Meeting of Brothers-2

It had been a long time since Blake had seen his brother, longer still since there had been sustained conversation. However, in all his life Blake had only heard his brother ask for help twice. The first time had been when Blake was seven and his brother was ten. He remembered it so clearly. It was late evening, and the day had been sunny and hot, a quintessential summer day. The evening was hot too, and humid. Blake remembered the smell of sweat, and how everything seemed too close and sticky. The apartment had no air conditioning, just one tiny fan that did nothing but push hot air around the room. During the day it was better to leave the apartment and walk an hour to the pond. Though it was filthy the pond still provided relief from the hot summer day. By the end of the day they would be hungry and tired, but there had been no dinner that evening. Nor had there been the night before. Their mother would come home and collapse, her hair still tied up in a handkerchief. They had searched the house for food, or for money, but had come up empty-handed. There was nothing. It might have ended there, but that was the evening that the landlord had knocked on the door.

He was a grotesque hulk of a man, and in the heat of the evening Blake could practically hear the fluttering of the man’s shrunken heart in the drum of his heaving chest. He had been to their door twice that week. They had turned him away both times, wheedling and cajoling him.  They owed him two months’ rent as well as the extra fee that he wanted to claim for the air conditioning that did not work. He stuck out one hand, sweaty palm upward.

“The money.” There was no hint of suggestion in his voice. He would either receive his money now, or kick the family out onto the street the next morning.  Blake stood there, without a single coherent thought in his head. His mind raced back to their lives barely a year ago. They had been kicked out of that apartment too. They had lived in the shelter. They had eaten scraps and slept beneath blankets that squirmed with insects. Were they returning to that?

Next thing he knew, his brother was pulling him aside.

“You need to keep him here Blake”

 Then his brother had left, racing out into the cooling evening. Blake supposed that was when it had all started.

After one hour the landlord left, but he had given Blake his word that he would accept the money if it came before midnight. Blake had waited, but not for long. His fear overrode his reason, and his imagination tortured him with the endless possibilities.

Blake had found him collapsed a block away from the house, leg at an odd angle, rocking back and forth as he groaned in pain. The food had spilled out of the bag and onto the street. Blake’s brother had looked him in the eyes and asked for his help. So Blake gathered up the food at his brother’s bidding, stuffed it into the bag, and gave his brother an arm to lean on as he hopped back to the house. He had ignored the tears that ran down his brother’s face. There was no reason to damage his dignity.

Blake took the money to the landlord, who eyed it suspiciously, but accepted it with a snort .Then they had feasted on Oreos and candy bars, and neither told their mother what had happened. Blake’s brother had limped for a couple of weeks, ignoring the pain in his leg and wishing that it would go away. It had, but Blake never knew if there was permanent damage. It would happen again as they grew, when times got hard Blake’s brother would wander off and come back with money or food.

As time passed he disappeared more frequently, and returned with fewer injuries. It got to the point where he would leave even when they were not in need of anything. Their mother worried at first, feared what might happen to her son, but when she tried to stop him he got angry. When he was angry they would argue, then fight.

 In the end she turned him out of the house. She was trying to protect her younger son. Blake had screamed at his mother, then begged her to change her mind. He hated her for her decision.. Later he understood why she did it, and he thought that his brother did too, somehow. They kept in contact, but in a half-hearted manner that reflected the difficulty of the situation. In some ways it revealed both of their characters to Blake. His mother was strong; strong enough deny her desire to protect her older son to the realization that he was becoming his father. He had seen the same realization in his brother’s eyes, the self-hatred that stemmed from the memories of his father. His brother had left to find himself.

Phone calls were awkward. There was nothing for them to say in conversation when they talked. Fortunately the calls were brief and infrequent. It was an exchange of greetings and a checkup, then the awkward pauses and eventual end. The money came regularly. Blake used it to pay for his own expenses so that when his mother asked where the money he sent her came from he could honestly say that he made it from work.

                Still, perhaps it was the familiarity of this situation that allowed Blake to open his door to his injured brother again.  It was an echo of the past, a lingering memory that prompted him to help his brother,as he had done before.

                As his brother slid past, Blake took in the sight of him. Once he might have described his brother as fit, even muscular. His shirts would stretch across his shoulders and back. Now his shirt literally hung off his collarbone, like a sheet from a clothesline. It was not the body of a wiry man, rather like a starving man. There were dark circles under his eyes, and lines from the dirt that he had tried to wash away. They had persisted on the back of his neck, in little spots on his shirt, and underneath his fingernails. Patches of stubble dotted his chin and neck. He moved like a man who had once known grace, but now was  on the edge of exhaustion and hoping to make it to his next respite. He moved into Blake’s kitchen, clearly unsure of where to sit.

Blake’s apartment was compact. Blake was fine with this. He lived alone, and when he wanted social outings he went to other people’s places. He never hosted. As a result of this there were no two places in the apartment that two people could comfortably sit and talk. There was a single chair in the kitchen next to the table and a sofa chair in the small living space. Even the dining table was spread with his papers and books, making it exclusively his.

Blake’s brother eyed the walls carefully, as if they might collapse in on him at any time.

“You’ve got to be careful with places like this. They can stunt your growth.” Blake’s brother glanced at him. “Maybe that’s a good thing,” He joked.

It wasn’t funny. Blake wasn’t even that tall.

 “What are you doing here William?“ Blake was in no mood for small talk. There was something about the casual nature that his brother assumed when entering back into his life. As if he had the right to criticize the way that Blake was living. At least he was in control of his own life. William was clearly losing his grip. 

William ran a hand through his hair nervously. There was a short pause as he fumbled for words.

“Please, just hear me out, okay?”

When Blake said nothing William continued.

“I need your car.”

“That’s hilarious.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Really? I think it is. It’s hilarious because my screw-up of a brother thinks that he can just stroll into my life and take my stuff. Tell me that isn’t funny”

“Don’t you mock me. Not right now. Not when I’m asking for help.”

“You don’t get to make demands when you’re asking for help.”

William frowned, studying his brother’s face. He had no words, as if his brother’s anger had muted him. For a moment they simply stared each other down. Once again Blake’s attention was drawn to how thin William was, how the shadows on his cheeks were dark and deep because all the flesh had fallen away. The only part of him that seemed to be whole were his eyes. They peered out from behind heavy lids, bright and alive. Blake felt as if William was taking in his actions and dissecting them piece by piece, meticulously and scientifically. After a moment of gathering his inner strength William said,

 “No. I suppose not. Look. I’m sorry Blake. I know that this isn’t fair for me to ask. Hell, I haven’t talked to you in months, not properly anyway. But you’re the only safe person I know. I need to get a package to a man in Boston. This is a problem bigger than me, or anything that I’ve screwed up. So I need you to do this for me now. I know you want to know what’s going on, hell so do I, and as soon as I know I’ll tell you everything. Or nothing, if you want. I can disappear after this. You’ve just got to do me this one favor.” William considered his own words, then added, “You can tell me to leave, and I’ll go, but I want you to know that if you turn me away it will cause a world of trouble. That’s not a threat. That’s just the truth.”

                Blake listened to William’s outpouring silently. He considered just turning his brother out right then and there. He wanted to close the door on his sorry face and forget that his brother had ever showed up at his door. It would be easy. There would be no need to tell anyone, especially not their mother. William would go his own way, and never speak to him again.

                The question was if he could do that to his own brother.

                It was with great consideration that he turned his back on William and left the kitchen.

                “So?” His brother called after him, “Blake? Whats your answer?”

                Blake emerged from his room with a bag slung over his shoulder.

                “I’m driving. You look like you would pass out at the wheel.”

                William opened his mouth, already formulating an objection.

                “Will, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

                Will glanced at his watch. It was late. And whether because of an actual agreement, or simple exhaustion, Will kept his mouth shut.