For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (44 page)

She nuzzles the tip of my nose with her own in a plea for understanding. I can feel wetness against my own lashes when she blinks. I pull my head back so I can read her lips.
“Don’t do it,”
she says. I don’t have to be able to hear in order to feel the ache in her words. But I don’t have time to have this argument again. I release my twin and hand her the rest of her clothing.

We don’t interact further as we finish getting ready for the day. It’s strange. Unnatural, even. We are always communicating in some way, at all times when we are together—a touch, a Sign, her focus on me, and vice versa. I loathe days like today.

I
can taste
impending rain on my tongue, metallic and earthy, as I step outside our trailer to join Kylee on her walk to school. Overcast days are perfect for tricking; people are willing to stay inside and fuck like they’re getting paid for it, which I am. Kylee is still pissed at me and has made it very plain she doesn’t want my company. I ignore her when she’s like this and the silence suits us both well.

The park is quiet early in the morning. Century, Florida has a meager population of nearly two-thousand people and most of them live near or below the poverty line. Folks around here don’t have to get up for work too often because there are no jobs to go to. It’s a fact I know all too well.

As we make our way down the dirt path through the center of Sunny Meadows, I’m mildly surprised to encounter Mr. Sandusky. He’s perched on top of one of the many picnic tables the park has littered around. I assume he assisted DWP with shutting off our water and power and decided to lie in wait for me. I’m relieved to have a sure thing, but frustrated by his timing. I shake my head subtly and tilt it toward my sister. He nods knowingly and licks his lips like a hyena about to devour a meal. I try my best not to look as disgusted as I am. A lot of the women in the park consider him to be a catch because he has a job, isn’t a complete troll for a guy who’s almost fifty, and is a pillar of the community. To me, he’s just another two-faced sack of shit with something I need.

Kylee comes to an abrupt halt and waves toward Mr. Sandusky. How she even knows he’s there is spooky.
“Morning, Mr. Sandusky!”
The older man’s eyes widen with surprise. She swivels her head in my direction wearing a false and saccharine smile. I should have known better than to think I could keep my interaction secret. I make eye contact with the park manager who reluctantly responds. He is too far for me to read his lips, but I can read my twin’s just fine.

“Were you waiting for us….
” She pauses, deceptively thoughtful in her execution.
“Really? That’s so kind of you to offer to help, Mr. Sandusky. You probably saw DWP by our trailer…Do you have any jobs for Parker? Any way you can help him make money?”
The park manager is flustered like I’ve never seen him. He looks from my sister to me, unsure if she’s being facetious. He climbs down from the picnic table and smiles as he ambles over toward us. Sometimes I wish Kylee were my brother instead so I could punch her when she does something stupid.

Mr. Sandusky looks me over appreciatively as he makes his approach. I’m wearing my most threadbare pair of jeans, the ones with so many holes my front pockets poke through. I’ve paired it with a worn T-shirt two sizes too small that I purchased at a thrift store for three dollars. The famous slogan,
Just Do It
, is emblazoned across the front, and a flannel. From the look in the park manager’s eyes, I’m going to have to buy a new T-shirt after he’s done with me. Despite my revulsion, I am at least half hard from the adrenalin. He addresses Kylee, but keeps his eyes on me as he speaks.
“Uh, yes, actually. Always got something for your brother to do.”
He has the gall to wink at me. The sighted world is full of jerkoffs who think Kylee doesn’t know what they’re up to.

Kylee’s face loses all pretext as her cupid’s bow of a mouth goes tight and formidable. There’s a sinister smirk lurking at one corner of her mouth. When she moves to speak, each word is over-enunciated…for my benefit.
“If you really want to help, Mr. Sandusky, you can start by keeping your stubby little pecker in your pants!”
I’m sucker punched with shock. Mr. Sandusky is ashen, the blood drained from his face.
“If you want to buy something from my brother, buy his silence.”

We both stare, agape at my sister’s devious and angelic smile. After a few moments the park manager stirs himself from his stupefied catatonic state and his expression turns feral.
“Parker, what the hell is your sister talking about? You just try to say one goddamn word, you little blind cunt,”
he spits, his true face showing.
“No one would believe you. Everyone knows the two of you ain’t right. The way you two are with each other is an abomination!”
He tries to lift his finger toward her face and that’s the moment I break loose and shove him back several steps. I watch him clench his fists to strike, but he thinks better of it when he sees me reach for my pocket knife.

Kylee slips her slender arm under mine and hooks our arms. I fall into step with her immediately, our bodies brushing, her hold on me tightening and order is restored in our world. On our way past Mr. Sandusky, she pauses to lay her hand on his bicep, and blatantly assesses his strength with appreciation and a pointed lack of concern for her physical well-being.
“We want the water and power back on by the end of the school day.”

I am
giddy
at my sister’s side. I feel like I’m going to shit my pants but…in a good way? Mr. Sandusky is really no one to mess with. And he’s not
that
bad; he always pays more than I ask and he doesn’t play rougher than I can handle. But, my god, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good.

Kylee, fully aware my gaze has not left her face, informs me there is no reason not to attend classes for the day. With the money I made doing chores for others, and the work I have lined up the next several weekends, we have enough to get by for a while.
“Are you mad at me?”
she asks. Now that we’re away from Mr. Sandusky, some of her fear and jitters are evident.

I stop, forcing her to comply. “Why did you do it, Kye?” I place the fingers of my opposite hand over the hand she has resting in the crook of my arm.

She shrugs, then reaches up for my face to trace all my features. Her thumbs press against my lips. She is ‘looking’ at me.
“You. Are
mine
,”
she mouths, very slowly.

I am helpless against such an onslaught of sweetness. She’s like a child throwing a tantrum over her favorite toy…but there is nothing childlike about the way my sister threatened Mr. Sandusky.

My sister is possessive of me.

I don’t know why I ever worried about that hypothetical boy, and that speculative kiss.

O
ur favorite class
is music; it surprises people when they learn this, but it shouldn’t, some of history’s greatest composers were blind or deaf.

Mrs. Swann waves her arms dramatically in the air in an attempt to corral all the rambunctious students in her overpopulated classroom. She’s a sweet and matronly black woman, one of the most beloved teachers at our impoverished school, but also the least feared. As a result, she spends half of class trying to get everyone to take their seats. Kylee is already sitting at the piano while I am patiently ready at the bass drum.

“Hey,”
Mrs. Swann calls out,
“y’all are testing my patience.”
And indeed, there is a crack in her church lady demeanor in the form of an authoritative glint in her eyes and a well-placed hand on her ample hip. The class reluctantly takes their seats.

I watch Mrs. Swann carefully for my signal as Kylee’s fingers slide over each black and white key before they settle on their mark.

“Begin,”
Mrs. Swann says and Kylee’s eyes slide shut and her head cocks to the left. She is like a different person when she plays. She says there are notes so high and keen they force tears from her eyes and notes so low and ponderous they knock the wind from her lungs.

The class has been practicing Beethoven’s
Quasi una fantasia (Moonlight Sonata)
since the school year began. I watch my twin play with her entire body, her foot pounding into the pedal as she digs her fingertips into every note. Her body sways. Back and forth. Utterly hypnotic. Caught up in her thrall, I struggle to watch for my cues on the drum. I enjoy music, the drums and bass guitar especially, but when I watch her, it’s as though I can hear what she hears, and feel what she feels. People at school typically give my sister and I a wide berth, but when it comes to music, Kylee’s enigmatic performances put her on a pedestal instead of a back burner.

Music is our final class of the day and, thanks to Kylee, a day I was certain would be disastrous has turned out to be one of my better days. At least, I think so, until I catch Christian Black sniffing around my sister at the bottom of the risers.

He lives in Sunny Meadows too and his fascination with my sister isn’t exactly a secret, but until now, he’s never actually spoken to either of us. I can’t make out what they’re discussing as I gather our things and wade through the dozens of students scrambling to get out of the room after the bell. But Kylee is smiling—big, wide, and goofy. I don’t like it and I care for the smarmy grin on Christian’s face even less.

“Hey!” I say, louder than I intended, based on Christian’s horribly suppressed flinch. I never know how loud to be in a crowd. I deliberately stand between them.

Kylee snaps at me in Sign:
“Five minutes. Let me talk.”

This rarely happens—Kylee pushing me away to speak to some normal. But, she obviously wants his attention so what can I do? Kylee has been denied many things in this life and my job is to provide. I glare daggers at Christian who at least looks very uncomfortable if all his blushing, shuffling, and Justin Bieber hair swishing are any indication. I step to the side and cross my arms. No matter how much I dislike it, Kylee is entitled to this idiot’s advances. However, I do not take my eyes off of them.

I have a front row seat as Christian charismatically stumbles through asking my sister out—a get together at his house with a few people. He’s just the right amount of shy and confident; eye contact despite her inability to see and pink cheeks. Kylee is eating it up. The long delicate fingers of her left hand twirl a strand of soft red hair near her breast, drawing the eye. Christian’s. Mine. Her other arm is wrapped around her waist and she is gently twisting from side to side. I wish it were a struggle to understand what’s unfolding but I’m too good at reading body language.

The conversation is mercifully brief, but the pain in my stomach lasts long after we arrive at home to discover we still don’t have water or power.

Kylee has a date.

I stomp through our shitty trailer, fling open our bedroom door and throw our book bag in the corner before flopping face up on the bed. I rub my eyes with balled up fists. As soon as I calm down, I’m going to have to go blow the park manager—for free—just to buy us some goodwill. And probably two more to get the utilities turned on before five. There are
always
men looking for a quick blowjob or a fuck. As keyed-up as I feel, I might not mind the rough handling. I’m recalling Mr. Sandusky’s fury when I’m jolted from my thoughts by Kylee’s forceful kick to our mattress.

“What the fuck?” I push her dirty shoe off the comforter. It pisses Kylee off to no end when I walk away from her. She can shout all she wants but she knows I can’t hear her.

“Why are you acting like a little bitch?”
Her hands are very aggressive as they slice the air.

“I can’t see you,” I lie. “The power is out.”

She kicks the bed again.
“Don’t be an asshole, Parker. You’re pissed because I didn’t let that child molester put his hands on you!”

“No, Kylee.” I rock up toward my sister in an attempt to get up but she puts her knee on my chest. I slap the top of her thigh as hard as I dare since I don’t like to hurt her. “Get the fuck off me! You’re the one who opened up your big mouth this morning and now I’ve got to go apologize to that son of a bitch.”

Kylee’s face contorts with unknowable emotions. She reaches back and before I can decipher her intent, slaps me. My sister, my twin—slaps me. My cheek throbs and prickles, but I’m too dumbfounded to rub away the sting. My eyes are instinctively focused on Kylee. I need her to explain this to me.
“You’re not a whore.”
Her lips form each word carefully. The irony is, I
am
a whore, I am. She cups my stinging cheek with the hand she used to hurt me.
“You’re mine, remember?”

Of course I am. And yet, she wants to be with Christian. There has never been a day when I have put myself ahead of us and truthfully, I resent her for mocking my contributions to our survival. “What do you want me to do?” If she wants to carry my burden for a while, she’s more than welcome. “We have less than a hundred dollars and rent is due in three days. Between rent, the utilities, and food, how are we supposed to make it work? You think
Defbobby’s
gonna walk through the door, sober, with money in his pockets?” I thrash beneath her, not truly trying to get free but needing to rage against the injustice of our impossible circumstances. “Tell me what to do!” I demand.

My eyes are closed, but I know I’ve made her silent. Her body has gone still on top of me, her weight eased by her defeated retreat onto my thighs. I can’t look at her. I don’t want to see her despair. We are each prone to our angry outbursts, a lifetime of rarely being understood is bound to breed a quick temperament, but I do not enjoy hurting my sister with the truth. Lies are much easier to dispel after a cooling period. I want her angry, not wounded.

I take her slender arms in my hands and roll her under me as I shout into her startled face. “Got nothing to say now, do you! Don’t worry, Sandusky doesn’t do anything to me I don’t enjoy. He sucks my dick until I blow down his throat and sends me home with money in my pocket so I can keep my wannabe normal sister in slutty outfits.” All signs of life return as my sister attempts to shove and kick her way out from under me without success. I’ve taught her every grapple she knows and can anticipate her movements as my own. “I’m the prostitute, but you give me a run for my money the way you walk around with your tits out and your skirts up by your ass cheeks.” Kylee’s entire face colors. Rage or humiliation, I’m unclear, but either suits me.