When You Don't See Me (34 page)

On my second day in Eau Claire, I spent a few hours driving around in Adam's pickup truck, trying to adjust to the wide-open space, the quiet, and the postcard-perfect look of the countryside. I took a spin by Dunhill Electrical and my grandparents' house, but I avoided my parents' neighborhood, the area around the mall where Drayden's was, and UW-Eau Claire. I had the uneasy feeling that if I got too close, my mother and my brother would sense my presence. I wasn't ready to face them yet.

It wasn't until my fourth morning, while drinking a cup of hot tea and staring at the snow-covered blankness outside the kitchen window, that I finally picked up my cell phone and called Chuck. “Where are you?” I asked.

“Leaving English class,” he said and yawned. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Do you have another class now?”

“No, I'm done until an afternoon lab.”

“Do you know where Adam Wilson's farm is?”

After a pause, he said, “Is that the one with the webcam in the front yard? The white farmhouse?”

“Yeah. Don't tell anybody, but that's where I am. I wondered if you could drive out here.”

I held my breath during the long silence before Chuck said, “Is everything okay?”

“What would be wrong?” I asked.

“I don't know. It's just weird that you didn't tell anyone you were coming.”

“We can talk about it when you get here. I mean, if you get here.”

“I'm on my way.”

I couldn't believe how nervous I was as soon as the call ended. I went to the guest bathroom and washed my face and brushed my teeth again. Then I spiked up my hair, freshly blue thanks to Kendra's cut-rate colorist. I took off the ratty shirt I was wearing and put on a sweater. I decided I looked too geeky and put on a long-sleeved, black T-shirt and a different pair of jeans.

“Why?” I asked, ignoring my reflection as I pulled on a pair of thick wool socks. “Like he gives a shit what you're wearing?” I went back downstairs, brought the fire back to life, and threw more logs on it. “I'm acting like it's a fucking date.”

I was staring out a front window when Chuck's Jeep came up the drive. I had the advantage of being able to see him first. Or I would have, except he was hidden under a wool cap pulled nearly to his eyes, a down vest over a hoodie, gloves, and hiking boots. Apparently, my mother was still dressing him out of the L.L. Bean catalog.

I opened the door before he could knock. We stared at each other, but neither of us made a move.

“It's not exactly balmy out here,” Chuck said.

“Sorry,” I said, wondering why everyone in my family turned me back into a gawky kid.

I stepped aside so he could come in, then watched as he peeled off his layers. When he took off his cap, I saw that he had a buzz cut. He looked like a Marine. A Marine who could kick my queer ass if he felt like it.

But he also looked like the right kind of Dunhill, just the way Blaine did. Even if he was my brother, I could acknowledge that he was what Adalla would call wicked handsome. The only thing we had in common was our light blue eyes. He made me feel too tall, too thin, and totally inferior.

When he took off the hoodie, he was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt almost identical to mine. Except his hadn't come from a resale shop in the Village and mine definitely wasn't accentuating the body of an athlete.

Neither of us seemed to know what to say, so we stared at each other. I kept thinking of the tentative steps we'd taken on the phone and in letters. It was like meeting in person undid all that. I couldn't tell by his expression if he wanted to play nice or fight with me.

He started things civilly by asking about my job. I asked about his classes. We got quiet again. Then he asked how Blaine was doing. I told him about the new business. I felt a little anxious when I realized we were almost at the end of safe topics and said, “How's Mom?”

The forced pleasant expression left his face and he said, “She's all right.” His tone made a lie of his words.

“How bad are things at home?” I asked.

He flinched at the noise as a log broke, and I stayed still when he reached for the poker to mess with the fire. I knew he was buying time.

“I can't believe they're still together,” he finally said. “They sleep in separate rooms. They never speak to each other. At least not while I'm around.”

“So you don't have to hear them fight.”

“No, Nick, I don't hear them fight. That makes everything okay. You can go back to New York with a clear conscience because I'm living in a quiet house.”

“Where's that coming from? Why are you so hostile?”

“Sorry. I forgot that you don't like conflict unless you cause it.”

“Me? Wasn't I the one who moved away so you'd stop beating me up? All I wanted was to be left alone.”

“Give me a break,” Chuck said. “I never beat you up, and you usually antagonized me into taking a swing at you.”

We glared at each other.

“Why are we doing this? We're not kids. In two weeks, we won't even be teenagers anymore. I didn't come here to fight with you.”

“Why did you come here?” he asked.

“I don't know. I was just delivering some stuff for a friend.”

“Am I supposed to keep it a secret? You planning to slip out of town without seeing Mom or Dad?”

“I definitely don't want to see him,” I said. Chuck turned back to the fire. I stared at him, wondering how such a familiar face could belong to a stranger. “Chuck.”

“What?”

“I lied. I do know why I came. I want to fix this.” He still didn't look at me. “I don't give a shit about him or Tony. They wrote me off a long time ago. But you and me…It shouldn't be this way.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you took off.”

I felt the first flicker of anger come to life inside me. “Before I took off? You make it sound like I abandoned you. Do you remember what things were like for me when we were sixteen? When I had to make sure I didn't run across the wrong assholes at school in case the fag got his ass kicked? When Tony would come home from college and say the same shit I heard at school? And he'd get Dad worked up and yelling at me. After years of trying to be invisible, I had a target on me. Mom had no control at all over either of them. But did you stand up for me? No. You gave me more of the same. So I found a way out. A place where I could be safe, because I couldn't be safe in my own home.”

He was finally looking at me, and I stepped back from the anger in his eyes.

“You think I'm going to hit you? I'm not going to hit you.” He lowered his voice and said, “That's not how it was.”

“Why don't you tell me how it was, then?”

“It's not worth it,” Chuck muttered. He twisted around like he was going to pick up his stuff and leave.

I didn't get mad as quickly or as easily as Chuck, but all of us had what Uncle Blaine called the Dunhill temper, and mine was escalating. “Just say it,” I snapped.

He turned toward me again. “Dad's an asshole, Nick. He was always an asshole. Maybe he doesn't like getting old. Maybe he didn't like seeing three sons who reminded him that he wasn't hot shit anymore. He cheated on her and bullied us to make himself feel like a big man. Tony and I found our own ways to stay under his radar. Tony made himself into a duplicate. With Tony, it was always, ‘That's right, Dad.' ‘Can I go, too, Dad?' ‘Teach me how to do that, Dad.' ‘You're the best, Dad.' Like a puppy jumping up and down, trying to get a pat on the head. Just the opposite of you.”

“I tried to stay away from him,” I said.

“No, Nick, you didn't. You constantly challenged him. Talked back to him. Argued with him. Defied every one of his rules. You always brought him down on us with that mouth of yours. Or by getting in trouble at school. Do you honestly believe that you tried to be invisible? With your constantly changing hair color? Your pierced ears? Your black fingernail polish and bracelets and eyeliner?
Invisible?
Right. And there she was, always trying to come between the two of you before it got too bad. Trying to keep peace. Then you fucking announced to the world that you were gay. If you had a target on you, you're the one who painted it.”

It was the most he'd said to me in years. I was surprised to realize that my anger was gone. I wanted him to keep talking. “What did you do to stay under his radar?”

“I tried to do everything right so he wouldn't get mad at me. Got good grades. Did my chores. Didn't talk back. Pushed no buttons. Made sure I was always just a little better than average at the things he respected, like sports, but never quite as good as Tony.”

“Why not?”

“When Tony excelled, it was a reminder to Dad that his glory days were behind him. You and Tony were like opposite ends of everything that irritated him. I tried to…I don't know what. Be in the middle. Just escape his notice.”

We were quiet for a while. I mentally replayed his words and finally said, “I guess you were the one who was invisible. Not me.”

“That's one way of describing it.” He put the hoodie on. “I won't tell anybody you're here. You do whatever you want. Like always.”

I felt the same kind of panic I'd experienced when I was trying to drive out of Manhattan. I didn't want him to leave.

“Why didn't you stand up for me, Chuck? I don't mean at home. Even she couldn't stand up to him there. But why didn't you stand up for me at school? We were brothers. You were my twin.”

He gave me an annoyed look. “Tell me something, Nick. Who beat you up at school? Who shoved you into a locker? Or threw rocks at you in the parking lot?”

“You know nobody did that,” I said. “It was just threats. But it was enough to keep me scared and on edge.”

“You have no idea how much you intimidated our classmates, do you? With that in-your-face attitude and your stupid black coat, they mentally voted you Most Likely to Take Them Out, and I don't mean on a date.”

“That's crazy. Nobody ever felt threatened by me.”

“Whatever,” he said.

“So, what were you voted? Most Likely to Sell Out Your Brother?”

“No. I was Most Likely to Be Gay, Too. While you were hanging out with your arty friends who'd take up for you, or going to those stupid meetings to be told that you were here and queer, I was catching shit in the locker room. On the field. Everywhere I went. ‘Hey, Dunhill, your twin's a fag. That must mean you're a fag, too.' Along with graphic descriptions of what we probably did together.”

“Gross. Did it get better after I left?”

“It took a while, but of course it did. I swear to God, if you tell me that's why you left, to make things easier on me, then I
will
hit you.”

“No. I should have been voted Least Likely to Be Noble,” I said.

“Actually, you're Least Likely to Stick Around,” Chuck said. He picked up the down vest and said, “Hope you heard what you needed to hear. Have a safe trip back.”

I caught him as he moved past me, putting my arm around his chest from behind the way Roberto so often grabbed me. He was rigid at first, and I remembered that unlike Roberto, most straight guys didn't know how to hold or be held by another man. They didn't understand that when we embraced, it wasn't always as lovers. We held each other as friends, as brothers, sometimes even as fathers and sons.

It made me sad to realize that no man had ever held Chuck that way. Like the brotherhood of buddies that Dennis Fagan talked about. Like Roberto and me under the same blankets without awkwardness. Like being hugged by Blaine and Daniel, or Gavin and Ethan, or Jeremy and Adam, and knowing their only intention was to make me feel safe and loved.

I wondered who made Chuck know that he was safe and loved, and I felt like my heart was breaking open.

“Nick, let me go,” Chuck said.

“No. I don't want you to leave.”

“I won't leave. But you're crying down my neck.”

“I don't cry,” I said even though I realized he was right.

“You're either crying or drooling, and I truly would rather it be tears,” Chuck said. He dropped the vest on the floor next to us and managed to turn around without dislodging my arm. He slid his hands behind my back and our foreheads touched for a few seconds. Then he pulled his face away from mine.

“Sometimes I feel like we don't know each other at all,” I said. “Like we're strangers.”

“Sometimes when we don't see each other, I feel like neither of us exists,” he said. “Do you think things would've been different if we'd been identical?”

“Yeah, I'd get a lot more dates,” I said.

“Shut up. At the beginning, didn't we see each other, even though we were on opposite sides of the womb? Do you think I ever put my hand out”—he moved his right hand from my back and held it near my face—“and wished you could touch it?”