The Legend of the Ditto Twins (4 page)

"...and smoking their last
joint..."

"...and instead of just exhaling
into the air, each of ‘em blew smoke..."

"...right into the mouth of the
person next to him."

Quickly, Clark scooted to my side,
his warm thigh close against mine.

"It makes sense, you know. Very
practical."

"Yeah," I said. "Two
for the price of one."

"Like using a tea bag more than
once. Light it."

"In a minute. Clark, we don't
want to waste it, okay? So here's what we'll do: When I take a puff into my
mouth and inhale, you exhale, okay? And when I start to exhale, I'll lean
forward, real close, and blow the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale,
okay?"

My brother gave me a thumbs up, and I
lit our last Marlboro. Inhaling, I slipped my free hand around the back of his
neck and pulled him close. Then I leaned forward and exhaled in the direction
of his mouth. He sucked up the smoke as if it were pure oxygen.

After he exhaled, he shook his head.
"You've gotta be closer, so none of the smoke gets away. Okay?"

I handed him the cigarette.
"Show me."

He inhaled and slipped his hand
around the back of my neck, just as I had done with him, only he pulled me much
closer. I could feel our lips graze as I inhaled.

"Oh, yeah, I see what you
mean," I murmured as I took the cigarette from him, inhaled, and pulled
him tightly to me. This time, our lips met as I carefully blew the smoke into
his warm mouth.

"Much better," he
murmured. "Almost like kissing, huh?"

"Almost." I passed him
the cigarette.

This time, Clark took a long
drag, locked his lips over my open mouth, and slowly, very slowly, exhaled into
me. But as I sucked the smoke out of him, I felt something different. I pulled
back and stared intently at his upper lip. Before I knew what was happening, I
let my curious right forefinger trace the skin above it to confirm what my lips
had felt only seconds before. My senses had not deceived me—there was a fine
growth of golden hair topping his upper lip. It amazed me.

I shook my head. "You're
gonna have to start shaving one of these days."

He nodded and ran his forefinger
across the space above my upper lip. "You too."

"Well, that figures." I
didn't know what else to say.

Neither did he.

We finished the cigarette in
silence, and I went into the bathroom to flush the butt down the toilet. When I
returned, he smiled smugly.

"Wanna see something
else?" He spread his legs and motioned me down on the bed beside him.
"Look."

He ran his forefinger over the area
just above his Little Fella, and I stared down. There were the beginnings of
another fine fringe of golden blond hair. Not to be outdone, I spread my own
legs, and checked myself. I too was beginning to sprout pubic hair in exactly
the same pattern as his.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I
muttered, "Finally. Puberty at last."

"'Bout time," he said
and reached forward to run his forefinger over my budding pubes. "Just
like mine. Nice."

"You think so?" I
leaned in, raking the fine golden hairs above his Little
Fella
and pausing a moment before I too concluded, "Nice."

"More
'n that. Cool"

I don't
know how long we sat there petting each other's pubic hair, but eventually my
brother finally pulled his hand away to scratch his nose.

"Well,
thank God. I was beginning to think we were going to be freaks for the rest of
our lives." He grinned. "And speaking of God, you know we forgot to
say our prayers last night."

"Yeah,
I know. You wanna say ‘em twice tonight?"

"Smart-ass.
Once'll do."

We said
our prayers.

"And
God bless Clark."

"And
God bless Mark."

"Amen."

"Amen."

And then
we kissed.

It was a
longer kiss than usual, but neither of us seemed in any hurry to break it. I
know I was too busy concentrating on the silky spread of golden hair that my
upper lip could feel on his upper lip. I guess I didn't want to stop before I
memorized it, and I knew Clark didn't either, so we just kept kissing for a
while. It all felt very educational. Y'know?

The next
morning, I awoke with a start. Something was definitely wrong. I pulled back
the covers. My brother and I were still locked together, our legs entangled,
and some kind of sticky, gooey stuff was frosting our pubic area. I slid one
finger down to our pasty crotches and dabbed around until a glob of the stuff
clung to my fingertip. It felt warm to the touch, so I brought it up to my nose
and sniffed it. It didn't smell dangerous.

I don't
know what prompted me to do what I did next, but I slid my gooey finger into my
mouth. The stuff didn't taste bad; in fact it had hardly any taste at all. No,
that's not true. It had a very subtle flavor. Sweet and
bitter
all at once—sort of like ammonia. I touched my lip again. Now it was smeared
with the gunk. That's when Clark woke up.

"What have you got on your
mouth?" he asked.

I pointed at our crotches, and he
looked down.

"Oh, shit." He looked
again. "Well, it's not blood, at least. Is it pus? What's wrong with
us?"

I shrugged.

Instantly, he dabbed a finger in the
sticky white stuff, scooped up a glob, and brought it to his nose.

"Doesn't smell dangerous."

I nodded.

He stuck his finger in his mouth and
sampled the taste for a moment. "Like ammonia."

I nodded. I knew he'd say that.

"Should we tell Mom and
Dad?"

"They'd probably make us go to
the doctor."

"I hate doctors."

"Maybe we should ask The Go-To
Guy. I'll bet he'd know.
Whaddayah
think?"

We lay there for several minutes in
silence, our elbows touching, before Clark began to figure things out.

"The Go-to Guy! Remember last
winter..."

"...when he was telling us all
about fucking..."

"...and jerking off and
stuff..."

"...and he asked us if we'd ever
had..."

We both finished the sentence in
stereo “...a wet dream!"

We hugged each other.

"Now maybe something'll shoot
out like it's supposed to when we play with ourselves," I said.

My brother grinned. "'Bout
time."

That's when the bedroom door suddenly
opened, and our father stood in the doorway. Guiltily, we rolled away from each
other and pulled the covers up to our waists. Somehow, I just knew neither of
us
wanted him
to find out about our wet dream. He stared at us for just a moment longer than
he should have, then spotted the towel on the floor.

"You two are such
slobs," he said, tossing the towel onto the foot of our bed. "And
don't go back to sleep. It's time to get up." He turned to leave the room
but stopped. "Since when did you guys start sleeping in the nude?"

The weird thing is he didn't wait
for an answer. He just walked out, almost as if he didn't want to know. We were
used to him not saying what he was thinking, but it still made us kind of
uncomfortable, so we didn't talk about it. After we got cleaned up, we dressed
and headed down to breakfast. Even before we sat down, Dad spoke.

"Guys, your mother and I
have been thinking."

We slid into our chairs and
waited. He swallowed a big bite of toast but said nothing further. Dad was a
good guy, I think, but he dreaded confrontation even more than he feared mad
cow disease.

Mom gave him a look.

He nodded. "Okay, honey,
okay." He turned back to us. "I think we've figured out a way that we
can afford to put in that shower downstairs. You guys are getting way too old
to be taking baths together. Way too old."

"It's no problem," I
said.

"Saves water," added
Clark.

"If you can't afford it
right now..."

“...we don't mind."

"No. We can afford it,"
my mother replied firmly, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "And while
we're talking, it seems to me you kids must be awfully crowded in that cramped
little bedroom of yours. I think one of you should move into Grandma's old
room. Each have a room of your own. Wouldn't that be great?"

"Nah, I don't think
so," I said at once.

"We're fine," added
Clark with a tense smile.

"Your grandma's been dead
and gone five years now." Mom set her
cup down so hard
that some of the coffee splashed out onto the Formica tabletop. "It’s time
to move on." She found a sponge and wiped up the mess she had made.
"Yes, time to move on. Really, I thought you'd be delighted—each of you
getting to have your own room."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why would we want separate
rooms?"

Our father seemed stymied for only a
second before he responded. "Well, I can remember when I was your age.
I'd've
given anything to have my own room."

Again I asked, "Why?"

"Yeah, why?" Clark seemed
as genuinely confused as I was. "We have our own room. We don't need
another one."

Mom gave Dad a look. He nodded.
Barely.

"But... Well..." Dad seemed
at a loss for words again. "Wouldn't you like to have your own bed?"

"Nope," we replied in a
single breath.

"Well, you should. Anyway, your
mother and I have decided that you should give it a try."

"And that's our
final
word on the matter." Mom's
voice was harder than I'd ever heard it before. "You two come right home
after school, and we'll start moving Mark's things into Grandma's room."

"No," I said as firmly as I
could.

"All right, then Clark's."

"No."

Mom stood. "The subject is
closed."

I stood. "But why?" I
demanded.

Clark stood up too. "Have we
done something wrong? Is this some kind of punishment?"

Mom and Dad stared at each other for
a long time before he slumped back down and gestured for her to take over. She
gave him a dirty look and began to speak.

"Look, guys. You two are growing
up so fast. The next thing you know, you'll be getting married. We just think
it'd be better for both
of you if you weren't so...
uh... dependent on each other. Each of you needs to make a life of your own.
You can't always be joined at the hip. That's... not healthy."

"Why
not?" I asked guilelessly. "He's my brother!"

"And
he's mine!" Clark repeated the word.
"Mine."

"Well,
now, that's just what I mean. The two of you don't seem to have any friends.
You never invite anyone over to meet your father and me. Buddies.
Girlfriends."

"There's
no one you'd want to meet."

"Yeah,"
added Clark. "We don't have any friends."

"Of
course you do. What about that tall, skinny kid with the freckles—the one who
wanted to sell you his skateboard?" asked my father. "What's his
name?"

"The
Go-To Guy?" I asked. "That
is
his name. Well, his nickname, anyway."

"Yeah,
that's what everyone calls him. He's just..."

“...someone
we go to when we have a question. The..."