The Legend of the Ditto Twins (8 page)

We
combed our hair, brushed our teeth, kissed awhile, and made
sure our flies were zipped before we started downstairs. Dad was already seated
at the kitchen table.

"Y'know,
your mom and I had a lot of time to talk on the drive," he began at once,
as if afraid he'd lose his nerve.

"It
must be awful hard on her," Clark began. "Considering..."

"...she's
been on the outs..."

"...with
Uncle Clay for years now."

"Yeah,
how come? Are you ever gonna tell us..."

“...what's
going on between them?"

Dad tried
to start an answer several times before he finally got one out. "Clay...
he was a little too... wild for her tastes. But..." He motioned us to sit.
"That's not what we talked about. And you know it."

I decided
to brazen it out. "Oh, the Vaseline. We..."

“...can
explain that," Clark added.

"Stop
it!" He took a deep breath and stumbled on. "Do you think I
was
never your age? Do
you think I never...?" He couldn't finish the sentence. There was a long,
leaden silence before he tried again. "But that is not the point. The
point is that there are things a man does in private—not in front of anyone
else. Not even his own brother."

I was
tempted to ask why but thought better of it.

"And
that's why your mother... and I... really must insist that one of you move into
Grandmas room."

"Right
away?" Clark was always the negotiator.

"Well...
That would be best but... uh... certainly before your mother comes back. You
know how she gets."

"Sure,
Dad," we answered as one, trying not to grin.

Uncle
Clay malingered much longer than we thought he would, and Mom stayed by his
side. Calling every Sunday night to check in, she mostly talked to Dad, but
each time she spoke to my brother or me, her c
onversation was fraught with unspoken concerns and pointed
questions. Had Dad gotten around to having his long talk with us? Were we behaving
ourselves? Did we still pray? She came home for Christmas (one day only), and
again on our fourteenth birthday in February (half a day), but she never once
invited us to visit her at Uncle Clays.

Actually we didn't mind. Not having
Mom around made life a lot easier. I can’t tell you how many jars of Vaseline
Clark and I went through while she was away.

Dad did get around to installing
a shower but never came down to the basement when we were using it, which was
fine by us, since Shower Time proved to be even more fun than Bath Time and
scrubbing Man Dicks was a lot more fun than scrubbing Little Fellas. And the
nights in our bed were even better. I guess that's the way it goes when you
discover a whole new world between your legs.

I'm sure Dad never noticed a
thing. Most of the time, he seemed to be in another place, burying himself in
his work and, well, avoiding us. He never came upstairs and, oh yeah, he
started smoking again. Sometimes, we'd hear him arguing on the phone with Mom
about when she was coming home, but she kept saying that Uncle Clay still
needed her. Once in awhile, we even missed her, too.

Another summer passed, another
Christmas, another birthday, and I must confess I don't remember much about
what happened in the year and a half Mom was gone. So I can't write about it.
Mostly, my brother and I spent every waking hour thinking up new ways to turn
each other on. We even started coming to supper barefoot, so we could sit
opposite each other with our toes teasing each other's crotch under the table.
Once, fully clothed, we even managed to bring ourselves to orgasm during
dessert.

Things were just about
perfect—until the end of May, just before our fifteenth summer. That's when two
major calamities occurred on the same day: Mom called to say that since Uncle
Clay was finally out of danger, she was coming home. And we ran out of
Vaseline.

Back in
our childhood, whenever Mom chose to sit in Dads chair at
the head
of the table, we
always knew we were
in
trouble.
And
that's exactly
where
she was sitting when we came down to breakfast the morn
ing
after her return.
She'd made French Toast, too.

"What
did we do now?" I asked.

"Nothing
at all... as far as I know," she replied with a fixed smile. "In
fact, I'll bet you're gonna be thrilled with my news. There's money to be
made."

"Money?"
repeated Clark as if he'd heard her wrong.

"Money,"
she repeated. "Your Uncle Clay and I had a long talk. Of course, he's
practically up to speed finally, but he still has to take it easy. He's
neglected the auto parts shop for so long; it's a shambles, let me tell you. He
needs someone to help out his summer"

I gasped.
"You mean...?"

Mom
interrupted me even before Clark could. "What he said was... he'd pay a
man's wages to a man he could trust. An assistant. It's the perfect summer job,
don't you think?"

Clark and
I looked at each other in disbelief. He smiled cautiously; I let out a raucous
whoop. "We'll take it!"

There was
a long, ominous stretch of silence before Mom shook her head. "Didn't you
hear me?
A
man.
One
man. Not two. Now which one of you wants to go?"

"But
why can't..."

“...we
both go?"

"He
can only afford one salary."

"That's
okay. We'll split it. We..."

“...share
everything anyway."

"No!"
Mom's single syllable was like a gunshot.

"Why
not?" we demanded in unison.

"Because
he's only got one small spare room."

"That's
okay.
We..."

“...could share it, same as..."
I stopped short.

Mom fired again. "No!"

Before I could recover, Clark
counter-attacked. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Separating us? Why,
that's..."

“...that's bribery!" Clark took
his toes out of my crotch and leaned toward her. "Mom, do you really think
that if neither one of us would move twenty feet down the hall into Grandma's
old room..."

“...that either one of us would be
willing to move hundreds of miles away, even for money? No!"

"'No?'" She stood.
"I'm the one who gets to say no. Not you. I'm the Mother. And I say, 'No!'
No, no, no!"

Clark stormed right over to the back
door. "C'mon, Mark! We're out of here."

Mom spun around. "'Out of
here'?"

I bolted to my brother's side.
"You heard him. Split. Run away."

"Run away? What're you gonna
do—join the circus?" She sniffed. "Well, let me tell you: Life is no
circus."

Clark put his arm around me.
"C'mon. She's crazy."

"You two walk out that door and
I'll call the police. You're only fifteen!"

"They'll have to find us."

"And what will you use for
money? The last time I looked, you had $19.73 in your joint savings account and
maybe five dollars in your penny jar."

I still can't believe what Clark said
next: "There are other ways for two good-looking young guys to make a
buck."

"Yeah, easy money. Even in this
lousy town," I added, then winced at our rash response.

Mom stiffened noticeably. "What
do you mean by that?"

I took a step toward her. "You
figure it out."

Clark did too. "Yeah, you're the
one with the dirty mind."

"Now stop it! You just sit right
down and stop talking such filth.
We’re
doing this for your own good."

"Bullshit!" Our retort
sounded like a Howitzer.

"I will not have that kind of
language in my house."

"Your house? Not Dad's
house?"

"Not our house?"

"Maybe we should find a new
house!" This from both of us.

It was one of the few times in my
life I've ever seen Mom at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, but nothing
came out. Her matriarchal rule had been challenged, maybe for the first time
ever, and rebuttal had never before been an option for those who opposed her.
Our father was living proof of that.

He wiped the corners of his mouth
with his napkin, leaned back, and interlaced his fingers around the back of his
head as if watching TV. No one noticed till he spoke.

"Honey, did you mention the
bonus?"

I've never seen Mom shift gears so
fast in my life. Her take-no-prisoners stance seemed to vanish faster than cold
beer on a hot day. A little too fast, I thought, but I let it pass as I watched
her instantly transmogrify into Scarlett O'Hara.
(Gone with the Wind
was her favorite movie.) You could almost
hear the Southern accent when she spoke.

"The bonus. My goodness, didn't
I mention that?" She fluttered her paper napkin at my brother and me.
"Sit."

We remained standing.

She didn't seem to notice. "You
know, boys, one of Clay's sidelines is he's a repo man. Repossesses cars,
trucks, things like that. Well, he tells me he has a dozen old vehicles out in
his back shed that he can't get rid of. Nothing fancy, of course. Fords,
Chevies
, Toyotas. All just sitting there on blocks
gathering dust."

"About the bonus, honey,"
interrupted Dad gently.

"Oh, yes, the bonus. Well, Clay
says that if the man he hires for the summer does a good job, he'll throw in
one of the cars as a bonus. Even help him get it up and running."

With the skill of a surgeon, she
carved out a wedge of her French toast,
stabbed
it with her fork, and sunk her teeth into it quicker than Dracula himself.

My father
stood. "Gotta get to work." He put on his John Deere cap. "Your
mom and I just thought it might be kinda nice if you two had wheels, now that
you'll be in high school. You know, for the drive-in... dances..."

"Exactly,"
said Mom. "Double dates."

He opened
the door. "Talk it over, guys. It's a good deal. And whoever stays can
work in the dairy this summer,
so's
the both of you
can have some spending money next fall. Besides, it'll give one of you a leg up
on running the place. After all, the dairy's gonna be yours one day."