Split (8 page)

The last two years have been the most symmetrical years of my life. Dark and light, bad and good have shared an equal part of my existence.

That’s something, isn’t it?

I lifted my eyes to his and smiled. “All right.”

He spun me around, dipped me, and then kissed my mouth with a ferocious passion I haven’t gotten from him in too long. “Oh baby, we have got so much planning to do. We’re going to have an engagement party, of course—”

“Of course.”

His gaze wandered, as if he was imagining a ballroom filled with power and crystal. “We’ll make it chic, but intimate. Only our closest friends and family.”

He means, his closest friends, as I have none.

“We could do a Bal Masqué.”

Now, how gay is that?

Suddenly, he turned to me and frowned. “What do you think your parents will say?”

I thought about it for a moment.

Visualized myself sitting in their kitchen.

Nathan brought my fingers to his lips. “Whatever they say, you know you have my support and understanding.”

How is it possible for a man to constantly say the right things? Isn’t that God’s job?

“Derek. I want you to be happy. I want the best for you. And I know I’m the man who can make that happen for you.”

A closer should know when the deal has been sealed.

No sense in overselling.

He slid back into his seat and picked up his fork. “Okay, babe. Let’s finish dinner and go for a walk on the mountain, yes?”

*

We had a meeting this afternoon. A surprise meeting.

The kind that comes with a tap on the shoulder and a somber face.

We were told there’s going to be a merger. One branch will be dissolved. Another will merge with ours.

“This is going to be transitional phase for us,” said Goldman (that’s my director). “I’m going to need your patience and cooperation. As we go along, you will be informed of the changes and your input will be considered. However—” His voice thickened with impending doom. “Some positions may be jeopardized.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” asked Jake, livening up in his chair. Jake is the Q.A.S.T. (Quality Assurance System Testing) analyst. Big title, bigger ego. “You saying my job is on the line?”

His job. Everything is me me me with this guy.

“Jake.” Goldman rose and poured himself another cup of coffee from the portable machine.

Why does it always look like he’s been sleeping in his Moores suit?

“I don’t have any more information, I wish I could ease your mind, but right now, things are being looked into and we still haven’t figured out—”

“Well. That’s just great. That’s fucking great.”

Isabelle, our new translator, let out an explosive sigh. “Can we hear what the man has to say, please?”

Jake shot her a mean look, then folded his arms over himself.

Goldman shuffled some papers. “Okay, listen, guys. I know I have the best team here. I’m gonna do everything I can. But I’m gonna need your help. For the next few weeks, I need everybody here to be on their toes. This is crucial, you understand?”

I glanced around.

Everyone’s eyes were glued to the table. I could almost hear them subtracting their monthly expenses out of their unemployment check.

I wasn’t feeling those fears. Why would I? I’ve got a boyfriend,
fiancé
, who makes enough money to support a small school. I’m taken care of. No worries.

“I’m gonna turn you loose, I know you all have a full schedule today.” Goldman plucked the conference door opened. “But if there is anything you need to discuss with me, you’re all welcome to.”

I picked up my empty paper cup.

“Derek,” said Goldman, patting shoulders and shaking hands, “I’d like to talk you.”

My breath burned my chest. Goldman has never even looked my way.

He shut the door. “Sit down, please.” His smile was genuine enough.

Okay. He wasn’t going to fire me.

“More coffee?”

I shook my head. “Thank you.”

“All right.” He gave my face a quick sweep of the eye and leaned in. His face is lined with orange wrinkles. One of his hobbies is falling asleep in a tanning booth on Friday afternoons. “I want you to know that your job is safe. I’ve made sure of it.”

I bit down on my lip, but then, made myself stop. I have to try to be more assertive in my body language. Or so Nathan says.

“I know we haven’t had a chance to talk one-on-one, you and I, but I’ve been following your progress, and I have to say, I’m very pleased with your performance.” He took a noisy sip of his coffee. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

The image of him whipping out his Viagra-friendly cock caused my anus to constrict.

“I’d like you to keep things under control, you know, make sure everyone stays calm, make sure no one starts feeding the rumor mill. You know how these things get blown out of proportion. You seem like a levelheaded guy. Think you can do that?”

On a average day, my spoken word count is between four and six. Aside from a nod and smile, my colleagues seldom even acknowledge my existence.

Unless the paper tray is empty.

“I think you’re a leader, the quiet type, but nonetheless a leader.”

The only thing I lead is a boring life.

“Well.” Goldman got to his feet. “I’m glad we talked.”

I nodded. “Yes sir.”

Dear Bump,

Dad sent us a check.

It must have been a lot of money because Aunt Frannie tucked it away in her shirt and had a big glass of Dad’s whiskey. “Oh boy,” she gasped, “we’re gonna be having a nice Christmas.”

She promised we’d get a VCR and a new snow suit for me.

Also, I think I’m turning into a pervert.

My penis hurts.

I’ve been rubbing it after lunch, and at night before I go to bed. And I’ve ruined it because it keeps leaking. Except, when it squirts, it feels so good that I can’t stop doing it some more. I can’t sleep if I don’t make it squirt.

It all started when I slept over at Boone’s. That was two days ago. After we got our first snow. It was the day after his birthday. November thirteenth.

He turned twelve, so it’s his lucky year.

“If you sleep over there,” warned Aunt Frannie, “you better be a good boy.”

Of course I was gonna be a good boy.

Why wouldn’t I be a good boy?

When I rang the Lunds’ doorbell, my stomach twisted all up. My mouth tasted like metal. I clutched my bag and waited for someone to let me in. They hardly ever hear their doorbell, on account of all the noise the Lunds make.

Eventually, Lene stuck her face in the window and came to the door. “Hello, Derek.”

“Hello, Le-Lene.”

“Boone says you’re sleeping over.” She looked me over. Her eyes are like a bedtime sky. She wore a yellow sweater and Sylvester the cat slippers. “What you got in the bag?”

“My stuff.”

“My bedroom is next to the living room. But I never sleep. You can come up and visit our baby later.”

She turned on her heels and I let myself in.

Inside, it smelled like lemon and beets.

I set my bag down by the couch and walked to the kitchen. I stepped over the threshold. Mrs. Lund had her back to me, stirring something in a big ceramic pot. “Hi, Derek,” she greeted me without turning around, “Boone is downstairs. You know he’s still punished, but I expect you guys will be quiet, right?”

“Yes-yes ma’am.”

She spun around and wiped her hands on her pale blue apron. She had lipstick on her shiny mouth and her hair was tied back in a long blond ponytail. “Okay then, off you go.” She licked the spoon and smiled. “Supper is in ten minutes.”

Supper? I had already eaten. I hadn’t planned on eating with the Lunds, on account of me wanting to vomit whenever I do. “Um, Mrs. Lund, I already had a sa-sa-sandwich with my-my aunt—”

“A sandwich? Please, that’s not supper. You’ll eat with us. You’ll like it. It’s my specialty.”

Mrs. Lund has the same exact eyes as Nick. They find a spot inside yours and make a nest. I couldn’t argue with her, so I nodded and left her smiling.

I went downstairs to find Boone.

He was in the playroom, watching
Top Gun
.

Again.

He’s been watching it every day ever since he was grounded.

“Hey, Boone—”

“Shh,” he hissed, “they’re kissing.”

I watched the screen. I’ve seen that scene before. It’s gross. Their tongues keep slipping in and out of their mouths like slimy snakes. It makes me cringe. “I’m go-gonna go read a co-comic in your bedroom.”

Boone only nodded. His eyes didn’t leave that TV.

When I passed Nick’s room, my heart jumped up inside my throat.

The door was ajar.

He wasn’t home.

I had to see his things.

I pushed on the door.

My eyes swarmed around like bees over a strawberry patch.

I was terrified Nick would show up and tap me on the shoulder. “Hey pervert,” he would say, “what you doing?”

I took a shy step inside.

I could smell him. I could smell his clothes and sheets.

Nick smells like suntan lotion and Ivory soap.

I looked at the walls first. They were plastered with posters. One got my attention. It was the picture of some guy with hair like a spider and white makeup on. His name is Robert Smith. Beside it was a picture of a skeleton face, and the caption read: “Didn’t hurt that much.” In the corner, there was a brown guitar. It leaned on a dresser whose drawers overflowed with clothes. Nick’s blue sweater hung over the edge of the second one. On top of the dresser were a whole bunch of things. Some papers with music on them, some drawings he made, rubber bands, a statue of Rocky, some magazines, and some used Kleenex. On the floor, there was even more stuff. Clothes, socks, more magazines, empty containers of yogurt and Jello, some cracker crumbs and a pair of black boxers.

I never knew Nick was so messy. Even his bed was undone. There was a bag of chips on his pillow.

He’s going to need a maid when he’s older.

For sure.

Of all the things I saw in his bedroom, one thing stuck out the most: on his bed stand, right beside his Halloween mask, there was a large, hardcover book. I walked over to take a closer look at it. It was least six hundred pages.

If Nick is dyslexic, then I wonder how long it took him to read it.

What kind of book would be worth all that time and energy?

I picked it up and read the title.
Professional Cooking: Learn the tricks of the trade, from classical French cuisine to the newest trends
.

A recipe book? Why is Nick reading this? It can’t be for school.

Just as I was passing out of his room, Mrs. Lund called out.
“A table! Et on se grouille!”

Mrs. Lund insists on speaking French to the kids. I understand most of it, but can’t put two words together without sounding mentally challenged. Nick speaks French fluently, as does Lene.

Boone, not so much. “I don’t plan on dating no French girls anyway.”

Upstairs, Johan set the table while Mrs. Lund poured the soup into the bowls. They were square bowls. I had never seen bowls like that. “Hands cleaned?” she asked.

They weren’t.

Boone and I went to the bathroom, followed by Lene and her doll. She made us wait while she meticulously scrubbed the doll’s fingers. “Our baby has to be squeaky clean, don’t you think?”

Boone barked a laugh. “You’re so nuts, squirrels wanna crawl up your ear.”

The smell of Mrs. Lund’s cooking had begun to make me hungry, and since I hadn’t seen Nick around, I figured I would be okay. I felt my muscles relax and I pulled out my designated chair, and then sat down. “It smells nuh-nice, Mrs. Lund.”

“Why, thank you, Derek.” She turned to Boone and slapped his shoulder. “See? See how polite he is? He has manners.”

Boone shot me a murderous stare and picked up his spoon. “That’s ’cause he’s a suckup,” he said with a grin.

Johan chuckled a little, and we all dove right in. The soup tasted like fall, but without the cold. It was purple and really thin, but filling. I was enjoying it.

Then, just like that, Nick walked into the kitchen.

Like magic.

I hadn’t even heard the front door. He appeared right out of nowhere. And at the wrong time too. I had just put a piece of bread in my mouth. Now it was stuck there, because I couldn’t swallow it. I knew I would choke to death if I tried.

“Where have you been?” Mrs. Lund asked.

Nick tucked a loose strand of his ash blond hair behind his ear and shrugged. “Dave’s.”

Since that fight, David and Nick have been hanging out again. Boone says they see each other all the time.

“We’ve already started supper, and you know the rule.”

The rule is, if someone shows up after the first bite has been eaten, that person has to wait until the meal is done, and then have whatever is left over when the table has been cleared.

“Helga, let him eat. We have a guest.” Johan gestured for Nick to sit down.

Mrs. Lund didn’t seem pleased at all, but she didn’t say anything.

Nick went to the sink to rinse his hands, and pulled out the only available chair at the table.

The one directly facing me.

My chest tightened as that piece of bread began to slowly disintegrate inside my mouth.

I finally swallowed it.

Nick poured himself two ladles of the soup and then started eating as if he hadn’t eaten since last Christmas.

No one was talking anymore. If it weren’t for the radio, we could have heard each other breathing.

Lene, who was sitting to Nick’s left, tugged on his shirt. “Will you help me braid Cassandra’s hair after supper?”

Nick glanced over and winked at her. “Sure thing.”

“She has to look pretty for her baptism.”

“Honey,” snapped Mrs. Lund, “I told you, we’re not having a doll baptized.”

Lene pouted. Her lips are like an upside-down apricot slice. “But, Mom, she’s going to go to hell if we don’t. And her father is Irish, we can’t expect him to accept that.”

Boone snorted a laugh and soup came flying out of his nose.

Nick cocked his head, then looked up at me and grinned. “Irish, huh?”

My cheeks combusted.” I’m not-not that doll’s fa-father.”

“So you’re denying your paternity?” Nick seemed very amused. “I think we should have a blood test done.”

Boone twitched and yelped next to me.

Mrs. Lund fought back a smile. “Enough, Nicolai. Leave him alone.” She stared down Lene. “And you, young lady, you are not to read another one of my lady magazines, understood?”

Of course, I didn’t have another bite after that.

After dinner, Boone and I decided to go downstairs to play a game of Monopoly. We weren’t allowed to go outside, on account of him still being grounded and all.

Nick had disappeared again.

Boone and I were alone in the basement, playing and eating leftover Halloween candy.

“So when’s your dad coming back?” Boone was chewing on some Tire Sainte-Catherine.

“Dunno. Aunt Frannie says after Christmas-as maybe.”

“What you gettin’?”

“A VCR.”

Boone’s eyes widened. “Really. Wow.”

He landed on the “go to jail” square.

Again.

“So, your brother had to take the ca-ca-car back, huh?”

“Yeah. But he said he didn’t care. He doesn’t need a car. Dave’s got a car.”

David has everything. He doesn’t even have to ask. But it’s funny, because he looks empty all the time.

“So, are you gonna go to the stupid Valentine’s Day dance?” Boone tried to sound like he didn’t want to go to the school dance, but I know he’s been planning for it ever since Mrs. Saint-Amour announced they were going to have one this year.

And it’s only for the fifth and sixth graders.

“Dunno.”

“O’Reilly, you have to come. I mean, you have to.”

“Why?”

“Because. You just have to.”

I frowned, and then shrugged. “Who-who you going with?”

This dance is a couples only dance. Every boy has been encouraged to ask a girl of his choice to escort him.

“Kenya.”

Kenya is a black girl. She’s from Africa. Her skin is almost blue. She wears flowered dresses and yellow ribbons in her hair.

“Did she say-ay yes?”

Of course I know she said yes. I heard Susan and Marylou whimpering about how Boone was going to take a “nigger” to the dance. Every time I hear the N-word, my fists close up. I want to scream, but I never do. I never say anything.

Just like when JF and his friends call me a faggot.

Boone raised a brow and smiled. “She’s the one who asked me. Did you see her eyes? I’ve never seen eyes like that. I’m gonna try to kiss her. If she lets me. I really hope she lets me. Do you think she’ll let me?”

I can’t see why on earth she wouldn’t. Boone has nice lips. They never have leftover sleep on them, and his teeth are straight and white because he brushes them a lot. He never has bad breath, well, only on Saturday morning after he’s had Johan’s onion omelet.

Not that I would kiss him. I wouldn’t kiss Boone. No way.

“Dunno.” I said. “De-depends, I guess.”

“On what?”

“On if she-she wants to.”

He sighed. “Gee thanks, Red. That really helps a lot.” He rolled the dice. “Well, anyway, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, I guess? Don’t you wanna kiss a girl on the mouth? Besides, it’s necessary.”

“How so?” I couldn’t find the necessity he was talking about.

“To get hair down there. To have your thing grow. For your voice to change. You know. Things like that. That’s how Nick got so tall. He kissed a lot of girls. He started way before me. Says he was kissing girls back when he was in diapers.”

For some reason, I can believe that. “Well, okay, but-but what if girls don’t wa-wanna kiss me, huh?”