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>No joke about tweleve sort of rhyming with "selves" >this time. > >--- > >I’m a big fan of whoever first said “when life gives >you lemons, throw them back and say ‘I don’t want your >stupid lemons’!” I don’t enjoy suffering and feel it >should be avoided or rejected whenever possible, not >used constructively. Brooding is an acceptable >practice only as long as you enjoy it, and I stop >tolerating it in others when they begin to bore me. >This whole Spring Break debacle fits the bill. It >makes me feel sticky and prickly when I think of >Celery off in Calgary somewhere wondering why no one >ever calls him anymore and I find Carrots far more >entertaining when he’s not moping in his room all the >time. It hasn’t been my policy, but I don’t see why >confronting conflict can’t work for others. Kyle of >course, is about almost nothing else but directly >facing anything and everything life throws at him >(it’s going to get him killed someday) so in this area >he is my alley. As yet, our pestering of Carrots has >led to less than optimal results, but at least it’s >giving me something to do. Other than, you know, >brood myself. > >--- > >Sightings of Jon and Dave at school are nothing if not >rare occasions. It’s odd, when you think about it, >because we all do go to the same school, day after >day, and they’re only two grades behind us, but as I >say – rare. So this time, as I passed them standing >close together, hunched over something they’d just >removed from their locker (this I surmised due to >their close proximity to an open locker I judge to be >theirs by the family group shot nestled among video >games posters and soccer paraphernalia) I almost kept >right on walking, until my mind caught up with all my >eyes had just seen and I realized who I was just >looking at. > >“Hey guys,” I said casually, because at the moment I >believed the situation to be casual. “What’s up?” >When I asked this question, I meant it in a very >general way, part greeting, part broad inquiry into >their well-being. > >The startled, evasive and somewhat panicked looks they >returned the question with gave me a pretty good idea >as to where to start. > >“Something wrong?” > >Jon folded up the paper they’d been having a war >conference over abruptly. He handed it to Dave, who >hastily shoved it in their locker and slammed it shut. > >“Guys?” I spoke, mostly to remind them I was still >there, because they were acting distinctly as though I >wasn’t. > >This time when they looked at me their expressions >were blank, closed off, with a sort of veneer of false >cheer. > >“Nothing.” Jon muttered, a question late, smiling >with effort. > >“What?” Bewildered. > >Dave patted me on the arm. “The British can look >after themselves,” he said vaguely before tugging >sharply once on the bottom on Jon’s shirt, and without >much more than a hasty wave they headed off down the >hall, out of sight. > >A minute later, I was still standing there, and I >noticed Braden watching their locker apprehensively >from a sufficiently shadowy classroom doorway a small >ways in the opposite direction they had tore off in. > >Noticing me notice him, he smiled weakly and dashed >off himself. > >I stood there frozen with confusion and the beginnings >of concern until the bell rang, startling me from my >trance, and I hurried off to class. > >--- > >I don’t really know what’s going on, but I’m damn sure >I don’t like it. When Kyle called me and told me >Celery was back, I let out a whoop that startled my >parents but ensured my easy exit from the house. When >I arrived and witnessed the tearful kitchen family >moment, my joy grew. Everything, for one perfect >moment, seemed to be coming together, returning to the >kind of normal I only wished we could have had. But >now, apparently, the joy train has been completely >derailed. And, to make things all about me for a >minute, I don’t fucking like it. > >“It’s the force!” I shout at Kyle for the millionth >time. > >As always, he says nothing, preferring to watch me >wearily. When I calm down enough to let him he’ll >comfort me, for now he’s just letting it burn. > >“I mean god damnit – they have standards to live up >to! They’re supposed to have the fairy fucking tale >ending here! I can’t… we’re supposed to say shit >like, ‘I hope we can be like Carrots and Celery one >day’. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” > >Kyle raises his left eye brow, silently reminding me >about one of my personal life goals: don’t let >yourself get all screwed up-dependent. (what can I >say, he stopped not asking me personal shit when I’m >high and drunk) > >“Yeah I know damnit. But under the dysfunction they >love each other more that anyone ever, quite possibly. > I don’t want to find out that the rumors are true and >that in the end, that really doesn’t count for shit. >I can’t hear that.” Not so soon after I took the >plunge, did the both feet in, deep end, love thing. > >Kyle’s smile is sympathetic. I’m about ready to go >from freaked out to suspicious. > >“And what’s up with you? Why aren’t you losing it? >Celery is your brother even more than mine – you >should be right here with me.” > >Kyle sighs. “Then who’d be here for you?” > >“Hey – fuck you. I can be strong too. I mean, for >you and shit. The Zen Master routine isn’t available >for outsiders only.” > >His smile is the one he usually wears right before he >kisses me. > >“I know that, and you are. I mean, you’ve got that >whole subtlety thing going for you, but Jonas, you >give me strength. Knowing you love me, need me, that >makes me want to fight, to try, but you’re there for >me in all other kinds of ways too. Like right now, >I’m only holding it together so I can take care of >you, but it’s like, knowing you need me gives me >enough motivation to really keep my head on straight >about all this. Do you know what I mean?” That’s >fairly incoherent for Kyle. It’s a little alarming, >but I do get it. > >“My natural spazziness allows you to distract and >protect yourself within your preferred and somewhat >emotionally distanced role of protector?” > >“Brains and beauty. Gotta love it.” > >I give up on pacing and make a home on his lap. It’s >a luxury, a concession my dignity rarely allows, but >these are extenuating circumstances. > >“Are you okay?” > >He swallows, and titles his head in contemplation. >“I’m not dealing with me yet. Right now it’s safer to >worry about everyone else.” > >I decide to pull a Kyle, and accept that as enough of >an answer. For now. > >--- > >In the middle of my and everyone else’s considerable >distress about the way Celery’s visit’s been going, I >have to remind myself not to forget about the twins. >Because something’s seriously awry with them too. All >the signs are there, for anyone who cared or knew >enough to pay attention, and I’m guessing they’re >banking on nobody actually you know, doing that, hence >their lack of concern for subtly. I mean, whenever I >see them they’re freaking two inches apart, whispering >and muttering to themselves, the traditional sounds of >video games, trash talk and gloating have all but >stopped emanating from their room, soccer hasn’t >started but they’re rarely home, but we never know >where. Braden, the only real idea anyone might have, >often calls during one of their long unexplained >absences, but nobody else seems to find this worrying. > Possibly that’s because it isn’t, and it’s normal for >teenage boys to go out and do things they don’t tell >their parents and siblings about in every detail >before and after but damnit – I know something else is >going on. Something bad. I know it, but just like >everyone else, I’m mostly too fucking distracted to >even remember what it is I know, never mind think >about it seriously enough to figure out what I can do >about it. > >--- > >I tried to talk to Celery, once. At the get go I knew >I had only like a 15 minutes window and no real idea >what I was going to say, but I took a shot. I did the >direct eye contact thing and I asked him what was >going on, but he (the bastard) just smiled and told me >everything was fine. > >Fine my fucking ass. > >--- > >“I’m gonna kill him! Both of them possibly but Celery >first! I mean – what the fuck does he think he’s >doing?! Running away is MY thing!” I pause to seethe >furiously before shouting, “Get your own >self-destructive coping mechanism you big copier!” and >shaking my fist at the ceiling. > >“Jo,” Kyle starts carefully, the animal in the wild >thing again, as I resume pacing. It’s a habit I’ve >picked up from him. Leaves more room for broad >expressive hand gestures and liberal arm flailing. >Despite it being Kyle’s own habit, I think I’m >starting to alarm him. I haven’t exactly been holding >it together lately. Between Celery, the twins erratic >behavior and my parents, the walls are pretty much >gone. Replaced by a quivering mass of stress and a >considerable amount of yelling. If I wasn’t so fully >freaked out about nearly every aspect of my life, I >might find it refreshing. At the moment, it’s just >tiring. > >“Now would be a good time for you to start freaking >out too Kyle. This is the kind of panic it’s more fun >to share.” > >“I’m leaning towards the emotional shut down thing >Carrots’ is playing at, to be honest with you.” > >All in the family. > >“Fucking not on my watch you understand! This family >needs you – I need you, damnit.” > >“Something something cliché something something not >this time.” Translation: I’m tired. Tired of being >the strong one, tired of holding everyone else >together when all I want is to fall apart. > >“Okay.” I say, taking a deep breath. If I’ve got it >right, he’s trusting me with this one. Or, at the >very least, asking for my help. Which means no more >flipping out. I can do that. I can be that guy. > >Maybe. > >“But not shut-down okay? Please, one of those is all >we can handle. You’ve gotta, you know, deal with this >your way.” > >“Something sportsmen like?” Grin is ironic and sad. > >“Something Kyle-like,” I say firmly. > >He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do. I >don’t have blueprints for this.” > >I hope my arms around him are as good a start for Kyle >as his usually are for me. > >--- > >My next conference is with the twins, who are dealing >with this as well as the fact that Jon has recently >lost his virginity, but Dave hasn’t. > >That, and something mysterious with Braden. > >What can I say? I eavesdrop. They let me. > >“We’re pissed.” Dave says with an annoyed shrug. >Implying perhaps that “how do you feel?” was a rather >dorky way to begin this conversation. > >“Can you give me objects of frustration – the >direction of this anger?” > >They do not deny themselves the comfort of rolling >their eyes. > >“I just mean – everyone’s mad at Celery. Obviously. >But, well...” > >“We’re also mad at Carrots, sure.” Jon answers in the >same bored, obvious tone. It’s not one they usually >use with me. > >“I’m not going to get far with you guys on this one am >I?” In a tired, disappointed way, I get it. Some >pain is too deep to share. Too private. > >For their part, Jon and Dave take the time to look >sorry, and I think maybe they are. But that doesn’t >change anything. This is them, settling things their >way, and as in most things, it doesn’t leave room for >anyone else. > >--- > >A few nights later, Kyle cries for nearly an hour in >his sleep. > >--- > >I try to explain it to my parents. Who Celery is. >That Celery’s gone. > >My mother’s little fingers comb softly through my >dreads. > >“He will come back?” > >“Oh, eventually… I’m sure he can’t stay away. It’s >just…” You don’t leave. Never that betrayal. Who >could understand that better than them? > >“This is the pain of loving these people,” She says >sadly, not a reproach, just a quiet murmur to herself. > This is what she was trying to shield me from. > >“I’m glad I can share it with you.” > >And as her face crumbles and my dad’s voice begins a >low humming song, something he once used to rock me to >sleep, I think only over and over how true that is, >and how it’s this that I could never give up – how >easily truth comes when I’m around them. And just >maybe, that what’s been missing. These past months >have been the first in my entire life where truth >became a dangerous thing, and I kept things from them. > Not just the things I did, the places I went, but all >the feelings that drove those other things. I was >trying to protect myself, protect them, but I kept >them out of it as much as I’ve kept Kyle and the rest >out of this life. So maybe I’ve been going about it >all wrong. Maybe the compartmentalizing was suicide. > >Revelations such as this are no indication yet of >whether I’m strong enough to try for something better. > >--- > >“What’s up?” > >“Carrots said we could call Celery, if we wanted to.” > >“Well, that’s good right? That’s progress or >whatever.” > >“Yeah. Maybe. I guess.” His face is still clouded. > >“So?” > >“So,” He sighs, “I’m not sure I can.” > >“Can what? Call Celery?” > >“Yeah.” > >“Why not?” > >“Because.” > >Another sigh, even heavier this time. > >“I haven’t forgiven him yet.”

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