he.
"Sorry.
That took a little longer..."
“...than
we thought it would," we said as we entered the kitchen, garbed for battle
in nothing but fresh tees and jeans.
Mom and Dad
were standing face to face at the stove. Warily, both acknowledged our
greeting. Each clutched a mug of coffee in both hands, clearly not quite sure
how to proceed. At once, Clark crossed to the breakfast table, pulled out Dad's
chair, and sat down. My mother stiffened, but Dad touched her
arm, and she bit her lip, both literally and figuratively. Clark motioned them
to sit.
They did, in the chairs usually
occupied by us. Momentarily taken aback by my brothers calm audacity, I tardily
slipped into the last empty seat. I had barely pulled my chair up to the table
when I felt Clark's big toe gently nuzzling my balls.
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Okay, we've got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it,
so let's get started. First things first. Mark and I had a long talk this
afternoon, and we tentatively agreed that one of us will go to live with Uncle
Clay this summer. More specifically, Mark will go. I'll stay here and work for
Dad in the dairy. Any problems with that?"
Dad shook his head amenably. Mom
looked from Clark to me and back again, her eyes narrowing.
"What's the catch?"
"Well, we do need to work out a
few things." He smiled. "Dot a few i’s, cross a few t's before we go
to contract."
"Contract? This isn't..."
"Oh, yes it is, Mom. That's
exactly what it is. You want a commitment from us. We want one from you. Fair
is fair."
"I'm listening."
"Good, good." God, Clark
was suddenly ten years older. A man. "You see, we've really thought a lot
about your concerns. Maybe Mark and I shouldn't need each other so much,
shouldn't love each other so much."
"I never said that!"
"Okay, calm down now. Let me put
it another way. Maybe each of us needs to discover his own space, his own self.
Frankly, we don't think so, but we're willing to give it a shot. Try to make
some new friends. Start dating."
His toes were twiddling away at my
crotch as if they were laughing. I didn't pull back.
"Sure, Mark and I, we're very
close. But what's so unhealthy about that? Y'know, all twins are really Siamese,
even if you can't see any visible link that
locks them together. But the connections are there, so you can't expect Mark and me to cut ourselves in two just because you
once found a jar of Vaseline on the bedroom floor."
Dad shook
his head. "Clark. Don't go there."
"We're
already there, Dad." He turned to Mom, who was chewing on the inside of
her cheek by then. "Sometimes I think you'd rather have us knock up some
local virgin in the back seat of a car somewhere than love each other in our
own home—as you have always urged us to do."
"Clark,
you're twisting things..."
"Not now, Mom. We're running late. It's almost six." He
paused. "Bottom line: We agree to go our separate ways this summer. In
return you agree never to make innuendoes about us again or say another word
about where we sleep, not this summer when Mark comes home to visit, not next
fall—if he comes home at all."
Mom
gasped. "Not come home?"
"Isn't
that what you want? For him to make a new life? For me to, too? Away from each
other. Suppose he does?"
"That's
not what I meant."
"No? Well, you have to be prepared for all eventualities."
He looked at the clock again. "It’s almost six." And then he nailed
her. "One last thing: Don't ever mention Grandma's room again."
Dad
breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. "Uh... That doesn't seem
unreasonable. Uh, honey?"
Mom just
waved the air with her hand and walked out of the room.
"Don't
forget to phone Uncle Clay," called Clark. "And, hey, find out what
kind of money he's talking about."
Dad
stood. "You are something else, Clark. How old are you two now?"
"Fifteen.
You should know."
"Fifteen
going on thirty's more like it." He patted my brother's shoulder.
"Your mother's a good woman. She'll come
"Sorry.
That took a little longer..."
“...than
we thought it would," we said as we entered the kitchen, garbed for battle
in nothing but fresh tees and jeans.
Mom and Dad
were standing face to face at the stove. Warily, both acknowledged our
greeting. Each clutched a mug of coffee in both hands, clearly not quite sure
how to proceed. At once, Clark crossed to the breakfast table, pulled out Dad's
chair, and sat down. My mother stiffened, but Dad touched her
arm, and she bit her lip, both literally and figuratively. Clark motioned them
to sit.
They did, in the chairs usually
occupied by us. Momentarily taken aback by my brothers calm audacity, I tardily
slipped into the last empty seat. I had barely pulled my chair up to the table
when I felt Clark's big toe gently nuzzling my balls.
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Okay, we've got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it,
so let's get started. First things first. Mark and I had a long talk this
afternoon, and we tentatively agreed that one of us will go to live with Uncle
Clay this summer. More specifically, Mark will go. I'll stay here and work for
Dad in the dairy. Any problems with that?"
Dad shook his head amenably. Mom
looked from Clark to me and back again, her eyes narrowing.
"What's the catch?"
"Well, we do need to work out a
few things." He smiled. "Dot a few i’s, cross a few t's before we go
to contract."
"Contract? This isn't..."
"Oh, yes it is, Mom. That's
exactly what it is. You want a commitment from us. We want one from you. Fair
is fair."
"I'm listening."
"Good, good." God, Clark
was suddenly ten years older. A man. "You see, we've really thought a lot
about your concerns. Maybe Mark and I shouldn't need each other so much,
shouldn't love each other so much."
"I never said that!"
"Okay, calm down now. Let me put
it another way. Maybe each of us needs to discover his own space, his own self.
Frankly, we don't think so, but we're willing to give it a shot. Try to make
some new friends. Start dating."
His toes were twiddling away at my
crotch as if they were laughing. I didn't pull back.
"Sure, Mark and I, we're very
close. But what's so unhealthy about that? Y'know, all twins are really Siamese,
even if you can't see any visible link that
locks them together. But the connections are there, so you can't expect Mark and me to cut ourselves in two just because you
once found a jar of Vaseline on the bedroom floor."
Dad shook
his head. "Clark. Don't go there."
"We're
already there, Dad." He turned to Mom, who was chewing on the inside of
her cheek by then. "Sometimes I think you'd rather have us knock up some
local virgin in the back seat of a car somewhere than love each other in our
own home—as you have always urged us to do."
"Clark,
you're twisting things..."
"Not now, Mom. We're running late. It's almost six." He
paused. "Bottom line: We agree to go our separate ways this summer. In
return you agree never to make innuendoes about us again or say another word
about where we sleep, not this summer when Mark comes home to visit, not next
fall—if he comes home at all."
Mom
gasped. "Not come home?"
"Isn't
that what you want? For him to make a new life? For me to, too? Away from each
other. Suppose he does?"
"That's
not what I meant."
"No? Well, you have to be prepared for all eventualities."
He looked at the clock again. "It’s almost six." And then he nailed
her. "One last thing: Don't ever mention Grandma's room again."
Dad
breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. "Uh... That doesn't seem
unreasonable. Uh, honey?"
Mom just
waved the air with her hand and walked out of the room.
"Don't
forget to phone Uncle Clay," called Clark. "And, hey, find out what
kind of money he's talking about."
Dad
stood. "You are something else, Clark. How old are you two now?"
"Fifteen.
You should know."
"Fifteen
going on thirty's more like it." He patted my brother's shoulder.
"Your mother's a good woman. She'll come
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