“But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!”

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

"Break Break Break"

Copyright Notice - Copyright ©2004 DeweyWriter Ltd.

This story is copyrighted by the author and the author retains all rights.  This work may not be duplicated in any form, physical, electronic, audio, or any other form known or unknown without the author's express written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply and will be enforced.

 One

We were born on April 22, 1985.  My brother Michael Benjamin came out kicking and screaming and I, Benjamin Michael, came out four minutes later the color of the deep sea. My umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around my neck two times, but somehow the doctor managed to get it undone in time to save my life. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if he hadn't.

Mom tells me I'm her miracle twin, or at least she used to. As I grew up, I had to go to the pediatrician constantly until I started school. The docs were sure that I had brain damage: there was no way I could have been that blue and avoided it. After a time, and after more tests than I care to remember, they decided I was fine.

Mike and I were identical twins. We weighed the same, were the same length, same color hair, same eyes, same features, same everything. My parents had to keep us in separate cribs and dress us differently to know who was who.  Dad joked that they wrote our initials on the soles of our feet to help. Somehow I don't doubt they did.

Mom and Dad were just 18 and 20 when we were born. They were young for their age. Mom was barely out of High School in her freshman year at college, dad was a starting junior. It took them one night to conceive us. Dad married mom because it was the right thing to do, and later they actually fell in love. They tell me they were in love before they slept together to make Mike and I, but the dates don't work out. I never called them on it.

My first real memory is of Mike. We woke up and he was laying next to me, staring at me. I think we were two. There was a sense of recognition, a sense of sameness between us. I was him and he was me. If you aren't a twin, you can't understand what it's like. Mike and I were one person split into two bodies. We couldn't stand to be apart even for the shortest amount of time. We followed each other everywhere, and I mean everywhere. We'd even go to the toilet together.

From that first memory of Mike, I can clearly recall everything that has ever happened between me and my twin. My brother had the same capacity. It's amazing what an ability like that can do to a sibling relationship.  Since we both knew exactly what had happened, we had no reason to argue with one another. Our parents thought there was something wrong with us because we never fought.  One drawback of our famous companionship, however, was that we never tired of each other's company. We made very few friends as we grew up, and neither of us really cared. It wasn't until first grade that we made our first real friend.

Ian was a cute six-year-old boy with brown hair and green eyes. His family had moved to the area just after school started. Unlike the rest of our classmates, who tended to leave Mikey and me alone, Ian came right up to us the first day he was in our class.

The first words out of his mouth were, “Wow! You guys look like twins!”

From then on it was Ian, Mike and Ben. We became inseparable, joined at the hip. Teachers would separate us, our parents would ground us, and no one could keep us apart for more than a day.  Ian introduced Mike and me to his parents on the second day he was in school. Edward and Elizabeth Kettenger were in their early thirties when I first met them, and they took to us as quickly as we took to them.  It seemed like no time until Mikey and I began calling them Momtwo and Dadtwo after the little robot of science fiction fame. They thought it was cute, but our ulterior motive was to get out of having to say Mister Kettenger and Missus Kettenger.

Our parents were a bit more stiff than the Kettengers, and once they met they became decent acquaintances, but not necessarily friends. My dad and Edward were on edge the whole time they were around each other. My mom seemed to feel that Elizabeth was trying to supplant her role as our mother in some way. Eventually everyone made their peace and we three kids came and went at either house with impunity.

The spring and summer of our first grade year was spent playing baseball. Ian, Mike and I were on the same team. It was there we earned the nickname IBM, and that nickname stuck with us.  The parents started referring to us by that as well after hearing our coach use it at some of our games. They thought it was funny.

It was also that summer, July sixth to be exact, the three of us had our own blood-brother ritual. Mike took a knife from the kitchen and we all used it to slice our left thumbs deeply.  We were bleeding all over the place, but we completed the ritual. Of course neither set of parents were exactly thrilled that we were playing with knives at seven years old.

Somehow that childhood ritual cemented our friendship even more, transforming it into something else: something beyond friendship. I loved Ian. Mike loved him, and I knew Ian loved us. We became brothers of the soul that day.  It had a profound impact on all three of us. Being with Ian became an addiction for us. Our parents thought we were hiding something when we began going out of our way to stay in their good graces so we could be with him. I can't explain it better than that. Life was good.

When we were ten. Ian had “that talk” with his dad, and of course Ian filled us in on all the gory details. Mike and I were full of questions and we'd give him a list to ask his dad the next day. Ed was always a good sport about it.  Later, when Mike and I finally got up the nerve to ask him our questions in person, he was cool with it and did his best. Sometimes the questions we asked were beyond his knowledge and he'd direct us to the internet or the library. I don't know if my parents ever knew that Ed taught us as much as he did: they never brought up the subject and neither did Mike or I.

It wasn't long after that when we heard the term “jerking off”. Of course we asked Dadtwo immediately.  He stammered a bit before getting control of himself and then invited us into his den, something he had never done in any of our previous talks. We three boys sat on the couch and Ed pulled up his desk chair to sit in front of us.

He calmly explained what masturbation was and how all the stories about going blind and not being able to have kids later and growing hair on your palms weren't true. He also said that it was something we should do alone and in private.

Mike boldly asked, “Do what, though. How is it done?”

“I told you,” supplied Dadtwo, “It's when you rub your penis until it feels really good and tingly.” He seemed to realize that wasn't the question that Mike was asking, and continued, “It's something you're going to have to figure out for yourself, because everyone is different.”

Ian thought for a moment. “Dad, the guys I heard talking were saying that they did it together sometimes.”

“Some boys do that, Ian, and some don't. There's nothing wrong either way, but if you do decide to masturbate with another person, make sure that you are both comfortable and that it's their choice to be there.  Never force anyone to do something they don't want to do.”

“So, if I wanted to mas-tur-bate,” Ian struggled with the unfamiliar word, “with Mike and Ben, it would be all right?”

Ed's eyes narrowed and he looked hard at his son, then he stared at Mike and me. After a moment, he nodded and added, “It would be fine, but if you decide to, do it in private.  And before you do, please let me know so I can make sure you have the privacy you need.”

Two weeks later the three of us were jerking off together. It was innocence itself, three boys doing what felt good. We were beyond being embarrassed around each other. We didn't know to be embarrassed.  It was totally normal for us, and we had no reason to think otherwise.

It was an added bonus that Ian hit puberty before we did, about nine months after we began our group play. He told us what he was going through emotionally, what was bothering him, and because of our activities, we saw firsthand what changes were happening to his body and when. Ian's dad, Ed, was very open with us about what was occurring and why.  Ian kept Dadtwo more or less informed about what was happening to his body, and the three of us would ask questions. Dadtwo bore it all with kindness and patience. When Mike and I hit the beginnings of our own adolescence, he was there for us too.  It wasn't that Momtwo wouldn't talk to us or anything like that, but she would rather have us talk to Ian's father since he was a man and knew more than she did. She was understanding, easygoing and awesome.

The Kettengers threw a party for Ian the weekend after we noticed his first pubic hair. It was a celebration of the beginning of Ian's path to manhood. It was completely a family affair with Ian's grandparents and an uncle attending in addition to ourselves. Mike and I wracked our brains to come up with a small gift for the occasion, deciding on a nice razor and some shaving gel. He wouldn't need it for years to come, but it was the only thing we could decide on. Ian loved it. Momtwo and Dadtwo smiled widely when he opened it and that made us feel good.

Our parents were as closed about sexuality as Ian's parents were open. We tried to ask dad some questions one weekend and he freaked out. Mom was no better. She told us to ask dad.

For Mike and me, our home life was uninteresting. When we couldn't be with Ian we would be out riding our bikes in the park or playing catch. We didn't do a whole lot in the house because mom and dad wanted us outside enjoying the fresh air, such as it was, as much as possible.

When Ian was available, the three of us would try just about anything. We liked skating, biking, baseball, football, basketball, wrestling, and whatever else the local youth leagues set up.  Our parents put up the money without question just to get us out of the house.

Mike and I talked about it a lot. Mom and dad didn't seem to like us very much. They loved us, but we felt we were in the way more than not.  They would try to pawn us off on friends or on the Kettengers so they could go out and do what they wanted to do, either together or on their own. My brother and I were just happy that Ed and Elizabeth liked us well enough to rarely turn my mom and dad down. Sadly enough, what my mother once feared was coming to pass: Elizabeth Kettenger was supplanting her as our mother through her own actions.

In January of 1997, Mike and I hit puberty. The hormones were making us more competitive with one another but there were never any hard feelings involved. We still jerked off with Ian when we could, and when he wasn't around we did it with just the two of us.

It was also about this time that we thought we might be gay, or at the very least, bisexual. My brother and I talked about it openly with each other since we didn't hide things like that.  We both agreed that Ian was really hot, and that neither of us would do anything to jeopardize our fraternity with him, no matter how much we wanted to.

We also decided to keep our realizations secret from everyone, especially our parents. We had no reason to believe their reaction would be positive.

Mike will always be my best friend no matter how far away he is, and Ian too. Mike knew everything there was to know about me, even the things I didn't want him to know.  Of course, I knew all about Mike as well, and Ian knew almost everything. I loved them like my brothers because they were my brothers. We'll always be together, a part of one another.

Saturday, June 14, 1997 started out as a perfect day. We'd just completed the sixth grade and were going into Junior High that fall. Ian was off with his parents taking an early summer vacation, so Mike and I decided to go riding before the temperature rose too high.  We toured the various parks and stopped at a convenience store to get a snack before heading over to the Grand Avenue Marketplace, a huge shopping center including a mall and the outlying shops and restaurants.  I bought a CD we liked at a music store and Mikey bought a book that we both wanted to read. We ate lunch in the mall food court. I had a piece of stuffed pizza and Mike had a burger and some fries.  After eating we went on a leisurely ride back toward home and found mom and dad were still there. Knowing they would send us out again, we didn't even bother to stop.

We rode down to 9th Street and up to Dogwood Avenue. The entire block on Dogwood between 9th and 10th was undeveloped. It was a field of tall dry grass dotted here and there with shrubs and bushes.  Along the east side of the area ran a canal that followed Dogwood Avenue through the whole city. There were a couple streets that ran between Dogwood and Elyssum Avenue, but the vast majority of the mile-square tract was overgrown.

The area was bumpy and hilly enough to make for some good bike riding. We'd jump over small hills and bounce along over the rough ground staging impromptu races.  Neither of us had ever ridden in a competition, but we both agreed that it would be fun.

By three o'clock we were pretty tired and decided to head home. I took off and led the route back to Deerwood and noticed a decent sized hill standing at the edge of the canal with tire tracks running from the bottom to the top.  I veered toward it and pedaled as hard as I could, launching myself into the air and over the water. Sliding to a stop on the other side, I looked back to see what was holding Mike up. When I didn't see him come over the hill, I rode back to the canal to see my best friend, my brother, lying face down in the water. I stood there helpless, unable to move, and watched Mike drown, the water around clouded with his blood. He died, and it was my fault. I had killed my brother. I had killed my identical twin. I had killed a part of myself.

 Two

The funeral was held the following Wednesday. I blocked out what happened immediately after I realized Mike had passed until that morning. I remember waking up, expecting to hear Mike breathing or maybe stirring in his sleep, but of course, he wasn't there. I slept in his bed every night, clutching his pillow to me and remembering what he smelled like and felt like. It was all fading so fast.

Mom and dad were quite literally destroyed by the accident. I simply wasn't there as far as they were concerned. My father told me to stay in my room while he helped my mother clean herself. I could hear them arguing back and forth about who was to blame, and they would alternately blame God and then me. They wouldn't let me out of the house. They wouldn't let me see Ian, the only person in the world who would have understood what I was going through. I was completely alone.

It wasn't enough that I blamed myself for what happened to Mike. The fighting between my parents continued, and everything they said about Mike's death seemed, to my hypersensitive ears to lay all the blame at my feet.  I reached my breaking point about two weeks after Mike left me.

My parents were arguing loudly right outside my room. It was an argument they had four times a day, and I knew it by heart. I'd finally had enough and I packed myself some clothes and a few mementos of Mike into my backpack and slipped out of my bedroom window. I picked up my bike for the first time since it had happened. My body began to shake and tears flooded my face. My hand released the bicycle and it fell to the ground with a crash.  A sound from the garage spurred me into action and I ran as far and as fast as I could and then wandered blindly about town. When I stopped I had no idea where I was. It wasn't hard to find myself, though.  I checked the next major road I came to and found I was at Juniper and Third Street, about six miles from home. I really had no idea how I'd gotten there or even where I was headed. I stood at the intersection turning in a circle.  I didn't know what to do. Mike's face, my face, kept coming to mind: his smile, his sardonic grin, his frown, his expression when we felt especially close.

A car stopped next to me as I continued to turn.

“Are you okay, son?” queried a male voice.

A glance told me it was a policeman. I couldn't find my voice to answer him, so I nodded slowly. I was so dazed and confused that I didn't realize he'd gotten out of the squad car until he was standing in front of me.

“I asked you where you live,” the stockily built man repeated, staring me in the eyes.

I noticed idly that he was shorter than me.

“Come on, son,” the man said in a kindly voice. “Let's get you home.”

I jerked away from him the moment his hand touched my shoulder.

“I don't want to go home.” I informed him.

“So you can talk. Why don't you want to go home?”

I didn't want to tell the cops that my parents were fighting because they might arrest them. Instead I said the first thing that came to mind.

“I'm on my way to visit my brother and I had to remember how to get there.”

Shock hit me again, but I held the tears back.

“Where does he live?” The officer asked, still staring me in the eyes.

“Down on eleventh and Fir. It was a nice day so I decided to walk.”

Eleventh Street and Fir Avenue was the cross-street for the Legion Cemetery. That was where Mike had been buried.

“That's over ten miles from here. What's your name?”

“Mike… er… sorry. Ben Foster,” I corrected quickly. “Michael is my middle name.”

“What's in the bag, Ben?”

The whole time the guy was talking to me he was staring in my eyes, like he was trying to catch me lying to him or something. I pulled the bag off my shoulder and started to open it. The cop stopped me and his partner stepped out of the car.

“Whoa, there. Why don't you let me open it. Is there anything in here you want to tell me about? Any drugs or weapons?”

I gaped for a moment before responding, “N-no, just a pocketknife and my inhaler.”

“You have asthma?”

“Sometimes. On bad air days.”

He unzipped my pack and went through it quickly, pulling out my inhaler and knife for a brief moment before replacing them and handing my bag back.

“Okay, Ben, there you go. Have a good walk.”

“Thanks. Have a good day.”

“You too, son.”

The cops got back in their car and drove on.

Suddenly the idea of visiting Mike's grave became an obsession. I had to get there as soon as I could. The bus ran right down Highland to Tenth Street, and I could walk from there. What little cash I had was spent on bus fare.  The bus got to my stop about twenty minutes later.

The bus stop was right across from the main gatehouse for the Highland Estates, a huge walled-off area where the super-rich lived. I'd never been in there but rumor had it that some of the mansions were in the fifteen-thousand square foot range. I couldn't imagine living in a house that big. My house was barely two-thousand square feet.

The cemetery was a couple miles east from the bus stop. A hole in my stomach that had formed when I told the cop I was going to see my brother was now the size of the Grand Canyon and growing with every step I took.  I managed to cross the street without incident, and the next thing I knew I was at the cemetery entrance. The realization that I was uncertain exactly where Mike was hit me. I had already forgotten my other half. Mike's voice sounded in my head.

You're being stupid, Benji. You could never forget me, and I know that.

“Oh, God, Mike,” I said aloud. “I miss you so much I could die!”

You're not going to die, Benji. You have a long life ahead of you.

“I can't live without you!” The words ripped from my throat were cast upon the wind.

“Son? Are you alright?”

Another voice brought me back to reality. Coolness touched my cheeks in contrast to the flushed heat in my face. I realized I was crying.

“I need to see my brother.” The comment was automatic, not a conscious statement.

“Who is your brother?” The man who had interrupted my conversation with Mike asked.

“His name is Michael Benjamin Foster. He…”

Again my throat constricted. I was unable to complete my sentence. The man put his hand on my back and gently guided me into the graveyard.

“Let's see if we can't find your brother, okay?” He said gently

As he started to walk me into the cemetery I pulled away.

“That's okay. I know where he's at,” I choked out through a sob.

I turned and ran out into the field filled with headstones. Flowers in all stages of life and death littered small urns in front of some of them.  Some people watched me curiously as I ran through the cemetery as if it were an odd occurrence to see a boy running into a graveyard. I passed two funerals on the way to the back corner where we had put my brother into the ground. I couldn't even look at them. Tears threatened to run down my face.  Another kid my age caught my attention as I ran on. He was in his father's arms crying. It made me sick that all my father could do was yell at my mother when we were all suffering.

Slowing as I approached the area of Mike's grave, I looked around to see if I was alone. With the exception of the father and his son almost one hundred yards away there was no one near me.  It was easy to find where Mike lay because the sod hadn't really settled in over the grave. A slow walk took me there, and on impulse, I laid down over him. I awoke some time later, feeling the need to talk with Mike.  As I spoke, I imagined his voice responding back to me.

“Hi, Mikey.”

Hello, Benji.

“Sorry I haven't been to see you before this.”

It's okay. I understand. You've been busy.

“Mom and dad are fighting. It's driving me crazy.”

Go to Ian's.

“I can't go to Ian's, Mike. It's not right. It's not the same without you.”

I really want you to see Ian, though. He needs someone too.

“I hate being alone! Why did I have to be so stupid?”

You weren't being stupid, Benjamin, so stop it.

“I knew it was dangerous. I know we're not supposed to play around the canal and I go and jump it!”

And I followed you...

“If I hadn't jumped you wouldn't have either!”

I followed you because I wanted to, Ben! This wasn't your fault.

“It's my fault you're dead. Why couldn't it have been me? Why couldn't I be the one who died?”

It wasn't your time. And I could've gone to the bridge instead of jumping. It was my choice.

“I killed you!”

“You didn't kill him, Ben. It was an accident.” The voice startled me. I didn't even hear anyone. “It wasn't your fault.”

I sat up and faced the owner of the voice. He was about my age and height with brown hair and olive green eyes. His face was lined with grief. A tear slid down his cheek as he knelt in front of me.

“I killed him, Ian.” I said stolidly. “He died because of what I did.”

“Benji,” I winced at his use of Mikey's pet name for me, “that's not true. It was an accident. That's all it was.”

Another tear slid down his beautiful face.

“I led him to the jump. If I hadn't, he'd still be here!” I yelled in an agonized voice.

“You don't know that, Benjamin,” said another voice, a man's voice with an English accent.

I looked over Ian's shoulder and saw his father. He too was weeping openly.

“You don't know that,” Edward Kettenger repeated. “Mike might very well have went for the jump anyway. No one knows anything for a certainty.”

“I do,” I barked back. “I know he wouldn't have. I know Mike, and he wouldn't have jumped.”

“You know him because he's your identical twin?” Ed inquired in a quiet voice.

I nodded, trying to ease the knot that was forming in my throat again.

“What makes you so certain, Ben? If you two were identical and he wouldn't have jumped, why did you?”

I stared at the man I called Dadtwo, a man I considered another father. In many respects he was a better father to me than my own.

“I killed him,” I said once more.

“Benji, please stop saying that!” Ian yelled.

“Why?” I asked sharply.

“Because it isn't true!”

I simply stared at Ian. His tortured expression captivated me. As I studied him, he moved closer to me until he was nearly touching me.

“I can never know how much you loved Mike, Ben,” Ian said softly, “but I do know how much I loved him, and it's tearing me apart. I know you must've loved him more than I did, and it has to be tearing you apart, too.”

I remained silent, my gaze locked to his.

“Please talk to me, Ben,” Ian pleaded.

“I can't,” I whispered.

“Why not, Ben? Why can't you tell me what you're thinking?”

“Because if I do, I'll lose it,” I said, still whispering. “I'll die. I killed him, Ian.”

“No you didn't!”

“I killed my brother! I killed Mike!”

Ian's arms shot around me and pulled me tightly against him, forcing my face into his chest. My cries were muffled against him. Ian was shaking but held onto me as I broke down and cried. Another set of arms more powerful than Ian's surrounded us both. Together, a father and his sons mourned the passing of a son and a brother.

 Three

Dadtwo knocked on the front door to my house. My father's car was not in the driveway as it had been that morning, so my mother answered the door as I expected.

“Benjamin! Where on earth have you been? We've been worried…”

Without waiting for her to finish her statement, I shouldered my way past her and went straight to my room before the tears began. She called after me a couple times but I heard Mr. Kettenger stop her as I closed my door and leaned against it.  My room was nearly identical to the room Mike had. The rooms were large compared to most houses, but that was the way the dwellings were built by the Elyssum Heights developer. A double bed and side tables were against the front wall of the house, and a dresser stood in front of the door next to the closet to the left of the bed. A desk, chair and two bookcases filled the wall the door was in, and another set of shelves stood next to them on the far wall.  Even with all the furniture there was still plenty of room to stretch out on the floor. Mike, Ian and I had done that plenty of times before because the bed didn't accommodate three boys very comfortably.

I crawled over my bed and lay down on the floor on the other side, hiding myself from view of the door. My emotions were still running high from visiting Mikey at the cemetery, and I wanted to be alone so I could calm down.  I closed my eyes, but a knock sounded a moment later.

“Ben,” Ian called, “Can I come in?”

I didn't answer. I didn't want to see Ian. Every time I looked at him I felt a stab to my heart.  My memories of Mike were inextricably tied to him and being around him, even for just the short time I had been that day, was excruciating.

The door opened and closed again. Ian had come inside and sat on the bed. He didn't say anything, and he didn't have to. Already the tears were falling from my eyes and into my ears. An unexpected sniffle caught me up short.  The bed began to shake. Ian was crying, but I didn't want to look at him or talk to him. I especially didn't want to touch him. It was unbearable to do so. His touch had broken me at Mike's grave, and I didn't want to be that vulnerable.

A loud sob was followed by the quiet, airy keening that was the misery of a twelve-year-old boy who had lost his blood brother and best friend. It was more than I could take and sobs began to wrack my body as well.  We both wept, alone but together in my room. It wasn't long before Ian spoke through his moans and tears.

“Why do you hate me, Ben? What did I do?”

His words struck a physical blow. I didn't hate him. I loved him! He was my other brother. How could I possibly hate him?

“Ian, I don't hate you,” I asserted softly.

“You do to! You do or you wouldn't have avoided me like you are! I miss Mikey! He was my brother, too!

I sat up and hissed, “Yeah? Well he was my twin!” My voice raised from a fierce whisper to a thunderous roar. “I've known him since before I was born! It's like half of me is dead! I should have been the one!  I should have died, not him! Every time I see you, I think of him! Every time I look at you, I think of Mike and how I killed him!”

Ian yelled right back at me, “You think of him when you look at me, but I see him when I look at you! I loved him just like I love you, but don't let him take you away from me, too! Please, Ben, don't leave me. I'll d…”

He stopped mid-word as I stood. I knew what he was going to say, and I had a good idea of why he didn't say it. My fury drained away as I studied his tear-streaked face, etched with an indescribable sorrow.  Indescribable, that is, if you haven't experienced it. I moved around the bed and sat heavily, feeling numb. Ian was next to me, still sobbing.

“Why did he have to die, Ian?” I asked, my voice flat and featureless. “I didn't want him to die.”

I turned to face Ian. His expression was sad beyond measure as he met my eyes.

“I don't know, Ben. I really don't.”

Something snapped inside of me, and the tears and grief came pouring back.

“I didn't want him to die! Oh, God, I don't want him to die! I don't want him to die!” As my tears took over, the words became a mantra until I could no longer speak for the sobs.

Ian caught me as I fell into him and wrapped me in his arms tightly. We began to rock gently as we cried, allowing more of our pain to seep away. The warmth of Ian's body and the sensation of his arms around me let me feel just a little bit safer, and a little bit loved.

Another knock at the door startled me so badly that I jumped. Ian and I had somehow lain back on the bed and more fully embraced one another. Perhaps we had even fallen asleep, but the sound had awoken us. The door opened. Mr. Kettenger's voice came through the opening without him looking in.

“Boys, may I come in?”

Ian looked at me and I nodded. Dadtwo entered as we sat up and leaned back against the headboard. Ian did not take his arm from around my shoulder and I absently rested my hand on his leg. No matter what assertions they had made, I still felt responsible for Mikey's tragic death. Ed pulled the chair from my desk over and sat by the bed. His eyes examined us for a moment before he spoke.

“Benjamin, you must pack some of your things in a sack. Your mum and dad have agreed to allow you to stay with us. Ian can help you, but don't take too long. We'll be leaving in ten minutes.”

“What if I don't want to go?” I asked tremulously.

Ed looked me right in the eyes with a sad, compassionate expression. “You don't have a choice, lad.”

I blinked as the ramifications of that statement sunk in. My parents didn't want me anymore. I killed Mike and now they didn't want me. Tears came again as I climbed out of the bed and got a large duffle out of the closet.  When I turned around, the man who was my second father stood in front of me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and lowered himself until we were eye to eye.

“Ben, this is only temporary. A lot has happened and your parents have things they need to work through, and so do you. They need some time alone, and you need to be with people instead of isolating in your room.  Your parents love you very much, but everyone needs some time to come to terms with Mike's passing.”

I knew he believed what he was saying, but I wasn't convinced that it was the truth. If they really loved me, they would have told me instead of letting Ian's dad do it.  The very real fear that I had not lost just my twin but my entire family lodged itself in my brain, and tears were still falling when he pulled me into a hug. I stood there passively, not moving.  He released me and allowed me to go about packing my things while watching me for a bit. When he was satisfied I was doing as he asked, he opened the door and went out to speak with my parents again.

Ian and I did not trade a single word after Ed left the room. There was nothing I could say that could possibly express what I was feeling. There were no words to be found that could explain the love I held for Mike.  The guilt, pain and sadness in my heart were beyond description. Ian helped me in silence. He would hold up items for my approval, and with a nod or a shake of the head I would direct him to pack it or put it back in its place.

We were done shortly before Ed came back to collect us. He opened the door without warning, startling me yet again.

“Finished, are you?” He inquired in a normal voice that was belied by his compassionate visage.

I swallowed hard and nodded, not willing to speak nor trusting that if I did it would be intelligible.

“Okay then, let's go, boys.”

He attempted to take my bag but I refused to relinquish it. He looked down on me and smiled silently. A quick nod from him sent me on my way out of the room. When I passed the door to my brother's room, I stopped and stared at it.  There was a paper sign on the door in the shape of an orange construction sign. It read, “Disaster Area - Enter At Your Own Risk.” I turned the knob on the door, and it squeaked about half-way through the motion.  It had done that since I could remember. A superhuman effort was required to open the door, and not because of some physical impediment.

I entered Mike's room and looked around. It was set up identically to mine, of course, and it looked exactly as it had the day he died except for the bed. I had slept there every night since. A hesitant step took me to his desk.  I opened the bottom drawer and dug behind the junk that Mikey had piled in there to find a book.

One of the things my twin did that I didn't was to keep a diary. Mom and dad gave us both journals on our tenth birthday, but I never did anything with mine. I saw his all the time.  It became so common to see him hunched over his journal that it usually passed notice. Out of respect for him I had never read a single word he didn't specifically show me.  Since I was leaving my home for God knew how long, I wanted to take it with me. I also grabbed his pillow off his bed, the pillow that still held his scent.

Slowly I turned away and walked back out of my brother's room. It felt empty and cold, which matched my heart perfectly. Suddenly I ran back to my room and picked up a picture from my desk.  It showed the two of us standing together in swim trunks at the beach on our last vacation. Mike's grin was especially wide as he had slipped rabbit ears in behind me without my noticing. It was my favorite picture of him.  I methodically went through my room and removed every single picture that showed so much as a hint of Mike's presence, including the one he had shot of me with his finger in the way.

When I was done, I turned to see my parents standing in the doorway. They had their arms around each other and my mother was crying quietly.  I stared at them for a moment before walking past them.  My duffle bag in hand, I walked out the front door to Ian's dad's Cherokee and got in. A short time later Ian and Ed joined me, the boy sitting next to me in the back seat. At another time I would have been touched by the gesture.  We buckled in and took the two block drive to the Kettenger's residence.

The house looked identical to my own from the street, and in reality it was very similar inside as well. The interior layout differed in only one major way: a portion of the master bedroom which would have been across the hall from my room in my house had been converted into a media room.  Also, the formal living room to the right of the entry hall contained a pool table and a dartboard along with an entertainment center, but none of this enthused me that day.

Ed pulled the Jeep into the garage and closed the door behind us. Mrs. Kettenger's car was there, so I knew she was home. Reluctantly, I got out of the truck and followed Ian and Ed into the house. Ian's mother Elizabeth, or Liz as she preferred, was in the kitchen with Murray, Ian's younger brother.

“Hello, Ben,” she said as if everything was normal. “Dinner's just about ready. Go get washed up.”

I blinked at her for a moment and then did as she said. Ian led me down the hall past the game room and the family room to the back hall. His bedroom was in the same position mine was at my house.  Ian led me into his room and placed my duffle on his bed.

“I'll clear out some room in the closet and the dresser for you, Ben. Dad said you'll be staying with me in my room.” He blushed a little bit. “He was going to put me and Murray together, but I asked him to let you stay with me. I hope you don't mind. You can still have Ray's room if you want it.”

His expression displayed some anxiety. He wanted me to stay with him. I wasn't sure if I wanted to. Ian, Mike and I had played sexual games for the past two years or so, but I wasn't sure I wanted to continue in Mike's absence.

As if he read my thoughts, Ian stammered, “It's not… I don't want…. Ben, I want you to stay with me because… I miss Mike, and I know you do, too. Maybe… maybe we could just hold each other? I don't care about those other things. I just need you with me. Please?”

Somewhere deep below the shell solidifying around my heart I realized that I wanted Ian close too. Maybe it would be okay to be scared and lonely and sad with him. I really hoped I could. Only time would tell.

 Four

Dinner was a silent affair, at least on my part. The Kettengers' meal was accompanied by family conversation such as that Mike and I had joined in before he died. I couldn't bring myself to participate, and I could tell that my lack of input bothered the other two boys at the table.

Murray was a mouse-haired boy eighteen months younger than his brother. At almost eleven years old, he hadn't yet hit the start of his own journey to adulthood.  Ian and Murray were very close compared to most brothers I knew with a similar age difference. I believe one reason that might be so was the example Mike and I set in our brotherly relationship.

When dinner was completed, I quietly found my way through the garage and out to the back yard. The Kettengers house had a cement slab behind the garage with a basketball standard.  We four boys had played there extensively in the time we had known each other. We'd also set up their ping-pong table out there many, many times.

I looked around and tried to imagine Mike laughing and smiling as we played, but only silence remained. I sat heavily on the deck next to the court and dropped my head into my hands. Tears threatened to flood my eyes again.

“Why did you have to go, Mikey?”

I'm still here, Benji. I love you and I'll always be with you.

A wave of grief passed through me. The tears finally won. Ed found me later while the tears were still flowing. He didn't say anything, simply sitting beside me and putting his arm around my shoulders.  When he did this, the thought that I had to count on Ed to be there for me instead of my own father struck home. What had been quiet sobs suddenly turned into loud wails of anguish.  Dadtwo picked me up and held me in his lap tightly, trying to squeeze the pain out of me with the sheer strength of his embrace. When I could speak, it was in a halting manner, much like a child who had cried too hard fighting sudden sharp intakes of breath.

Ed asked, “Were you thinking of Mike?”

“Ye- yeah,” I confirmed miserably. “It started out a- as him.”

“It started out as him?” Ed inquired “Who else was it, Ben?”

I was silent for a moment. Ed repeated his question before I answered.

“My mo- mo- mom and d- dad h- hate me!”

“Oh, Ben… they don't hate you, lad,” Dadtwo chided gently. “They love you so much, Ben.”

“If they lov- love me then why d- did they se- send me away?” I countered.

“All of us have had a tremendous loss, especially you and your mom and dad,” Ed replied. “When a parent loses a child, it takes a long time to get back on track. Your mom and dad know this, and they knew that they wouldn't be able to do a good job taking care of you until they've got it together. They love you, Ben,” Ed insisted again.

“I can hear them arguing all the time,” I said several minutes later. Neither of us had moved, and my breathing had calmed. “Sometimes I think they blame me for Mike being dead.”

“It was an accident, Ben. You didn't cause it, and you couldn't have prevented it, regardless of what you think.”

“It should have been me. I went firs…”

Ed roughly turned me to face him. I was surprised to see tear stains on his cheeks, but his expression was angry. His eyes bore into mine once I met his gaze.

“You didn't cause the accident. You couldn't do anything to stop it. And it should not have been you. I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to. God has a reason for what happened. We can't know what it is now, and we may never know. Without a doubt, you were meant to live, Benjamin, else you would be dead and laying next to Michael. You are meant to live your life, and I never want to hear you say otherwise, do you understand?  Never.”

Tears filled his once-dry eyes again, and he pulled me into a tight hug. It wasn't until I rested my head on his shoulder that I realized I was crying again.

God, I thought, am I ever going to run out of tears?

It's okay to cry, Benji, Mike's imagined voice assured me. You have Ed and Liz and Ian and Murray to cry with you.

“I don't want to cry anymore, Mikey.”

“What did you say, Ben?” Ed's voice held a note of concern as he held me out to arms length.

“I don't want to cry anymore.”

“No, after that. Who were you talking to?”

I debated on telling him the truth. He was alarmed by the fact I'd been talking to Mike, and I didn't want to make it worse.

“Ben, it's okay. I still talk to my dad sometimes, and he's been gone for ten years. It's okay to talk to Mike every now and then.”

I nodded. I didn't tell him that Mike had been talking to me a lot since they picked me up at the cemetery.

Ed asked, “Are you ready to come in the house now? It's nearly eight of the clock. Ian's in his room making space for your things.”

I shrugged. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. Apathy had begun to set in.

“Off you go, then. Go get cleaned up for bed.”

Once in the bathroom I decided I needed a shower. I felt physically and emotionally dirty. The water ran hot in no time and I climbed in.  Hot water cascaded over my body soothing sore muscles in my shoulders and neck made tight by the incredible stress I'd been under. The crying had only seemed to make matters worse.

What are you doing, Benji?

“I'm missing you, Mikey. I miss you so much…”

I miss you too, but I'm not really gone. I'm there with you, in your heart.

“I can't touch you there, Mike.”

“Ben? Are you all right, son?” Ed.

“Yeah. I'll be out in a sec.” The attention was beginning to annoy me. I just wanted to be alone for a while without anyone pestering me about what I was thinking.

The water began to grow cool. I knew that I could take a ten minute shower without the hot water running out, but it seemed as if I'd just stepped in the tub.  In the time I had left I managed to scrub my body, my hair, and rinse myself without freezing my balls off. With my towel wrapped around me, I managed to take the few steps to Ian's door without being seen by his dad.  The door was cracked open and I could see light coming through it. A peek inside showed Ian already in bed reading a book with the bedclothes gathered at the foot of the mattress. I stood there watching him for a moment.  His face was relaxed except for the tension around his eyes, but I couldn't tell if that was from reading or something else.

He was a good looking boy.

I shoved that thought aside. Ian was off limits. Mike and I had agreed on that. In any case, Ian wasn't gay. All he ever talked about was girls when we discussed sex. Besides, jerking off together didn't mean anything.  A lot of guys did that together and it didn't make them gay. No, I couldn't even think of Ian as a potential boyfriend. It felt wrong to do so.

Why not, Benji? The only reason we agreed was because we both couldn't have him. Since I'm not there now…

“Shut up, Mike.”

“Is that you, Ben?” Ian called softly.

Opening the door, I walked in the room. One of the dresser drawers was open and my clothes had been neatly deposited.

“I hope you don't mind, Ben. That I unpacked for you, I mean.” My blood-brother's anxiety was clear in his tone.

My bag was sitting on the desk chair. I pulled it open far enough to see it still held everything else I had brought with me. The pictures of Mikey had been stacked and had a loose rubber band around them.

“Thank you,” I whisper in response as I pulled the pictures from my duffle.

I removed the band and flipped through the photos. Each picture brought a new stab of agony to my heart. When I was about half-way through I replaced the rubber band and dropped the pictures back in my bag.  I closed my eyes for a moment to allow the near-constant threat of tears to subside before pulling a pair of shorts out of the drawer and putting them on.  I kept the towel around my waist as I did so, uncomfortable with Ian seeing my body, knowing it was ridiculous given what we had done with each other in the past, but since Mike wasn't there, I just couldn't.  Ian thankfully let the awkward moment pass.

“Which side do you want, Benji?”

He had to have noticed the wince when he used that nickname again. Still, I let it slide and motioned for the right side of the bed furthest from the door.  Ian slid over to the other side and I climbed in with him, pulling the sheet over my body and up to my chest as I lay down. I stare at the ceiling for a time, trying to see Mike's face. I knew where the differences between our appearances were, and I was trying to picture them in my minds eye. I wasn't having much success, and that worried me. I didn't want to forget Mike.