TO JOY: Rollo and Jeanette Are Dead
PleaseCain
(ADULT MATERIAL, NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS)
ROLLO AND JEANETTE ARE DEAD
It was four or five in the morning,
but still very hot. The hair on my
arm was matted and saturated with
sweat, but I wiped my forehead on it
all the same.
I lit another cigarette just as an
excuse to stay outside. I didn't even
want it; my throat stank with the
aftertaste of an entire pack already.
But even as the pitch sky was broken
by a thin line of baby blue to the
east, I had to sit out here a few
minutes more. Inside, it was so hot
and stifling, it was a madhouse. And
I had to try to remember, before I
went back in.
But for the life of me, I couldn't. I
couldn't remember what they said. I
mean, their words. I couldn't
remember their exact words, any of
them. Or the good times we spent
together. I remembered a few, but not
twenty-six years' worth. We got along
fine. There should have been plenty
more, but I couldn't recall.
I had just spoken to her on the phone
a few weeks before. And there I sat
on the stoop in the muggy night,
trying to figure out what her last
words to me were. Or her laugh. How
can you forget someone's goddamned
laugh? His was easy, it was so
distinctive. But I had spent half-an-
hour talking on the phone with her,
and years before that, and I couldn't
remember the sound of her laughter.
I was glad it was closed-caskets,
because I sure didn't want to
remember them dead. But I wasn't too
thrilled with this vacuum of memory
that I felt now either. Maybe a few
morose recollections of death might
be better than emptiness.
And at least Mom and Dad weren't
around to see this. It would've
killed them, to outlive their
children, their two eldest. The
achievers of the family, that's what
Dad used to call them whenever I was
around. He made sure I'd hear, too.
God, if anything were to happen to
Joy. . . . We were always closer just
because we were so much younger than
everyone else. I never bought any of
that bullshit about bonding and twins
and stuff. I've just always thought
that because we were younger that we
were a little more protective of each
other, that we could trust each other
more and share confidences with each
other. Suddenly, it was like she was
all I had left.
I tossed my cigarette and went inside
and locked the door. The air within
was thick and stuffy.
Joy was taking it pretty bad. When I
met her at the airport, she seemed
numb and freaked out. And distant,
like she would burst at any moment.
She finally did at the service. She
was hysterical, and she wouldn't let
go of me throughout. She had been
sick all day since we got back to my
apartment. She threw up a couple of
times, then laid down and never got
up. I checked on her a lot, but
otherwise I felt helpless. She looked
so broken.
She lay there in the dim blue light,
motionless but for the occasional
wave of her hair in the current of
the fan. I silently walked over to
the nightstand to get the empty
glass, and I filled it with cold
water.
I needed some sleep, but first I
needed a shower, to wash away the
sweat and grime from my body, and the
confusion from my mind.
I stood in cool water, letting it
wash over me, wash away this day, and
carry it down the drain. When I
killed yhe water, I toweled myself
quickly, suddenly anxious to get to
bed and sleep away this emptiness
that scared me so.
I slipped on a thin pair of boxers,
and once again refilled the empty
water glass next to Joy. She had
rolled over, and I studied her face
as she slept. Her brows was tense,
her lips tightly drawn.
I lay down along the opposite edge of
the bed. In the stillness, as I
feared, my emotions rushed to the
fore. I felt so sorry for her. I felt
so alone. I rolled over beside her,
wrapped my arms around her, and
spooned my body behind hers. Her
nightgown was wet with sweat. . . .
A lawnmower is humming somewhere
outside. It's daylight, and hot.
We are lying tightly against one
another. Her head is resting on mine,
deep breaths on my shoulder. We are
hugging each other. Our limbs are
intertwined. My toes are touching
hers.
My hands brush down against bare
skin. I open my eyes a little.
Through her hair, I see in my arms
her nude back and her ass.
I don't know if I jumped, but she's
rustling in her sleep. Her head
burrows deeper into my shoulder, her
knee bends forward, her hips pusxh
against mine. I feel the pressure of
her pubic bone, and the brush of hair
against . . . I feel my cock, naked
and erect, pressed between us. I
close my eyes and try to think.