JOHN LOOKED at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes. It had only been ten minutes. It seemed like an hour since they’d sat in the car. But ten minutes was all. Maybe fifteen.
“My parents were the coolest,” Blue had told him. “The coolest.” He smiled wistfully. “Mom was beautiful and petite and had very long hair, and we called her Michelle because she didn’t believe in authoritarianism and wanted us to mind her by choice, not because it was expected.”
Blue called his mother by her name. Interesting. John didn’t call his mother by her first name. Not that he talked to her much anyway. Why should he? He’d never been the son she wanted. The feeling was mutual. She’d never been the mother he’d wanted either.
A thought shot up out of the dark. And I’ve never been the father Alistair wanted. The thought hurt.
“My dad was big,” Blue continued. “People used to tease them. Said they looked like a father and daughter although they were the same age. He was so muscular. He had blond hair and the biggest brown eyes.” Blue sighed. Got that faraway look in his eyes. Blue had obviously cared for his father. John’s father had cared for him less than his mother had. The only thing he’d ever done that had gotten him any approval from the man was playing football. And when that finally became clear, he’d quit.
It had been an ugly, explosive argument. Luckily football wasn’t John’s strength in school. Math was. And that’s how he’d gotten his scholarships. Scholarships he’d needed. Needed to find something he really wanted to do. Needed to escape.
“We did cool things. Yoga classes. We meditated together.”
Imagine.
“We went camping together. Clothing optional campgrounds. They said that we shouldn’t be ashamed of our bodies.”
John forced himself not to react. Nude? He couldn’t imagine being naked in front of his parents. He wouldn’t want to. Wouldn’t have wanted to. He had to fight a shudder.
“They never got married. They said they didn’t need a piece of paper to show they were in love.”
But then it hit him. “I… I….” He was confused. What did all this have to do with what Blue had been talking about? He’d been admitting an extensive sex life. But it wasn’t like John hadn’t already figured that out. And hadn’t cared. Because what was past was past. So what did Blue’s parents have to do with his sex life? “What…?”
“They died in a car accident when we were ten…,” Blue said.
John froze. Oh no. No. Died? Oh no…. But then something else hit him. We? “Wait… we?” Because suddenly he knew “we” didn’t mean Blue and his parents. But what did it mean?
Blue gave him a curious look. A confused look. “Yeah,” Blue said, “we.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Me and my brother,” Blue replied.
John’s mouth fell open, and his eyes went wide. “Brother? You have a brother?”
“Well, yeah,” Blue said matter-of-factly. “I told you that.”
You certainly did not. “No, you didn’t.” Stunned.
“Sure I did.”
“No, you didn’t,” John said firmly. “I would remember something like that.” Of course he would. A brother?
Blue looked even more confused, obviously lost in thought.
Then it hit him. Of course. Why hadn’t he seen it? “Wait a minute.” All those times Blue had said “we,” John had assumed…. “All those times you said ‘we.’ You didn’t mean just you and your parents? You meant a brother.”
“Yeah,” Blue said. Something happened to Blue’s face. A sadness. A supreme sadness.
No. Had something happened to Blue’s brother as well? His sweet Blue had lost his parents in a car accident. And then something with his brother? “What happened to him?” Unable to help himself, he reached out and cupped Blue’s beautiful cheek in his hand.
“He ran away,” Blue said, and his eyes began to fill with tears. “He left me.”
Oh, Blue. My sweet, sweet Blue. And before he even knew what he was doing, John pulled Blue into his arms. Rocked him as best he could, the two of them sitting in the front seat of his car. “Oh, baby,” he said. Today was yet another day that it proved to be a good thing he had such a big car. It allowed for more holding room than the average front seat.
“When our parents died, my grandparents took us in.” He trembled in John’s arms. “They weren’t like Mom and Dad. They were fucking crazy. They were super religious. Crazy religious. Not the good kind. Not the ‘Jesus Loves Me’ kind. When they were making us go to church I met some good Christians. Mom and Dad didn’t like Christians, especially my mom. But it wasn’t because of Christians. It was because of my grandparents. Her parents. So when she left home, she made sure to bring us up in a way that was totally different from her parents.” He shuddered then and buried his face against John’s shoulder.
That brought something out in John. That feeling of protectiveness. Selfishly, it made his heart swell. Someone who really needed him. Had anyone ever needed him?
And then he knew something else. There was nothing that Blue could tell him that would make him love Blue any less. He didn’t care if he found out Blue was one of those prostitutes that dressed up like a woman and worked on Main or Troost Streets. He didn’t care if Blue had had sex with a hundred men, a thousand, a million.
All he knew was that he loved Blue. Loved him in a way that he’d never loved anyone before. And that he wanted to be there for him no matter what.
“My grandparents were crazy. They told us that God allowed our parents to die so we could be saved. They made us read the Bible before school and every night before we went to bed. We went to church all the time. They weren’t as bad as Carrie’s mom. No prayer closet, but it was pretty awful. And they did punish us. They would make us stand and hold buckets of water out to our sides, and if we lowered them they would hit us with a switch. They said it would make us better Christian soldiers. Then one day Indigo—”
“Indigo?” John asked. Indigo?
Blue looked at him and smiled, but his eyes were swimming with pain. He nodded. “Indigo was—is—my brother. Did you think Blue was the weirdest a name could get?”
John’s heart felt heavy at those words. “I like Blue,” he whispered. Then louder, “I love Blue.”
Blue blinked at him. As if he were worried a smack would follow the compliment. God. Just what had Blue’s grandparents done to him? To them? Blue and his brother. “I like Indigo too,” he added. “Much better than plain old boring John.”
“Not boring,” Blue said. “Manly. Strong. And you can find it on those little license plates with the names on them that you get for your bicycle. Do you think I ever found Blue on one of those? Or a magnet? Or a keychain? Or a coffee mug? Anything?”
John chuckled. “I suppose not.” He shook his head.
Blue nodded and a tear escaped, dropped down into his lap. “We were both fourteen when he left—”
“You were both fourteen?” John interrupted. “You were born within a year of each other?”
Blue blinked at him. “Of course. He’s my twin.”
“I CAN’T take it anymore, Bro,” Indigo said. “I’m outta here.”
Blue could only stand there. Out of here? Then he tried to play it off. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. That’s what you always say.”
“Nope, Blue. I am done. Super done.” Indigo nodded firmly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusted his backpack. “Can’t take it. Can’t take them. They’re fucking crazy.”
Fucking. Indigo said “fucking.” He’d been saying it more and more lately. He’d even used the F-word once right in front of Grandpa. He’d gotten knocked down for it too. Grandpa had bloodied his mouth. The glare Grandpa had gotten in return actually made the old man back up, a look of… had it been fear? Blue was pretty sure it was.
An ache started in Blue’s heart. Because he suddenly knew his brother meant what he said. He knew Indigo wasn’t just blowing off steam. This time he meant it. Indigo really was leaving. And it wasn’t just the backpack slung over his shoulder that told him so. It was in his stance. In his eyes.
This can’t be happening. “But where are you going to go?”
“New York City. I’m going to be a model.”
A model? “You’re fourteen,” Blue said, picturing the runway his brother was always dreaming about. “You can’t be a model.”
“What about all those kids you see in the ads and catalogs? They have to get those kids from somewhere!”
“But Indigo! You have to have connections. What are you going to do? Just walk into the offices of Land’s End or L.L. Bean and shout ‘Here I am’?”
“They’d be lucky to have me.”
“Of course they would!” Blue cried. “But do you think it will happen?” Not that he wanted to be like his grandparents and tell Indigo that his dreams were stupid—or worse—the Devil’s dreams for him. But he had to be realistic. They were only fourteen!
Indigo tossed his head back (like he had when he had hair long enough to throw back, before their grandparents made him cut it) and smirked in reply. “There are other kinds of models. You don’t think men will want to take pictures of me?”
Blue’s eyes went wide. Porn? Was Indigo talking about porn? “P-porn?” he managed aloud.
Shrug. “Why not? I’m pretty. We’re very pretty. Don’t the girls tell us that all the time? And some of the boys too? You don’t think men would want me? Either of us?”
Now Blue had to sit down on his bed. What was his brother suggesting? That he would do more than let the men take pictures? That he would have sex with them?
“B-but Indigo,” Blue cried. “That’s big city! We’ve seen online what those big city gays want.” Leather. Tying each other up! Orgies. Peeing on each other. Doing things with their…. Blue shuddered. With their fists! “You’re ready to have sex?”
“I already have,” Indigo said. Said it in a tone of banality, as if he’d just announced which of the old ladies had won their grandmother’s weekly mahjong game that afternoon.
Blue would have fallen off his feet if he weren’t sitting down. What? Indigo had… been with someone? And for some reason, it felt like an ice pick to the chest, even though they’d decided they didn’t want to be “that way” with each other. That they would want their own boyfriends. But it was simply the fact that Indigo had already done it. Hadn’t told Blue. Hadn’t told Blue he’d even found someone he wanted to do “it” with.
“Wh-who?” he asked, fearing the answer. Would it be Johnny, the cutie who was so good in track?
Barry, who had been asking them both to come spend that night at his place, “We could have a lot of fun!”
God! Not Jack, the senior who had told them both they had asses sweeter than any girl’s in the whole school. Because he was like, yeah, a senior!
“Mr. Weberman.” Again, stated so matter-of-factly that it took Blue a moment to really grasp what he was saying.
“Mr. Weberman?” Their shop teacher? The guy who was second only to the football coach in manliness? That Mr. Weberman?
Indigo nodded. “He’s got a super bod,” he said, finally getting some feeling in his voice. “And a huge cock.”
Blue reeled.
“You did it with Mr. Weberman?”
Indigo nodded.
Indigo had fooled around with Mr. Weberman! Blue felt another stab to his heart. And then imagined the shop teacher naked. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen naked men before. At camp when they were kids—although that really had been marvelously innocent. Natural. And then lately, much more sexually, they had looked at men on the Internet. Men doing things with men. And stories that told them what men liked to do to each other. Some of it they found sexy. Some of it pretty gross.
What had Indigo done with Mr. Weberman? Had he done something to him? Or had Mr. Weberman done something to Indigo? No! Not…. He hadn’t… stuck his dick in….
Indigo laughed, and when Blue looked back at him, heart breaking, his brother sighed and sat down next to Blue. Took Blue’s hand in his own. “We’ve talked about this. I want a boyfriend. Don’t you?”
Yeah. He did. He’d imagined a lot of them too. Big hunky men. Like Marcos Ferraez or Peter DeLuise from Stargate or Jeffrey Dean Morgan, the beefcake dad from Supernatural. So yeah. He knew. But…. “But Mr. Weberman?”
“How else do you think I got a B on that piece-of-shit bird feeder I made? Besides, it was kind of hot with a man. All those muscles. That….”
And Blue cringed at the things he said next. Things that helped answer his question about what he and their teacher had done. “Indigo! It’s against the law!”
“Only if someone finds out.”
Then a new realization hit him—one he’d already known but had refused to let surface. About what Indigo would be doing when he went to New York City. “You’re not talking about getting a boyfriend!” Blue cried. “You’re talking about selling yourself!”
Indigo gave yet another shrug. “I bet I can make a lot of money too. There are men out there who like boys.”
“No!” Blue cried and then let out another sob. “You can’t, Indigo. Please!” Please don’t. He pictured the pornographic images from the Internet in his head, but with Indigo in the middle of it all. Not loving. Not love.
Then Indigo leaned in and kissed Blue’s forehead. “Come with me.”
Blue drew back despite himself. “Wh-what?”
“Just think!” Indigo’s eyes were sparkling. Flashing. “What they’d pay for two of us. Two identical twins. My God, Blue. We’ll be fucking rich!”
Fucking rich. Said it again. The F-word. But more. Because it was fucking. Literally fucking….
He shook his head.
“Come on,” Indigo said, and finally there really was passion in his voice. Pleading now instead of the matter-of-fact tone he’d been using for things that should never be talked about ordinarily. So candidly, without concern. “Rich. The two of us will be unstoppable.”
Blue shook his head adamantly. “No! Indigo, sex should be special.”
Indigo scoffed at him. “It’s like anything else for sale,” his brother said.
Blue whimpered. To think of Indigo having a boyfriend was one thing. But to sell himself? To be so darned callous about it?
“You could die,” Blue said.
Indigo just looked at him.
“You could get AIDS. Some serial killer could get you. A gay basher could kill you.”
Indigo shook his head. “Nope. I’ll be careful.” And then he did something else that shocked Blue. He pulled out a knife, and with a snikt sound, the blade popped out—a switchblade.
“Indigo! Where did you get that?”
“Where do you think?” And when Blue didn’t—couldn’t—answer, Indigo said, “From Mr. Weberman.”
“He gave it to you?”
Indigo nodded.
Blue closed his eyes, suddenly so dizzy he thought he might collapse, sitting on a bed or not. He opened them when he felt Indigo getting up off the bed.
Indigo was looking at him, brows together, eyes dark, mouth a straight, hard line. Then he asked it. “You coming with me or not?”
Because he really was leaving.
“What if I yell for Grandpa?” he asked, desperate, the tears starting for real.
“Then I will hate you for life!” And the slash of his mouth was now a snarl.
Blue gasped, hurt now beyond anything ever.
They looked at each other for what seemed the longest time.
And then Indigo went to the window and opened it, lifted the screen upward in its track. He looked back at Blue, the question unasked. Because they both knew what Blue was going to say.
He was not going to go with him.
He couldn’t.
He was far too afraid.
Indigo had always been the brave one.
What would he do without his brother?
“Please don’t go,” Blue sobbed.
Indigo sighed again, then shook his head resolutely. “I have to. I can’t stay here.”
“Something bad will happen.”
Indigo shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re so little!” We’re so little. “You won’t stand a chance.” Something bad will happen!
Indigo shushed him, fire in his eyes again. But dangerous fire. Blue drew back and then suddenly thought, He is dangerous.
And God help anyone who tried to hurt him.
“One last chance,” Indigo asked.
Long pause.
Blue shook his head.
It near killed him.
Then Indigo shocked him again. Rushed forward and kissed him—really kissed him—hard. Then bit at his neck. And said, “Love you forever, brother.”
And an instant later, he was out the window and down the trellis and gone into the night.