Remember My Name (12 page)

Something changes in his
expression, as though he’s finally seeing me after all this time, and I’m not
the person he thought I was. He nods his assent. “If it’s what you want, we can
share the bed.”

Shifting his eyes to the
window before bringing them back to mine, he asks, “So do you want to go to bed
early tonight after all? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“If that’s okay.”

Slipping a piece of paper
into his book, he tosses it onto the desk. “I’ll let Dad know, so he doesn’t
wake us up or anything.”

After Jackson leaves the
room, the purple and green cover of the book he’s been reading beckons me to
examine it.
Star Trek: Murders at the Vulcan Academy
. The chuckle in my
throat is matched by a bubbly feeling I can’t quite place. I never got into the
books much, but I love the Star Trek movies. If there’s one thing that didn’t
change in all the years, it’s that we’re both major dorks.

Before he even gets back
upstairs, I’m already under the covers. Jackson’s bed is just firm enough that
after a minute of lying here, the muscles in my neck and back are starting to
relax.

If Jackson is surprised to
find me tucked in with the blanket pulled up to my collarbone, he doesn’t let
it show as he switches off the light and climbs in alongside me. Like he warned
me that first night, it’s a bit of a tight fit, and our elbows are touching.

Resisting the initial urge
to pull away, I force myself to relax. The single point of contact between us
doesn’t actually bother me, at least not like it would have a couple weeks ago.
In a way, it helps a little to solace the part of me that has been so upset
about not knowing my twin brother like I should. This forced physical intimacy
is no substitute for a real connection, but it’s something.

His voice is barely more
than a whisper as it glides across the short distance between us. “It feels
good to have you back.”

“It’s not as bad as I
thought,” I concede.

No sound or movement comes
from him, but somehow I know he’s smiling. When he speaks, there’s no judgment
or meanness in his voice. “If you want, Matt and I are going to work out
together later this week. You could join us.”

My hands tighten into fists
under the covers. “That’s the annoying guy who came over last week?”

“Yeah.” He holds his breath.

It’s the first time Jackson
has invited me to hang out with him, so I really don’t want to turn him down,
but that guy Matt has douchebag written all over him. “Maybe, I dunno.”

His sigh is the saddest
sound I’ve heard all summer.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

“Goodnight, Jackson.”

*     *     *    
*

Air rushes past my face as I
swoop toward the ground, my legs stretched out in front of me. The dirt rut
beneath me is coming closer and closer. I let out a shriek of excitement as I
zoom away from the ground and back into the air. The sun overhead shines bright
on my face when I reach the highest point and hang motionless in the air for
just a moment. That’s my favorite part.

My fingers gripping the
chains so tight it hurts, I tuck my feet underneath the seat and fly back
toward the earth. Jacks doesn’t like to swing. He likes to play tag. It doesn’t
matter which kind of tag. Blob tag where you tag people and link arms with them
until everyone is gotten. Or can’t-touch-the-ground tag that they play on the
equipment. Jacks loves it all. I play with him sometimes, but I really like to
swing.

Forward and backward, each
time I think I get a little higher. What happens if I get to the top? Is there
a highest point on the swings? If I go for the entire recess time, I might find
out. My legs pump harder, faster, and I think I rise another inch.

The bell is about to ring. I
know because the playground helpers are starting to call in the first and
second graders. They’re littler and need more time to line up. This year I
don’t have to line up with them anymore. This year I get to line up with the
older kids. I get three minutes more playtime, but it makes sense, because I’m
a lot more mature than the little kids.

Last week I saw one of the
fifth graders, Nathan Baxter, jump off the swing instead of slowing down first.
It looked really cool. I bet Jacks couldn’t do that. I told him that he
couldn’t, but he insisted that he could. He said I was too scared to try it,
and he dared me to do it. I can’t see him now, but I don’t want him to watch
when I first try it. I want to practice, then tomorrow I can show him and he’ll
be so impressed.

The first two times I get
scared just like Jacks said. But the third time as I’m swinging toward the
ground, I know I’m going to do it. My fingers tingle in anticipation. Jacks
will be so surprised when I tell him. I’m still scared, but I’m going to do
it.  I let go just a second before I would get to the top point where I float
in the air. My bottom sails off the seat, and I go right along with it.

The ground looks really far
away. I don’t know if Nathan was this high when he jumped. I’m falling so fast,
just like when I fly through the air on the swing. Except there isn’t a seat
beneath me now. Arms outstretched, I hit the ground and scream.

My right arm hurts really
bad. It hurts more than I thought anything could hurt. A bloody area surrounds
something that shouldn’t be there. It’s like something is sticking out of my
arm. Why does it hurt so much? I start to cry. Where is Jacks?

The bell rings. None of the
older kids see me as they run toward the doors. Then I see Jacks. He’s looking
for me. I can tell by his face. Our eyes meet, and then he’s running toward me.
I’ve never seen him run so fast.

Blood drains down my arm,
dripping into the dirt to make tiny dark red balls. My brother’s racing feet
come to a stop in front of me. His face is filled with panic, and he looks more
scared than I am. “Oh Benny,” he breathes, starting to cry himself. He kneels
in front of me, but he must be afraid to touch me, because he’s just holding
his hands in the air like he wants to scoop me up but can’t.

“Jacks, it hurts,” I sob.

He takes a deep breath, and
the fear in his eyes forms into determination. “Benny, I have to get help,” he
whimpers.

“Don’t leave me,” I plead.
“It hurts too much.”

“Listen Benny, I have to get
help. I’ll come back as fast as I can, and then I won’t leave again. I
promise.” He squeezes the hand of my good arm, and then he runs.

“Jacks, don’t go!” I cry
out.

*     *     *    
*

“Huh?” There’s movement next
to me.

My eyes snap open and stare
up into darkness. My chest is tight and my breathing is coming fast.

“Ben?” Jackson’s voice is a
whisper. “You okay?”

I pause, giving myself a
second to catch my breath. “I’m fine.”

“You were talking in your
sleep. You kind of yelled.”

It takes me a moment to
remember what I was dreaming about. It was the day in third grade when I broke
my arm. “What did I say?”

Silence. Then I hear him
turn onto his side. “You said, ‘Jackson, don’t go.’ What were you dreaming
about?”

“I don’t remember,” I lie,
rolling to face away from him. Pretending like I’m falling back asleep, I let
several minutes pass while faking slow, steady breathing.

His voice is just above a
murmur when he finally speaks, but we’re so close that I hear every word.
“Actually, you called me Jacks.”

Apparently he’s been
ruminating on that instead of sleeping in the minutes since I woke us both up.
And I know exactly why. I was the only one to ever call him that, and I haven’t
used it in years.

It wasn’t just a nickname.
It meant all of what Jackson was to me. He was my Jacks. He was there for me
whenever I needed him, my partner in crime, my best friend, my twin brother. He
was everything to me. But none of that’s true anymore. He knows it and so do I.

Ben

When we get to work, I head
out to the greenhouses to water before Jackson even has a chance to ask if I
want to take the till. Watering will let me be alone for a few hours, and
that’s something I desperately need today.

After having hydrated just a
single table of petunias, I flip the switch on the wand to kill the water and
kneel next to a tray of funny looking flowers on short stalks.

Brightly colored yellow,
red, and orange, their flower structures seem to grow out in two different
lobes. Katie showed me last week how to pinch the sides so the top and bottom
of the flower open up like a mouth. Snapdragons she called them. I pinch a red
one, but it doesn’t work. Its yellow neighbor next door does though, letting me
see into its gaping maw. At least something will open up to me.

A woman’s weary voice calls
down the row. “Jackson, is that you?”

I glance up to a somewhat
familiar face. It takes me a second to remember her name. “Hi, Cherie. And no,
I’m Ben.”

A weak smile touches her
lips, the wrinkled skin around the corners of her mouth pulling back just a
bit. “I was hoping so.”

“Why is that?”

She blinks once, and gives a
little shrug. “I could use your help picking out something to brighten up the
house.”

“You should have asked
Jackson then, he knows everything here better than I do.”

Cherie takes a step closer
to stand next to me, slipping her arm around my waist just like last time.
“You’re right, but he’s always so technical. He would ask me all sorts of
questions about how much sun it would get and how often I was going to water it
and whether it would be inside or outside.”

“Jackson is always filled
with facts,” I agree. “But wouldn’t that help you pick out the right thing?”

“No,” she says firmly. “It
would land me with the plant that best fits the...” She waves a hand
arbitrarily as if that will help her find the right word, “…
specifications
of my space, and that’s not what I need.” She sighs, pulling me slightly toward
her. “That’s why I need you. You have heart.” She glances up with a captivating
smile.

I blush, directing my gaze
at my feet. An ant is crawling across the top of my shoe. “So what are you
looking for?”

“Well, I’m dying.” Her voice
is so matter-of-fact that it almost hides the sadness.

My eyes widen, a prickling
heat spreading in my chest. “You’re serious?”

“Yes quite, unfortunately. I
want something to brighten up my house.”

“Wouldn’t something from a
flower shop be better? And brighter?”

Removing her arm from my
waist, she scoots over to lean against one of the tables. “You know, that was
my thought at first, too. Then I considered that a potted plant will last
longer, because Lord knows I don’t need anything else dying in my house.”

Damn, this woman is morbid.
I’m not sure if I’m fighting to keep from being freaked out or laughing, but
it’s a struggle to keep a straight face. “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” she says
quietly. “It’s all part of life. So, Ben, shall we find the perfect flower?”

Water is still dribbling out
the end of the hose wand as we begin to make our way down the first row, her
hand tucked around my elbow. I try to point out flowers that would look nice in
a pot, but she doesn’t want to stop our slow progression down the row to look
at anything more closely. Instead, she asks me about how I ended up here for
the summer. I tell her, and she asks more questions. About living with Dad,
about Mom, about Jackson.

“We used to be really
close,” I explain. “But then… I don’t know. Things changed when we moved apart.
Not at first, but after a few years we didn’t visit anymore. And then we didn’t
call anymore. Now we’re so different that I’m afraid we’ll never get back to
the place we used to be.”

She’s still watching me
intently, even though I’m staring at the ground. I know we’ve circled the
entire greenhouse, because at our feet is a puddle from the leaking hose,
welling up just like the water in my eyes.

“You really care about him,
don’t you?” she asks, stopping to give me a hard look.

I drop my gaze. “What makes
you say that?”

“You don’t get to be
eighty-two years old and not pick up on things. Also you look like you’re about
to bawl all over the place,” she says with a smile. “Back in my day, young men
were made of sterner stuff, but don’t worry, I like you millenials. You’ve got
spunk.” She pats me gently on the shoulder.

I wipe at my eyes with the
back of my wrist. “You can be kind of blunt.”

“I know. I could say that
it’s out of necessity, as I’m not going to be around for much longer, but that
would just be a plain old lie. I say what I think because I like to.”

This is the oddest lady I’ve
ever met, but despite everything, I can’t help but like her. “We still haven’t
found you what you came here for,” I remind her.

“So we haven’t.” She sighs,
and every one of her years seems to be contained in that breath. “I want you to
choose, Ben, pick something that will watch over me and still be around for the
funeral.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, and certainty
resonates in her tone when she speaks again. “Absolutely. But use your heart,
not your mind.” Turning away, she calls over her shoulder, “You can bring it up
front when you’re ready. I’ll be chatting with that brother of yours.”

As soon as the words are out
of her mouth, I know what I’m going to give her. Kneeling on the brick of the
walkway, I pick out the black plastic pot containing a trio of snapdragons. The
yellow one that opened for me earlier is in the middle beside its stubborn red
brother.

Approaching her and Jackson
at the counter, I hold up the pot. Squeezing the yellow one’s neck, the
dragon’s jaws open up and stick out a pollen-covered tongue. I give voice to
the plant by releasing a playful growl.

Her face breaks into a
toothy smile, and she nods. “It’s perfect.” She squeezes my hand and turns to
go, murmuring goodbyes to both Jackson and me.