers, two pairs of socks, a bottle of Gatorade.
That’s it. I would have brought more, but we couldn’t really carry much more
without a car. Most of his stuff is back in L.A. anyway, and I know on good
authority that it all fits me. His clothes are probably a lot more trendy than
any of my stuff anyway. And he was surprised when I assumed he was gay, too.

With Benny in tow, we enter
the Lindberg terminal. I’ve been to the Minneapolis-St. Paul International
Airport a few times, but always with Dad or a school group or something, never
by myself. And I sure as hell have never bought a ticket at the airport before,
but I know it’s possible. The ticket and check-in counters stretch for what
looks like a half mile.
Damn this place is huge
. I glance at Benny and
his eyes glazed with exhaustion. He looks despondent, his attention wandering
across the expansive terminal.

His current physical state
is a reminder that he spent the entire night outside my door, watching over me
just in case Dad came home. He stayed up all night. For me. At that moment, my
heart seems to double in weight, as if it can’t hold all my feelings for Benny
on its own.

Approaching the nearest
information counter, I wait behind an older man with a rolling black suitcase.
When the lady points him off toward the far end of the terminal, I tug on
Benny’s arm to get him to stay with me as I move up to the counter. “Hi,” I
say.

The lady smiles at me. She’s
chewing gum but not being unprofessional about it. “How can I help you?”

I feel like an idiot, but
there’s no other choice than just to ask how this works. “We need to fly to
L.A., but we don’t have tickets or anything. We can just buy them at a counter,
right?”

She smacks her gum. Okay,
now it’s irritating. “Look at the outgoing departures and then go to the
airline counter and ask if you can still get a ticket.” She glances at Ben
behind me, her widening smile indicating that only now is she realizing that
we’re identical. “Or two tickets.”

“Uh, thanks.” I tug on the
hem of Benny’s shirt to pull his gaze back from whatever he’s staring at. He
follows me to the displays with all of the departures. A few are going to L.A.,
but they’re leaving too soon to even try to catch them. Most of the flights on
the screen are for Delta, though, so I figure that might be a good place to
start.

The line isn’t too long for
the ticketing and check-in counter, but my eyes keep darting glances at the
other passengers. Everyone already has tickets of course, brandishing them as
proof that they’re in the right place. We get a few looks from people in the
line, so I try to keep my gaze fixed on the floor as much as possible. I’m not
sure if the curiosity is because of the bruises still on Benny’s face and his
exhausted expression or just because we’re identical. It’s probably no help
that we’re both wearing plain white t-shirts. Whenever we match in public
– always by accident, of course – it attracts even more attention
than normal, like we’re the locus of some mystic magnetic field.

The last passengers in front
of us finish checking in a monstrous bag that must have been over the weight
limit, because the man is stuffing a credit card back into his wallet. The
woman at the counter in her crisp dark blue uniform waves us forward. A glance
over my shoulder confirms that my brother is following without me having to
nudge him.

“Identification and tickets,
please” she says.

My cheeks grow hot as I
struggle with the zipper on the backpack. Benny is standing just behind me. I’m
worried he won’t snap out of this until he has a chance to sleep, but it’s
impossible to tell with him.

I lay our passports in front
of her. “We don’t have tickets yet,” I admit.

“No problem,” she says.
“Where would you like to go?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Sure,” she says, squinting
at her computer. She taps away at the keyboard. “The next flight I can get you
on leaves at 5:15 p.m., arriving at 7:12 p.m. local time. Tickets are $698.00
each.”

Holy hell. “Are you
serious?” I suspected I might not be able to afford for both of us to fly, but
I can’t even send Benny. I would pay it if I could, but I definitely can’t. The
card I got to start building credit only has a $750 limit. I pay it off every
month, but it has like a hundred bucks or so already on it this month.

The woman gives me a small
smile. “Prices to fly day-of are quite expensive I’m afraid. Any flight to LAX
today will be the same price.”

“Um, never mind then I
guess,” I say, my cheeks swelling with embarrassment.

“Wait, what?” Benny
interrupts me. “Jacks, we have to go,” he says, his voice imploring.

I flush, lowering my voice.
“I can’t pay for both of us. I would if I could, but I can’t drop fourteen
hundred bucks on this if I don’t
have
it.”

He looks confused, like I’m
speaking a foreign language to him, before the cloud of tiredness around him
clears just a bit. Then he pulls out his wallet and hands me a silver American
Express card. “Use this.”

Raising my eyebrows, I take
the card from him and hand it to the woman. “Try this, I guess.”

“Two tickets?”

“Yeah.”

Benny remains coherent
enough that we’re able to get through security and to our gate without any
awkward questions, but once we sit down on the waiting bench, I can see his
gaze fade away again as he stares across the tarmac. I wish there was something
I could do to help him, but he really just needs a good night’s sleep.

Our flight leaves in an
hour, but after the trip here and the ordeal of getting our tickets, I’m okay
with having a moment to catch my breath. My phone starts ringing. I slide it
out of my pocket and look at the screen. The muscles in my chest constrict and
suddenly it’s hard to breathe. It’s Dad calling. Dragging my finger across the
red phone icon, I send him to voicemail. Benny doesn’t shift his eyes away from
the endless stretches of runway.

I have to piss, but I don’t
want to leave him here alone. “Come to the bathroom with me,” I tell him. He
doesn’t respond, so I give his arm a squeeze. At my touch, he stands up and
follows me.

He hovers behind me as I
walk up the farthest urinal. I aim an irritated look back at him. “You going to
pee or just stand there? I’m not going to hold it for you.”

For the first time since
pulling out his Am Ex card at the ticket counter, he really looks at me. Then
he approaches the next urinal over and unzips. I let out a long sigh. I’m going
to be so glad when this day is done.

*     *     *    
*

The moment Benny gets the
deadbolt retracted, he rushes through the door and into the condo he shares
with Mom. Lights flick on as he passes the rooms, destroying the darkness. I
stifle a yawn and lean against the doorframe, unable to move another inch. I’m
utterly exhausted, so I have no idea how Benny is still going. A moment later
he reappears. “She’s not here,” he says. He managed to nap a little on the
plane, which was fortunate, because I’ve been hopelessly lost since we left the
airport. The cab ride was over a half hour, but all it took was another flash
of that silver credit card and the driver gladly took us.

“What now?” I ask. Ever
since we’ve gotten here, he’s been running the show. He’s not back to normal,
but he’s functional at least.

Benny looks around the
entryway like he’s expecting to find instructions. “I don’t know. If she’s
going to start work again in a week, she must be getting back soon. They won’t
send her back without at least a day off.”

I check the time on my
phone, ignoring the notification about my still unopened voicemail. “It’s
almost eleven,” I inform him.

“I guess we sleep then.”

Neither of us has eaten
since having a quick snack on the plane, but for once I’m actually more tired
than I am hungry. He must feel the same way too, because after sharing a glass
of water, he leads me to his bedroom. Their condo is really nice, way more
spacious than I would have imagined. Then again, since Mom is apparently a hot
shot VP at her company, it’s not that much of a surprise I suppose.

 The room is immaculately
clean. I wonder if he sanitized before he left, or if he always keeps it like
this. Letting the backpack drop from my shoulders onto the floor, I strip down
to my underwear as Benny does the same. I watch as he climbs into bed.

I know we slept next to each
other for part of last night, but I don’t want to make any assumptions. Benny
has always been more reserved about that kind of thing. “Should I sleep on the
couch?” I ask.

He stifles a yawn and flicks
off the bedside lamp. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his words alluding to
another half of the sentence left unspoken –
but I’d rather you stay
here.
I slide under the covers beside him. Neither of us moves for almost a
minute. He sniffles beside me. It’s the first time today that either has had a
chance to let our guard down.

“I’m scared, Jacks,” he
whispers.

“Of what?” Somehow I feel
like the big brother again. He did what was needed to get us out of Minnesota,
but now that we’re here...

“Of losing you.”

“It’s going to be okay.” I hope
to God that I’m not lying to him. Or to myself.