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Damien shook his throbbing hand. “This hurts my fingers, Dant.” He stuck his forefinger in his mouth, red from picking open the metal fasteners at the back of the frames.
“I know. This sucks. It’s a form of Chinese torture.”
“No, it isn’t,” said his brother. “The Chinese use a sophisticated means of torture to winnow out facts from unwilling victims.”
“Right. I forgot how smart you are. Let’s get a knife from the silverware drawer.” Dante wiped the droplet of blood from his fingertip on a tissue Damien had provided.
Damien insisted, “Silverware is for putting food in your mouth, Dant. It’s not a tool.”
“Got any better ideas?”
“Duh. Let’s get a screwdriver.” He scrambled from the bed.
The process took longer than Dante would have liked since Damien asked a million questions about the photos he wasn’t a part of or commented on the ones he took. He’d accompanied them on several outings over Dante and Madeline’s combustive two-year love affair. He’d seen the photos on many occasions, but Dante knew his memory since the brain trauma was pretty unreliable.
Finally, they finished. “This is the last one, bud.” Dante slipped the tip of the screwdriver under the glossy paper to lift the photo from the frame. He stared at the pile spread all over the blue bedspread, his eyes growing all misty again. He swiped away the tears with his thumb and forefinger.
“Why don’t you keep her, if you’re so sad, Dant?”
“I can’t keep her. She really, really needs to go away.”
“Why does she have to go away?”
“I told you. She needs to.”
“I don’t want to be in a relationship.” Damien shook his head. “Madeline makes you sad, then happy, sad, then happy.”
“Yeah. She did that. I need to remember that. Thank you.”
“Sure thing. Let’s send her off. How do you want to do it?”
“I don’t know. First, we need to get rid of these.” He swept his hand across the images.
“And then she’ll go away?”
“We hope so. We hope Madeline will go away.”
“Then, let’s burn them. I saw a documentary once about people burning photos.”
Dante blinked at his brother’s idea. He’d already thought to burn the photos a good idea but didn’t think his extremely literal brother would want to go along with it. “Great idea. But you don’t have a fireplace.”
Damien scoffed. “Not a fireplace, Dant. I have some street friends who stay warm at night burning stuff in old oil barrels.”
“You mean homeless people?”
“Their home is the city. That’s what they told me.”
“And you’re friends with them?”
“A couple of them.”
“Will Ben mind?”
“Dant.” His brother looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Ben’s not my prison warden. I can come and go if I tell him when I’ll be back.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’ll prove it. Ben!” he shouted.
A few seconds later Ben stepped into the doorway. “Gentle reminder, Damien. It’s better to approach the room where someone is sitting and get their attention that way.”
“Sorry, Ben, I forgot. Dant and I are going to get rid of these in the alley.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed briefly. “I don’t want you going into any dangerous neighborhoods or participating in littering.”
“I won’t. It’s two blocks over. Dant will be with me.”
“Are you okay with this, Dante?” Ben asked.
“I’m not sure what I’m getting into, but it was his idea, so...” Dante shrugged.
“All right, Damien. How long will you be out?”
“We’ll be back soon. I have the X-Box from seven to eight tonight, remember?”
“Of course. Okay. See you soon.” Ben nodded and shuffled back to his office.
“Let’s go,” said Damien. “I’ll take this half, and you take that half.”
“Okay. Is there a reason you want to split them up?”
“We both need to say goodbye, right?” Again, he shook his head like Dante’s head needed to be examined.
“Right.” Dante laughed and picked up his pile.
As they descended the stairs, Dante said, “I notice you didn’t tell him we’re going to burn the photos in some homeless man’s fire pit.”
“I’m not stupid, Dant,” his brother said. “He’d worry. That’s what he does. That’s his job.”
Two blocks over, they pried open the gate of a cyclone fence, barely held together with a chain, strode through an empty lot, grown over with weeds, and slipped into an alley.
A couple of haggard men, wearing filthy wife beater shirts and dirty trousers, lounged on pieces of cardboard covered with grimy cloth and tarps. One of them read a dog-eared paperback. Piles of clothing sat nearby, stuffed inside a shopping cart missing two wheels.
“Joey,” Damien called.
“Hey, it’s Damien,” the scruffiest of the two said, looking up from his book. “Who’s your friend?”
Dante tensed for a moment. He didn’t want to be rolled for money by a homeless man once the man found out who he was, or have to fight the sleazy bastards.
“It’s my brother. His name is Dante.”
“Evening, Dante.” The old timer lifted his hand.
“Hey,” Dante said, still keeping his guard up. They probably don’t keep up or care about current trends, like musicians.
“We need to make a fire,” Damien said.
“Shit, kid, it’s already blazing in this alley. It’s almost midsummer. Have you been outside much today?”
“Sure I have. This is important. We need to say good-bye to Madeline. She needs to go somewhere.”
The old man’s eyebrows drew together.
“Look, I’ll give you a few dollars for the use of this barrel,” Dante offered. “We only need it for, oh, say thirty minutes, tops.”
“Make it a twenty and you have a deal,” the old guy said, before turning his head and spitting a wad of juicy, stringy phlegm near his feet.
Dante fished in his pocket. “Here’s the twenty. I’ll give you twenty more when we head out, as long as you leave me and my brother alone to do what we need to do.”
Joey eyed his companion. They both shrugged, got to their feet, and wandered down the alleyway, twenty dollar bill in hand. “We’ll be at the corner when you’re done here,” he called over his shoulder.
Dante lifted his hand in acknowledgment before turning to Damien. “Okay, now what? We didn’t think this through. I don’t have any matches, do you?”
Damien crouched in front of their makeshift bedding and said, “They usually keep them close.” He lifted a tattered corner of plastic and said, “Here they are,” holding them up like a prize.
“That’s a start. We need some tinder. These photos might not burn on their own. They might simply smoke.”
“Smoking’s bad for you,” Damien said. “Mom always said that to me. You didn’t listen.”
“I didn’t for a while, but I don’t anymore. I quit a long time ago.”
Damien’s face furrowed. “No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, bro. I did.” When Madeline died. Two years ago. He’d been so sickened by her death, he didn’t want to deal with any more addiction if he could help it.
“Well, good.”
“Yeah, it’s good. Paper? Tinder? Stay focused.”
“There’s a garbage dumpster.” Damien pointed. “Let’s search in there.”
Dante lifted the heavy lid and looked inside. “Score. Good plan, Dami. There are cardboard boxes and paper in here. Help me fish them out.”
“It’s not good to touch garbage.”
“Right. I forgot. Sorry.” You have all these ‘do not do’ and ‘will not touch’ rules. It’s part of your condition. “I’ll do it.”
“Wash your hands when you’re done.”
“As soon as I get near a sink,” Dante assured him. “Oh, these are perfect,” he said, spying some greasy food wrappers. He plucked several boxes and scraps of paper from the bin. He tore the boxes into pieces, shredded the paper, and tossed them in the barrel. He held out his hand, palm up. “Matches.”
When Damien complied, he struck one and dropped it in the barrel. It immediately extinguished. He took out another, lit it, and held it at the edge of a piece of paper, watching the sides burn, then burst into tiny flames. He cupped his hands around his mouth and blew. The flames increased, catching other pieces of paper. Then the cardboard caught. After several minutes, they had a contained fire on their hands.
“Okay, let’s do this, Dami. Say goodbye to Madeline and toss the pictures in the barrel.” Dante picked up one of them standing on top of the Empire State building and reverently placed it in flames.
Damien picked up his pile and tossed the whole stack in the fire, almost smothering the flames. “Bye, Madeline.” He watched the fire for a minute, turned to Dante and said, “Hurry up, I don’t want to miss my X-Box time.”
A quick, short guffaw burst from Dante’s lips. “Oh, my ever practical brother.” He picked up his stack and did the same. “Good-bye, love. May you rest in peace.”
The bundle of photographs burst into flames, and within minutes, the flames began to die down. It felt almost like a letdown. Dante thought he’d feel relieved or fulfilled or complete or something.
“Let’s go,” Damien urged. “We said good-bye.”
“I guess you’re right, bud. We did it.”
“We have to go this way,” Damien said when Dante began to exit the alley. “Joey’s this way.”
“Right.”
“We have to fulfill our promises. Ben tells me that all the time.”
“He’s correct,” Dante said.
As they strode toward the sidewalk, Dante’s phone buzzed. He pulled it free, swiping the screen with his thumb.
Finally got the courage to text u.
Kennedy? Dante’s heart leaped into his throat. I’m glad, he typed. Want 2 get together?
I think so.
Dante stopped breathing, still striding beside his brother. A few seconds later, more words appeared.
Yes. Please.
Dinner at eight? I have to get cleaned up.
Eight’s perfect. I can meet u somewhere.
Dante’s hands practically shook as he typed. Dirty Paris? Know where it is? A long pause followed. “Come on, come on,” Dante muttered under his breath.
I think so. I’ll Google it. See u at 8.
“Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy,” Damien said.
“What?” Dante looked up from his screen.
“It was her, wasn’t it? Now I have to hear Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy.”
Dante laughed. His brother possessed the most uncanny awareness of Dante’s thoughts. It often seemed like he’d granted Damien an all-access pass when the kid was born. He fished the other twenty from his pocket as they passed the two homeless men, already tossing back a bottle of something they’d just bought encased in a brown paper sack. “Here. Thanks.”
“Any time,” said Joey.
“Am I right?” Damian asked once they’d sauntered past the homeless guys.
“Yeah, bud. You’re right. That’s why we had to say goodbye to Maddy.”
