Remember My Name (7 page)

When he finally pulls away,
placing a hand on my chest to prevent me from following him, I’m forced to open
my eyes. His breathing is rough. “Damn, Jackson, you get me going so fast.”

I grin, glancing down at
myself, then at him. “That’s a good thing.”

He gives me a half smile.
“We seem to keep having this problem.”

I’m not sure what makes me
do it, but before I can change my mind, I reach out to touch him, moving my
hand right over his crotch. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t move to
stop me.

For all those times in gym
class and all those dreams I’ve had, I’ve always wondered what it would feel
like to do this. For a moment, everything else is blocked out as my fingers
report information gathered through the thin fabric of his shorts. I feel the
contour of his firmness extending beyond the base of my palm and his heat
beneath my fingers.

Forcing away the burgeoning
shame before it can threaten to overwhelm me, I have to remind myself that
there’s nothing wrong with this.

 “You approve?” he asks with
the same suggestive grin smeared across his face.

I want him to touch me too.
Even though this isn’t the place for it, I think something else is stopping him
from matching my advance. From the feel of him under my hand and the way his
eyes are roving up, down, left, right, all over me, I really doubt it’s for
lack of interest. So what is it then?

I withdraw my hand. “What’s
wrong?”

Matt looks past me, as if
trying to find the right words before acknowledging my question. “I leave
tomorrow.”

The emotion rising in my
throat catches me off guard. I’ve known all along that he was leaving, just as
well as he did. If anything, it’s been on my mind more than his. “I know that,”
I say quietly. “But who cares?”

“You really want to do long
distance?” His tone leaves no doubt that he doesn’t.

“No, not really.” It’s not a
lie, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to try.

“I just…” his voice trails.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to hold ourselves back like this.”

“Huh?” Whatever he’s trying
to say, I’m not getting it.

He sighs, making a
frustrated gesture. “I really like you, Jackson. You’re fun and you’re smart
and God knows you’re cute, but–”

“But what?” I snap. I feel
like he’s breaking up with me, but we’re not actually together. I don’t even
know what it means or feels like to be in a relationship with another guy. How
fair is it that I’m getting dumped without ever having enjoyed dating in the
first place?

His whole expression seems
to slump. “We’ve only just met. We have known each other for ten days. Ten.
Days. You’re going to be a senior in high school, and I’m starting my sophomore
year in college. And we’re going to try to keep this up after I move back
across the country?” He takes a deep breath before plunging back in. “That’s
not fair to either of us. Who’s to say that we’re not totally wrong for each
other? That if we had more time together, we’d figure out after a few weeks that
you can’t stand my singing voice or you’re totally grossed out by my foot
hair.”

I hate that he’s making
sense, and that he’s making me doubt my newly found feelings for him. Is it
even possible to have real feelings for someone after just a week? The dumbest
part is that for everything he’s said, I can only think of one question. “You
have foot hair?”

He laughs, but it’s not the
playful one full of amusement that I’m used to. Instead it’s tainted by a
resignation, convincing me that I really am getting broken up with right now.
“Yeah,” he admits, “I have foot hair.”

“Like on the top?” I ask,
curiosity overruling my other emotions for the moment.

Rolling his eyes, he answers
quickly, “Yes, on top. It goes from my ankle to my big toe. Is that really what
you want to talk about right now?”

“No, it’s not, but I don’t
know what else to say.”

“I think we should enjoy
this for what it is – an amazing week spent together. Even if I disregard
the glaring issue that I’ve never been with a guy before and this feels really
fucking weird sometimes… we’ve only just met. And as much as I like you, I
don’t want to start a long distance relationship off of
one week
. You
get that, right?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I get
it.” I don’t even disagree with him necessarily, but it just sucks having to
get it thrown at me so suddenly. “So what now?”

“We enjoy the time we have
left, and then we go our own ways until next summer.”

If there was any part of
this conversation that suggested even the slightest possibility of a future
that includes Matt, this is it. I only wish that I could stop myself from
jumping on it with such hopefulness. “Next summer?”

“Sure,” he says. “Then we
can take the time to get to know each other properly.”

Unwilling to stay in the
park any longer, we retreat to his house. His parents still aren’t home, but
getting Matt’s clothes off is the furthest thing from my mind. He seems to know
it too, because the walk up the stairs to his room is wrapped in a forlorn
silence. It’s not fair. If only we’d met at the beginning of the summer. Even a
few weeks ago would have been enough.

As angry as I am about the
whole thing, he’s right that a week together isn’t enough to start something
serious. I might be acting foolish about the whole first crush thing, but I’m
not so naïve to think that you can fall in love in ten days. Fall in lust?
Absolutely. But that’s not love. It can lead to love, but on its own it’s
nothing.

We curl up on his bed, in
the same spot that we made out for the first time. Dropping my head onto his
shoulder, I fight to maintain my composure. I’m not going to cry. Closing my
eyes, I let his warmth and his scent fill my senses.

With his arm around me, he
runs his fingers through my hair. Tracing his thumb along the top of my ear, he
leans over and presses his lips to my forehead. “I’m sorry it worked out like
this,” he whispers. “Next summer, okay?”

Inhaling swiftly to clear
the sadness in my sinuses, I repeat firmly, “Next summer.”

Jackson

Nine Months Later

“Where do I start?” I ask
Dad, gesturing with my hammer.

“Wherever you want. It all
has to come down,” he says, meeting my eyes.

Whipping my arm forward, I
bury the head of my hammer in the wall. Plaster particles explode outward along
with a cloud of dust. When I wrench the hammer out, chunks of plaster and thin
wooden lath come along with it.

“Damn, son,” he says,
sounding impressed.

I shrug, fighting off a
grin. “Might as well have some fun with it.”

With a grunt, he knocks a
hole of his own in the wall. The muscles tensing in his arm, he works the
hammer free. I’m surprised he offered to help with this, but I’m glad he did.
Otherwise it would have been me alone tearing down the old plaster walls in
this room, all fricking day.

Our hammers rip into the
wall time after time, until the floor is covered in piles of plaster and broken
lath boards. The walls and ceiling in this room were victims of the roof leak
when Matt and I re-shingled last summer. So much water came through that the
plaster started to crumble in a bunch of places. It wasn’t very apparent at
first, but after a few weeks it looked like crap. I told Dad we should just
putty over it and repaint, but he insisted on doing it “the right way.” Sounded
like typical bullshit to me, but at least he’s not making me do this by myself.

Downstairs the phone rings,
and Dad steps out of the room. After the third ring, I hear his distant voice
answer it. I keep smashing away.

I’m about to swing again
when Dad’s voice stops me. “Bad news and good news,” he says.

I swivel my head to see him.
He has the door cracked open, peering in as though seeing the progress for the
first time.

“What?” I ask, the hammer
hanging from my fingers.

“It’s too bad we didn’t
start an hour later.” His eyes skim over the room. We’ve ripped down a good
portion of the exterior facing wall, right down to the studs. This house is too
old to have insulation, so we can see straight through to the substrate beneath
the exterior siding.

“Why? I thought you said you
wanted all the walls brought down.” A wave of frustration builds inside me. If
he changes his mind about needing this done, I swear…

“I did,” he says, “but
something just came up. If I’d known sooner, we wouldn’t have started this
project. Now we might as well take it all down.”

“What are you talking
about?” I demand. Lowering my voice to a safer, more deferential tone, I
quickly backtrack before Dad can get pissed. “Sorry, I mean, what’s going on?
Who called?”

Ben

“Ben.” Mom’s voice steals
away sleep’s comforting embrace. My eyes refuse to open yet, reluctant to give
up my dream. Savoring the lingering feeling of absolute comfort and safety for
just a few moments longer, I finally give in.

Mom is still standing in the
doorway. “Morning,” she says, smiling lightly. Despite my disappointment at being
wrenched from sleep, I can’t help but smile back at her. Mom is beautiful,
there’s no other word for it. Her long hair is blond like mine, except maybe a
shade lighter. It’s only possible to tell when we’re both in the sun, though.

Crossing the room, she sits
on the edge of the bed and lays her hand on the back of my neck. “Morning,” I
say, my voice scratchy. Her fingers gently massage the muscles of my neck along
my spine, moving up and down. No matter how many times she does this, it feels
amazing every time.

I know that at work she can
be aggressive, and I’ve heard she’s put the fear of God into more than one
entry-level analyst – it’s how she moved up through her company so fast
– but I’ve never seen that side of her.

I yawn unabashedly,
stretching under the covers but making sure to keep in range of her
miracle-working fingers.

“I made your favorite,” she
says, continuing to rub my neck.

“French toast?”

“And bacon.”
Yes
. She
stands up.

“Don’t stop, it feels good.”
I give her my best puppy dog face.

Mom laughs. “That’s all you
get, sleepy boy. Now get up, breakfast is ready.”

“I’m eighteen,” I grumble.
“I’m not a boy anymore.”

“Sorry. See you in the
kitchen, sleepy man-boy.”

*     *     *    
*

Stabbing the last square of
French toast on my plate, I shove it into my mouth, trying unsuccessfully to
keep my jaw defiantly clenched while I chew. I should have known it was too
good to be true the moment she mentioned bacon. But this was worse than I ever
expected. In fact, it’s bullshit through and through.

“I’m sorry, Ben, but you
have to go. I wish it didn’t work out like this, but it’s just the way it is.”

She’s never left for this
long before, not ever. “How can they make you leave for the whole summer?
That’s stupid.”

“I don’t like it either,
honey.” She cups her hand on my cheek.

I push her hand away a
little harder than necessary. “Why can’t I just stay here? I’m legally an
adult.”

She braces herself on the
kitchen table. “Legally maybe, but I can’t leave you here by yourself for that
long. Surely you must understand that? You’re going to live with Jeff –
your dad, I mean – and your brother for the summer.”

“And my life here? I have
friends and plans and… and this is fucking ridiculous.”

Her gaze hardens. “That
language is unnecessary, Ben.” She turns to empty the dishwasher. “I’m sure
Jackson will introduce you to his friends.”

I know I’m acting childish,
but this whole thing is a goddamn joke. Unfair doesn’t even begin to scratch
the surface of having the summer before my freshman year at Stanford snatched
away from me. “His friends probably suck,” I hiss, even though I’m really not
sure. The last time I spoke to him was on the phone over a year ago. It was
only for a few minutes, and we didn’t really dig into details about our
personal lives.

“I’m sure you’ll figure
something out. It’s also possible I could get done sooner than they
anticipate.”

“What is it you’re even
doing? They’ve never sent you on a trip for more than a few weeks.” I kick the
tip of my shoe against the white tile before glancing back to meet her eyes.

She returns a gleaming glass
mixing bowl to the cupboard. “They just wanted to get the whole year’s travel
out of the way in one go. You know, trying to save costs on airfare.”

“Except you’re having to pay
extra
airfare to send me across the country.”

“Yes, well, they’ve agreed
to cover that.”

I roll my eyes. “So why
don’t they just not send you for three months?”

“Can we please not argue,
Ben?” She sighs and her shoulders sink an extra little bit. For the first time,
I notice the age that finally seems to be catching up to her.

*     *     *    
*

The memory of my
conversation with Mom fills me once again, making my stomach roil. It was a
week ago, but it still pisses me off to even think about it. I can’t believe
that this happened.

Someone is staring back at
me. Blinking quickly, I glance away. I have a tendency to daydream and stare
off into space. Or at people. And with so many people in the airport, it’s
almost impossible to look anywhere and not be ogling someone.

I’m waiting on one of the
benches just outside the main terminal, my duffel bag tucked between my knees.
I check my phone, just in case I somehow missed a call in the last thirty
seconds. Jeff is late. He was supposed to pick me up at five-thirty, and it’s a
quarter after six.

An overweight family of five
waddles past as I look away down the length of the terminal. Where the hell is
he? Is this what it’s going to be like living with him and my brother for the
rest of the summer? Or do they have some other obnoxious quirk? I haven’t
actually
seen
either of them in years. Five years? Six? I’m not really
sure.

“Hey there, Ben.” A hand
claps me on the shoulder.

I jump in surprise. “Hi,
Jeff.” He looks like I remember, except a lot older. His hair is mixed with
gray and there are wrinkles around his eyes. He’s still thin and tall, though
not as tall as I remember.

He frowns for a second,
probably because I didn’t call him
Dad
but he recovers quickly. “Sorry
I’m late. Traffic in the Cities is always a nightmare.”

The Cities? I stand and pick
up my duffel bag. “Can we go? I’m hungry.”

He takes the opportunity to
squeeze me into an awkward hug. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Yeah, uh, you too, but
you’re making it hard for me to breathe,” I wheeze.

“Sorry.” He releases me, and
I take a deep breath to refill my lungs. “The truck is this way.” He points
toward the exit labeled parking ramp.

When we get to his truck, a
dark gray F-150, he takes my bag and tosses it into the back. The vehicle looks
like a new model, but scuffs and scratches cover the tailgate and the bed.
“Your truck is kind of beat up,” I say, hopping into the passenger side.

He nods. “She sees a lot of
use.” The engine rumbles to life, and he shifts into reverse. “Buckle up, son.”

Why does he keep calling me
that? I get it – technically I’m his offspring. But just because I’m here
now doesn’t mean he’s dear old dad. It wasn’t my choice to get thrown back
across the country, and if he thinks it’s going to change the pitiful excuse we
have for a father-son relationship, he’s out of his mind.

“Ben?” He’s still waiting,
foot on the brake. I snap my seatbelt into place.

“How was your flight?” he
asks, turning carefully out of the parking ramp.

The bright daylight of the
summer evening washes over the truck as we clear the shadow of the concrete
parking structure, forcing me to squint until I pull down the sun visor. When I
do, a small rectangular mirror on the underside catches my blond hair in its
view. “Flight was long,” I say. It didn’t help that I was pissed off before the
flight. And during the flight. And now.

“California is pretty far
from here, so I suppose it would be.” Scanning his rearview mirror, Jeff merges
onto the freeway.

Forcing my gritted teeth to
relax, I take a deep breath. “How is Jackson?” I ask. My heart thumps in my
chest. I can’t believe I’m actually about to see him again. It’s been so long.
How different will he look?

Jeff taps the button for the
cruise control and lets his foot off the gas. “Jackson is doing good. He was
going to come along, but he was still out when I left. He’ll be home before we
are though, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” I say.

“You weren’t what?”

“Worrying.”

“Oh,” he says, pausing. “I
see.”

Thirty minutes of silence
pass before we pull off the highway onto a dirt road. I haven’t even seen a
dirt road in… actually I’m not sure when the last time was. Tall grasses
growing alongside the road blow in the wind, and only the occasional tree
punctuates the landscape. Otherwise there’s only farmland, everywhere. A lot of
corn, but other stuff too. Wheat, maybe. The land is too open and empty here,
like it might swallow me up whole if it had half a chance.

Up ahead on the left is a
white house that stirs faded memories within me. In the yard surrounding it are
weeping willow trees, their wiry branches conducting an invisible orchestra in
the diminishing light of evening. Beyond the willows is a swath of woods
extending back from the yard, providing a stark contrast to the rolling
cropland that covers everything else.

 “Here we are.” He turns into
the driveway, bringing the truck to a stop in front of the house at the center
of the tree-sheltered yard. It’s been years since I was here. So long that I
almost don’t remember it. Almost. The house is a two-story with red trim and a
lot of windows. It’s quaint and seems kind of small, at least compared to when
I was ten.

I jump as the driver’s door
slams. Closing my fingers on the door handle, I give it a sharp pull and hop to
the ground.

“Go on in. I’ll get your
bag,” Jeff says as he walks around the truck and grabs my duffel bag out of the
back, dusting the dirt off it.

I take a breath and my first
step toward the front door. He said Jackson would be home. Is he waiting just
inside the door? Or in his room?

The screen door is light and
opens with a noise that makes me cringe. Jeff catches the door behind me before
it can slam shut, following me in. Kicking my shoes off next to the row of
boots and shoes in the entryway, I step gingerly into the next room. A couch
runs along the far wall directly across from a TV, which is off. Beside the
couch is a worn leather recliner, and curled up in it, reading a book, is my
brother.

He sets the book down in his
lap. Our eyes dig into each other, searching, examining. His hair is blond and
a little shorter than mine. Slightly rounded cleft chin, bright blue eyes, and
a smattering of light freckles across the top of his cheeks. We stare at each
other for a full minute. In the back of my mind, I’m aware that Jeff is just
watching us, but that’s not where my focus is.

I thought Jackson would look
different after the years, but we still appear almost exactly alike. It’s like
looking in a mirror except there’s no glass here. It catches me by surprise,
because we haven’t seen each other in so long. But looking at him now, it’s
impossible to miss it. My brother and I share more than a set of parents. We
also share a genetic code.

“Hi, Jackson,” I say
quietly.

He flips down the footrest
on the recliner and stands up. “Ben.” The word feels empty. Almost as empty as
our relationship over the last eight years. “Good to see you.”

Tensing my shoulders to
force away the shiver dragging its frosty fingers over my skin, I stare at him.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, because we hardly know each other anymore. I
guess I was hoping for more from him than coolness. It seems weird to think of
him trying to give me a hug, but I wouldn’t have stopped him.

Jeff walks between us and
into the next room through a rounded archway. I hear him pull a chair out, so I
follow with Jackson bringing up the rear. Jeff is sitting at the kitchen table.
“Have a seat,” he says.

I sit down as Jackson opens
the fridge, reaching for one of several brown bottles in the bottom drawer. He
glances at Jeff, who shakes his head. Jackson detours and grabs a coke from the
top shelf. “Ben, you want a pop?”

Pop. In case I’d forgotten I
was in the Midwest. “I’ll have a Mountain Dew.”

“We only have coke and root
beer.”

Who
are
these people?
“Coke then.”

“Sure thing.” He grabs the
can and sets it in front of me, taking a seat beside Jeff.

“So how have you been, Ben?”
Jeff asks, realizing his phrasing mistake only at the end of his sentence.

I frown. Does he want a
serious answer? Because it would go something like,
it’s been a clusterfuck
ever since Mom announced she was leaving for the summer and I was getting
shipped across the country.
“Fine,” I say.

Jackson raises an eyebrow.
“I’m glad you’re still the same old bowl of sunshine.”

“Fuck off,” I snap, my eyes
narrowing.

Jeff cuts in, “Hey, hey.
None of that. We’re really glad to have you here, Ben, but I have to tell you
that we’re in the middle of a few things. I just had two of my employees quit
this last week, so I’ll need both Jackson’s and your help for the next few
weeks until I can find someone new.”