Did You See The Shiny Moon? Turned Into A Black Balloon, Just As You Walked Away From Me, Did You See How Hard I Tried? Not To Show The Pain Inside
--"Who Painted The Moon Black?", Hayley Westenra
...continued from "You Are My Sweetest Downfall, I Loved You First, I Loved You First, Beneath The Sheets Of Paper Lies My Truth, I Have To Go, I Have To Go"
OPENING UP
a story by E. Patrick Taroc
“Can we stop here? It's really hurting now, Chris.”
Chris hung up his cel phone immediately. His friend Jeff would have to wait another day. Placing the phone into his pocket, he turned to face Sally who was beginning to teeter on one leg now planted firmly in the beach sand.
“Yeah, sure. Here's a good spot anyhow,” he said, smiling. The sound of her voice still startled him. The two of them had been walking along the shore from their hotel for quite a ways in silence. The only thing he had heard before Jeff had called was the sound of the nighttime waves rolling into shore. Together they had walked maybe two miles down the shore without a word passing between them, hand in hand. He had almost forgotten the fact that the two of them had a great deal to talk about on this week.
He had almost forgotten he had a purpose in asking her to come out with him that night.
“Yeah, yeah. Here,” he heard her say before plopping down on the sound unceremoniously. Her plopping had seemed unnatural for the simple fact she wasn't accustomed to plopping. In fact, Chris wracked his brain to think of another occasion when he had seen her plop like that and he couldn't quite come up with any other instances. He decided Sally was most emphatically in the non-plopping camp. “It's throbbing now now. Great, it's throbbing. Can you take a look?”
He watched her extend her left foot up to him from her seated position. Instead of immediately taking the bait, he took a seat beside her, the sand making a soft cushion beneath him.
“Leave it to you to stub your toe at the beach. Not only that, but stub it with enough oomph to have it bleed,” he laughed. He tried not to, but the sight of her over-exaggerating her discomfort was a funny sight. The two of them used to joke that she wasn't a mere drama queen; she was a drama empress. “Let me take a look.”
“No, you're making fun of me. Now I don't want you to look.”
He watched the corners of her mouth curl up sourly. It was meant to be her indignant look, but to him it always reeked more of petulance. She had meant it to look angered and full of callousness towards him; he was always more reminded of the young girl who had been told to get her hand out of the brownie tupperware. No matter how much rancor she tried to gather up, the most she could muster on her face was mild annoyance. At least to him. Other people saw different things, but he knew better than to believe any sign of bad mojo could be directed at him by Sally. He knew her better than that. To him, no matter her countenance, she was always all sorts beautiful.
He gave her a quick glance under the blackened moon. He could barely make out the reddish-brown hair, usually nested above her face, but this night sprung free and delicately chasing down off her shoulder. He could barely make out the greenish and freckled eyes that the two of them shared. He could barely make out the smile beneath the smirk. He could barely see the Sally he knew, but he had faith she was in there somewhere. After she stopped thinking about her direly injured toe, she would slowly make her way out again to him.
“Come on, you big baby. Let me just see it,” he said. He grabbed her left leg from her and started to lift it to his face. The feeling of her bare skin in his hands felt nice, as it always did. The two of them had gone walking in matching khakis (both his) and non-descript secondhand t-shirts. This had been a last-minute idea suggested at the last minute of the days.
They hadn't spent much time getting ready to go out and basically grabbed the first thing at hand.
“Well, there's just not enough light here to see anything,” he continued.
He felt as Sally yanked her foot away.
“Then give it back. You're hurtiting it,” she whined.
“Oh god, not that again,” he whined back.
He heard her laugh, punctuated with small gasps of her perceived pain.
Sally.
She could be such a baby sometimes, he thought. I mean—there he was a big guy, basically doting on tiny, little here. If you stood them side-by-side, somebody had once told them while they had been spotted walking together, it'd be like looking at a tree walking a rose bush. You would have been struck with the enormity of the tree and the brilliance of the rose bush, but never would have thought to see the two of them side-by-side.
Yet there were similarities, he had to admit. The aforementioned eyes were like an exact clone of one another, urban and serious and green. People always jumped to say, “you guys look like you're related,” when Chris and Sally had been seen sharing a bench somewhere and it always stemmed from how similar their eyes were to one another. However, whereas Sally's hair could shift from red to brown, his hair was a smoky brown. His mouth was a expressive and often broadened into a massive span whenever he smiled; hers was most often tight-lipped and tense almost always. Even when she laughed, her mouth always gave the impression she was holding something back. Except for the eyes they definitely looked like they did not fit with one another.
But fit they did. Whenever he said her name, she almost said his, as did everyone else. They were always being mentioned one right after the other, almost as if they were one word. Chrisandsally, Sallyandchris.
Sally, whose first word had been no. Sally, whose bark was meaner than her bite. Sally, who liked to sing when she thought no one else was around. Sally, who was always remarking that she thought she chewed her food too quickly. Sally, who was a walking ball of wants and desires that had to be immediately fulfilled.
Chris, who always thought a simpler life was a better life. Chris, who almost never said no to anyone. Chris, who scratched at his leg when he was nervous. Chris, who thought she screamed rather too much like a girl when he got scared. Chris, who got lost far too easily.
They did make a rather odd pair.
He wouldn't have it another way.
He listened to her laughter run away just as quickly as it had made its appearance. He didn't know where it went to hide, but very often wished it would stay a moment or two longer. Then, after a short silence, he heard her speak once more.
“I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't think I can walk back to the hotel like this.”
“We can rest here for awhile.”
“I don't think that's going to help.”
“I could strand you out here. I'm good to go back to the hotel any time I want—I don't know about you.”
He watched Sally shake her head. Next she rolled her eyes back.
“Again, not helping.”
“Sorry. I'm serious, rest it awhile. We don't have to go back any time soon. We'll see how it feels and then if it's still bad I'll think of something.”
He turned to face her, scanning for some sign that she was facing back at him. In the darkness it was hard to make out much of anything. All there was was a blackened sky, a laughing ocean not fifty feet from where they were sitting, and the two of them sitting next to one another. Everything else fell away to unimportance. This is all that mattered to him.
“If that's what you think is best, but I highly doubt anything is going to change no matter how much time we give it, Chris,” he heard her say as she brushed some sand off of her exposed knee. “I don't see why we can't...” he heard her continue, before petering off.
“We'll just have to see, now won't we? Now silence up and let the night soak into you.”
That was the extent of him being strong with her. If he had a weakness, it would have been how he treated her. With everyone else he was a pretty affable guy, but when crossed he made sure everyone knew it. He didn't venture into bouts of rage or physical demonstrations, yet the content and tone of his voice conveyed more in a few words than one punch or one stream of profanity could from most men. It didn't take much for people to notice that all was not right with Chris. Not much at all. Yet when it came to the attractive woman beside him, his tone was always playful, his touch was always light, and his demeanor was always understanding—too playful, too light, and too understanding.
He watched her. He really studied her, rubbing her toe incessantly, breathing heavily, making sure he knew she was uncomfortable. He watched her until it was obvious to her that he was watching him. He felt more than saw her face turn towards him. There, they remained for quite some time—both trying to ascertain how much the other was looking at him or her. He didn't see her smile or break her concentration. They just looked for each other in the dim light and continued to look until a few minutes had passed.
He didn't say anything until Sally took the initiative.
“Do you remember the last time we were on this beach?”
“Four, five years ago?”
“Four, five years ago.”
Chris puffed. “Has it been that long? We used to go all the time. Remember that?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we stopped.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, actually, you stopped.” He tried to lighten his words as much as possible. Still, she took it as a jab.
The sound of her taking a deep breath was the start of her answer. That was followed with her saying, “Now? Really? Now? With my hurt toe and everything?”
“I'm just saying.”
He knew she was often too quick to anger, but it still surprised him at her alacrity. He never got the sense he had to walk on tiptoes around her about anything, but she wasn't very accommodating even at the best of times. When someone put her on the defensive, she was worse, fire and brimstone worse.
Rather than acknowledge his statement, he listened as Sally moved past it completely.
“I remember when the water used to come up to where we're sitting now. I would warn you that it's coming in too high, too quickly. But you never listened to me.”
“I listened. I didn't care that much.”
The waters were never that high. The truth was that he knew Sally disliked being bothered with trying things. The water was too cold, it was moving too fast, she didn't want to get wet—these were all the excuses she had tried to give him. In his defense, he had only wanted to keep the lightheartedness going. She always put him in a good mood and on those days at the beach all he had wanted to do is return the favor, share some of the joy she brought to his life. It never worked, though. She always complained about him being incessantly bothersome. She never used those exact words. Mostly she said no and let that explain everything about her demeanor.
“You used to threaten to throw me in.”
“Into the cold, treacherous waters.”
“You were mean to me. I remember that too. Now I remember why I stopped going.”
“It was never that cold. Or that treacherous.”
“The fact I was comfortable should have been enough for you.”
“But I never listen, right?”
“No, you never do.”
“It was water. It was water that would've going up to your knees, Sally.”
“I was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable and you didn't care.”
“I cared. I just wanted to open you up a little.”
“Whatever,” he heard Sally say. He listened as she turned her face away from him. Then he struggled to say something next.
He pulled in close to her. Then he pulled her face close into him. Then he kissed her with the conviction of somebody who had kissed her often before. Sometimes he struggled for words when they were together, but when his lips met hers there wasn't any argument she could present that could ever refute the one he made with that simple gesture. She could tell him no, no, no after the kiss ended, but he knew she could never utter those words while it was happening. That was his one advantage he had over her. She hadn't devised a viable counter to that simple gambit. It worked every time.
“Better?” he asked after he had pulled away.
“Not really. I guess. No,” he heard the words stumble out of her mouth.
“I'm really sorry I threatened to throw you in the big, bad ocean, Sally. You're right, it was mean of me. I apologize.”
“You didn't mean that.” He watched as she slowly wiped her mouth with her free hand.
“Oh, but I do. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
“Fix my fucking toe.”
“Oh, would that I could.”
“Could that you would...” Absentmindedly he heard the words escape her mouth for the umpteenth time.
“I'd fix a hundred toes for you if I had the power, Sally. You know that.”
“And I'd give you a hundred toes to fix.”
He watched her arm come back to her side, but, instead of resuming her sitting there meekly, he felt her form glide closer into him. Then she kissed him softly and almost too quickly before resting her head on his shoulder. “And a hundred more.”
The bemused Chris could only say one thing.
“Bring it.”
He took her changes in mood in stride. The perception was that she was playful when it suited her, when she wanted something, but the majority of the time she was distant and almost unbearable. She was pleasant enough, but most people thought she was the kind of person who was fine in small doses. However, the longer you spent around her the more her caustic side began to worm its way out. That was the perception, anyway. In reality, Chris thought the real Sally lay somewhere in the middle. She was neither gentle nor spiteful. She was neither hot nor cold. She was neither fawn nor falcon. She was a rapacious spirit, prone to shocking honest, but it was never at the expense of someone else. Chris understood she would never do that. When she bossed people around, it wasn't because she believed she was better than anyone else. She did it because she wanted something done and the fastest way she knew was to supervise everyone else to do it for her. The tasks she was better suited for she tackled herself, of course. Everything else she naturally assumed others would do for her. He knew she didn't like to waste a lot of time. If it was faster for you to take responsibility, then she expected you not to be slothful about it. She couldn't have you waste your time either.
This extended to her tender side as well.
When he kissed her, she took it as him acting on his wants, his needs. When she kissed him it was much the same. He understood that aspect as well as her. Wants and needs come first. There's no point in restraint when restraint only slows a person down, when only slows the truth about what was happening or about to happen down.
“You'd like that wouldn't you? Evil,” she said, still clutched to his arm.
“I like doing stuff for you. It's not that hard. You're easy to please,” he lied.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, I just do everything you tell me to do. Simple as that.” He let out a laugh.
He felt her head come off his shoulder for only a moment and her fist mockingly punch him there. Her head quickly returned to its nesting place.
“Now it's my turn to wish for a hundred more guys like you. What I could do with an army like that.”
“Everything.”
“Yeah, yeah—everything sounds like exactly what I want.”
“Always have.”
“Always will.”
“Ever since we were kids, enough was never enough for you.”
“Because it isn't.”
He remembered the tantrums at the dinner table and how he used to sneak food into her room when their parents would banish her there. He remembered being complicit in her accusations against them both—how they were unfair, ugly, terrible creature. He would even promise to spirit her away from the both. Even then he looked out for her in a way that went beyond protecting her. She was his responsibility and he took it as his lifelong quest to live it up to that responsibility. He remembered the tears, the insults, the occasional welts when she had gone one step too far and their dad couldn't take it anymore. He remembered pleading with their mom to be a little more forgiving, more understanding, and her telling him that he was the good child. He was the one they were counting on to show her the ropes.
He had grown up feeling like everyone counted on him to keep the peace. He had done his best, but it had taken a lot more than he knew at the time. It had taken everything he could muster to keep his family together.
“You used to drive mom and dad crazy. They'd think they were doing something nice for you and you'd shoot them down time and time again. You were a real brat when you were a kid, Sally. You know that?”
“I know.”
“And you've grown up to be a real bitch too,” he joked with her.
“I don't know about that.”
“I do. I mean—who comes to a place like this—with a guy—the month before they're supposed to get married to somebody else?” he asked, still half-serious.
“For all everyone knows I'm on vacation with my brother. That's all this is.”
“To them. Not to you. Not to me.”
When they were younger, Chris had been the only one to tell it to her straight. Oh, he was nice about it. He gave her advice the best he could without it making it seem like he was pointing out all her faults. Yet there always came a time when he had crossed a line, hadn't thought, and he would have to be brutally truthful with her. The truth was she wasn't a nice person all the time. The truth was she wasn't as decent a person she thought she was. It often fell to him to explain to her why she was being punished. His parents would never do that for her. They would just do the punishing without any word of explanation. The most she learned from them was not to get on their bad side. She never found out how that happened or why it happened. For that she had to come to him to hear it fleshed out for her in words she could understand. That he could do for her. He was good at that. For him, staying on the right side of his parents' good side was easy. It was the wanting more for them that was the difficult part. When he would comfort his sister he felt needed. That was the truth also. The only time he felt like someone saw him for the special person he was was when his sister thanked him, when she showed her appreciation with a playful kiss on the cheek or a hearty embrace.
That was genuine.
That was real.
That wasn't some empty words of praise. That was one person making the other person believe in the quality of their character, their spirit. That was the one thing that made everything else he had to endure quietly worth it.
As a particularly loud wave crashed onto the sand, he heard her say simply, “I am a bitch.”
“You are,” he agreed. He sighed before continuing, “But you can't help it. It's just who you are.”
Shake of her head. Roll of her eyes.
“You always know the best way to cheer me up, Chris.”
“That's what brothers are for.” Chris laughed until Sally had no choice to throw in a sympathy laugh as well. “Look, all I'm saying is that we all were a little too loose with you—mom, dad, and me. We all coddled, gave you what you wanted. When it came time to say no to you—well, eventually everyone figure out that it was easier to give you what you wanted.”
“Is that what it was like?”
“That's what it was like. It took a few years, but that's what our family became.”
“I was that bad?”
“Bad isn't the word. You were you. You are you. It's too late for you to change now.”
He felt Sally turn towards him in genuine surprise, this time leaving the comfort of his shoulder for good.
“You think that low of me?”
“Not at all. I wouldn't be here if I did. There's just few people who know the real you, Sally, who know the real you and like the real you. Just remember that.”
“What does that mean?”
He felt the indignation monster once more stirring in her.
“Nothing.”
“No, I want to know. You're trying to say something specific and I want to know what it is.
“It's nothing.”
He could taste the moment of silence hanging in the wind. There was a palpable tension in the air that was dangerous and deadly to what was happening. He hadn't even arrived yet at what he had taken her out to the beach to say. Again, Chris found himself struggling to right the ship that would get Sally to the place he needed her to be. Again, he found himself placing himself at her patience.
“Then I think it's time we go back to the hotel room then... if you're not up to talking anymore,” he heard her say, every venomous word joined by an equally poisonous tone.
“That's how it is?”
“That's how it is.”
Chris tried to recall her eyes, how soft and slight they could become. He didn't want to picture them as they must look now, hurt and bristling with impatience. That was the ugly Sally that he sought to avoid most of his life. He tried to recall the soft Sally, the loving Sally, and that's what gave him the courage to finally spill what he needed to say to her.
“Fine. I'm just trying to say I don't think Louis knows what he needs to know about you. I don't think he's seen all of you.”
“He knows enough. He knows enough to love me. He doesn't need to know anymore.”
“I think you mean he wouldn't want to know anymore.”
“Same difference.”
Chris pushed his face almost directly in front of where he expected hers to be. Under the blackened moon, he pushed on as well with the thrust of his advice to her. Finally, he could see her lips tightened into the thinnest of lines, her cheeks red with excitement and more than a taste of anger, her green eyes watering at the very corners. He had to see his words through.
“It's not, Sally. If you're going to be marrying this guy, there are things he needs to find out from you beforehand... not after you've both gone through it. That isn't fair to him.”
“That's just where we differ,” he heard her begin. His grasp started to loosen around her as she made to get up and away from him. After a brief struggle to get to her feet, he heard more than saw her plop back down to the sand. “Fuck. I thought that would have been dramatic as hell to walk away from you right then.”
“Quit fooling around and talk to me,” he said, again erecting a state where he could talk to her face-to-beautiful-face. “Rest that toe.”
“Fooliling?” he heard her ask the question after a short while, doing anything she could to change the subject.
Chris tried to hold back his laugh, but one or two escaped before he could regain his composure.
“You're not getting away from me that easily. You asked me to meet you here this weekend.”
Again, he watched her shift her gaze downward to pick at the sand settled on her knees. “You know the reason.”
“No, it wasn't just that. You're smart enough to make me think your reasons were cut-and-dry, but I can tell there's something else.”
“Something else?”
“Something more.”
it must have been the darkest night
not even a star in sight
when you walked away from me
When they were younger they had to hold in reserve the wealth of feelings they had for one another. At home, at school, with family, with friends—it didn't matter. The world was their enemy. Chris always thought in a way it solidified them as one single entity. It provided them one more area of commonality. It bonded them solidly in a way most couples are never afforded. Not only did they have to fight to keep what they had going, but they had to fight everyday to keep it a secret.
Chris knew Sally always fared better in this regard. She was naturally disinterested in gushing about this or that. She had no time for the telling of stories. Sally spoke mostly in commands and protests; the former to people who were underneath her spell, the latter to the people who weren't. Chris wondered which side of the line her fiance fell.
Chris had a harder time of concealing his feelings for his sister. He'd always been fond of her. It had just taken a few years to ascertain exactly what manner his fondness was constructed in. When he had found out, when he had been sure of his hypothesis, it seemed like a laborious agony to not to be able to act upon his findings in the open. It seemed unnatural to not want to show everyone what his heart felt. It felt wrong.
At home it had been easier. There, his parents either didn't care what happened behind closed doors, not wanting to think the worst, or they were to busy to even notice. He didn't know which was worse. He'd almost have preferred that they take some kind of interest in how much time Sally and Chris spent together. He had hoped he could have come to them to ask for advice. But, because they had never found out, they only person he could ever discuss his feelings with was her.
At school she ridiculed him like the bratty sister she was. It hurt him every time, even when she assured him behind closed doors she hadn't meant any of it. The prowess at which she chastised him was almost too practiced, almost too perfect to be an act. He believed her, though, because she also excelled at making it up to him.
He was never good at secrets.
Sally was the keeper of secrets, the Secret Queen.
The Secret Empress.
He watched her now place her head between her knees, her arms atop her head. It formed a perfect ball of armor around her—arms and knees shielding her from the chilled coastal her, shielding her face from his gaze. He went to reach for her, but stopped himself. When she was ready to talk, she would talk. That's what most people had a hard time deciphering. Yes, she was a drama queen, but just as often as she did it for attention, she also did it because she was naturally emotional. Her body was a tool that she sometimes forgot how to handle. When she got upset or sad she showed it. She never said it entirely, but if one looked long enough, she always demonstrated exactly how she was feeling.
“I want to tell him about us before we get married. But I'm scared to,” she finally whispered, freeing her head from her prison. He saw her hands beckon him closer next to her.
When he got closer he instinctively put her arm around her.
“It's alright, Sally. I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me.”
He listened as she wasted no time.
“It's almost guaranteed I know what he's going to think. He's going to hate me. I can't have that.”
“He might,” he answered her quickly.
“Yeah, yeah—that's exactly what I wanted to hear. You're a great brother.”
“I'm just saying this isn't going to turn out well if that's what you're expecting. Don't get your hopes up.”
“So I shouldn't tell him? I should leave it buried. That's what you're telling me”
“On the contrary, he should know.”
“He should know.”
“You should tell him.”
“How?”
“Just tell him. There's no way to sugarcoat it.”
That's what he told her. What he really wanted to say was, your hair has never looked so good on your face, you have never sounded so adorable, you have never been lovelier. What he really wanted to ask was if there was a way for them to stay what they were forever.
“So I should say, 'by the way, Louis, I've been fucking my brother since I was a kid. But it's alright because we've stopped cold turkey.' That's going to go over great. Genius idea there, Sherlock.”
Chris scoffed.
“Not like that. You don't blurt it, Sally. He's going to end up hating both of us.
He watched Sally's hair whip quickly as she dropped her back onto the sand. He tried to pick out exactly what she was looking up at the moment. It couldn't have been stars because there were not many to be found. It couldn't have been him because if he couldn't see her eyes, her eyes couldn't see him. That was the scientific law of how sight worked. He wanted to know because he wanted to be looking up at the same thing as her. At a time like this, it was important that they both be seeing the same exact thing.
“Never mind, Chris. I can't do it. I'm not going to do it. He doesn't need to know.”
“You need to tell him before it's too late. Secrets are no way to begin a relationship. You know that better than anyone.”
“He won't understand.”
He crawled to her head. He rested on all fours while he lowered his head to kiss her. He didn't feel her kissing back, but still he persisted until she did.
“Not at first. But if you explain it all to him, he might. In the end, that's what you want, right?”
Then it was turn to lay on his back and look up at the unstarry night.
“I should tell it all to him,” she whispered again.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she mimicked him in the way they did. “'The truth, Louis, is that when we were kids, Chris and I only had each other. Our parents were never around as much as they were supposed to be. They always said they were overwhelmed with me, and left it to my brother to do all the heavy lifting taking care of me. I know it's sick and perverted, and whatever else you want to call it, but it seemed natural for Chris and I to go that one step too far. The truth is, Louis, I loved him first and I'm just hoping you can accept that about my past.'”
“That's good, Sally.”
When Sally didn't answer immediately, he took it as a sign that she didn't agree. When she didn't bother to raise her head to playact her indignation, that's when he knew for sure she was seriously contemplating the ramifications of giving that answer. Neither of them had told their parents, their friends, or anyone. This was a giant leap of faith she was about to attempt. He could understand her trepidation. He knew his role. It hadn't changed in the slightest. He needed to tell her what the right thing to do was, even though it stung him to do so. She counted on him her whole life to take care of her.
This was the best way now for him to accomplish that.
“No, it's not. That's fucked up, Chris. What we did, what we're doing—that's seriously fucked up,” he felt more than saw her lift her hands to her face, covering it up completely in her palms. “I'll never be able to tell him.”
“You have to. This has to be the last time. We can't do this again.”
He saw her remove her hands from her face and tilt her head towards him. He could barely make out that her lips were pursed once more.
“That's what I said to you once. And do you know what you told me?” He heard her ask the question coldly.
It took him a minute to respond.
“Please, no.”
“You told me it'd be good for me. You'd be good for me. You told me we already loved each other, and that was enough. That's what you said when I told you I felt uncomfortable. You told me you wanted me to open up a little, that's all.”
Trust me, Sally. We need each other. I know that you need me and I want to show you how much I want to be here for you.
Trust me.
Trust me.
Trust me.
“Please, don't say it.”
“And when I asked why we couldn't tell mom and dad, all you said was to silence up. So I did, and we did. You me to believe it wasn't wrong... but why does it feel so wrong now?”
Her voice sounded softer to him now. At first he thought she was bitter, but she wasn't bitter at all. She was confused. That was a fact. She was lost. Her confidence was gone, but she wasn't accusatory. He was always afraid that moment would come. He dreaded coming to find out she had blamed him all these years for what had happened between him. If she said it, then he would have to admit there was kernel of truth to it. If she believed it, then he would have to start believing it. As long as the two of them stayed resolute in their belief in the sanctity of their love for one another, then he could hold it up to his conscience as something pure, untainted. As long as they both believed, it stayed unblemished in his memory.
“We're older. We've got a better perspective to look back at the little things we did.”
“Little,” he heard her say with the hint of a laugh to her tone. “What we did wasn't little, Chris. It was kind of fucking big.”
He wished he could fake it for her. He felt he should have been more confused to make her feel better, to make her feel like she wasn't so alone in this dark, empty beach. He just couldn't act confused, though. He didn't have it in him. He had decided days before they had left on this trip that he wasn't going to apologize for what had happened. It needed for it to come to an end, but he would not leave thinking that he should be ashamed for it, for any of it. It had happened in the course of their lives naturally. There hadn't been some pre-meditation to falling in love with Sally. He hadn't willed it into being. And, despite her misgivings at the beginning, it hadn't taken her long to lose all her hesitation. She wasn't a victim and he wasn't a scoundrel. There had been no crime. There was no sin. There was only what was inevitable and the years they had wasted attempting to halt it.
Sally's voice continued in the darkness to reach his ears.
“Of the two of us, I thought you'd be the one pressuring me to keep it a secret.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Yeah.”
“It's hard, you know? It's hard to move on when you're always around me. When I always see you, when it's this natural, I can't ever get away. It's not like a normal relationship where I can just cut you out of my life. Even when we're through we're never through; you're still my sister Sally.”
He felt her roll up to his side and gently place his arm around her. He wanted to stop her, but he couldn't. Years and years of conditioning overruled what he wanted at the moment. Her natural place was at her side like this. Her warmth next to his warmth had been the only blanket he had ever wanted or needed.
“And you're still my brother. I understand.”
“That's why I'm more than glad you're getting married. Somebody has to break this one and for all. It's time to stop.”
“I know.”
Chris shifted his chest, lifting his sister's head gently in the process. He sat up. Once that was done, he again lowered her head down till it was resting his lap. He watched as her small, fragile lips smiled up at him.
“You have to tell him and you have to get married. Because if you don't, I don't know if I can... if we'll ever be strong enough to be stopping this on our own.”
“Stopiping.”
“Yeah,” he laughed.
Staring down at her small face, he wondered if he knew exactly all that he was giving up. He had told him that all of this was for the best, but now he questioned if it really was. Was his future going to be better from her more pronounced absence from it? Was he ever really going to be free to find the person he was destined to be with? Or was she it? More importantly, he pondered if she would turn out happier without him around. He pondered if this was the best course for her.
He always came to the same solution that it was.
That settled it every time.
“When we looked up at the sky as kids, did you ever think we'd reach this place where we're at now?” he heard her ask him, the voice mysteriously floating up from his lap.
“No, did you?”
“Of course. I think of everything. That's my gift to the world.”
“How quickly I could have ever forgotten.”
“It's an honest mistake.”
He cleared his throat.
“Part of me always knew it couldn't last forever. When started dating what's-his-name in high school I was scared we would have to stop.”
“Jason? Jason was my experiment, to see what somebody different would be like.”
“Yeah, that didn't last long. None of them ever did.”
“But what about Driving Miss Daisy? You two almost lasted a whole year. I was sure you wouldn't want to any more while you were seeing her.”
“Me too.”
He didn't want to tell Sally that Daisy was never his type. The two of them only lasted for as long as they did because he thought he had outgrown Sally. Part of him had pushed to sever the connection and that was the part that he had listened to for that ill-conceived year. Daisy, for her part, never said anything. She was too distracted by having enough of a relationship for the both of them.
Breaking up with her had been the hardest task he ever completed.
Until now.
“Yet there you were at the foot of my bed every time you guys would break up for awhile.”
He let out a slight giggle.
“Imagine the look on her face if she knew I was cheating on her with my own sister.”
“Evil. Though, that would have been funny.”
“Funny.”
“I wonder if Louis is going to think it's funny.”
Chris began to mindlessly run his fingers through Sally's reddish-brown hair, letting them slide effortlessly the entire length till they came to rest near the curvature of her breasts. Then he started the journey all over again.
“Probably not.”
“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had met someone else first, if we still, you know, would have started down this road?”
“We probably would have. Like you said, you needed me, and I've always been helpless to say no when you needed something.”
“Yeah, that part I don't regret at all. It was like there was only one perfect solution—all my acting out, all my feeling alone and sad all the time, all the mean things I used to say—and it was you. You were the only calming influence in my life. The only one,” he heard her say to him. He felt one of her hands brush his cheek as she said it.
“Don't you mean calmiming?”
“How could I have forgotten? It's true. Even mom and dad noticed after we started sleeping together I wasn't as rambunctious as I was before. They probably thought it was a natural stage of growing up, but I think it had everything to do with you.”
“Are you trying to thank me?”
“I guess I am.”
“Well, then, you're welcome. It's not like you weren't good for me either. You were my only ally in that house, the only good thing about growing up.”
“And now we're grown,” he heard her start. He watched her raise a fist in mock-celebration. “Yay, us.”
“Yay.”
As he continued to let her hair draw his fingers in, Chris started to think about how tonight was going to be the last tonight they would have maybe forever. He wanted to remember all of it—the blackened moon, the starless night, the waves rolling into the shore. And her. Especially her. He wanted a picture to take back with him in his head.
“I can say one thing,” he listened to her say. “No one's ever going to take away our memories, no matter how old we get.”
“Yeah, when I'm sixty-five I'll still be recalling your tiny twin bed and listening to the rain hit the roof above us when mom and dad were out of town. I don't know if I'll ever feel that content and safe and happy again. At least, not as easily as that. Nope, can't be done.”
They sighed together.
“That was nice,” he heard Sally comment.
“All the sneaking around. All the secrets and lying. It was still kind of worth it, you know? I can't say I'll miss it all, but there were always more good feelings than bad feelings. They can't take that away from me.”
Sally, not-so-sweet Sally, except to him. To him she was the irreplaceable Sally. She was the timeless Sally. His one and only beloved Sally.
Sally was his life and his life was about to come to an end.
Chris felt he should be sadder somehow. They should've marked the occasion in a grander fashion, taking a cruise somewhere. If this truly was going to be the last night of all the nights they spent together then it deserved to be commemorated in a fashion more befitting of its significance. Sitting at the beach alone with barely any moonlight to wash over them seem subdued somehow, a trifle to the more anxious antics that had enlivened their previous nights together. There he was, about to purposefully misplace the most beneficial and giving relationship he had ever had, and he was about to let it conclude with the smallest of whimpers. He wanted the world to know the importance of what he allowing himself to lose. He wanted her to know just how faded his life would become without her presence. He wanted this night to matter more to the world at large and not just them. He knew there would be no newspapers, no cameras, no throngs of people bearing witness, but he wanted a small spectacle to let at least allow one other human soul entry into a miracle that was about to end. Someone else needed to know this was important. This was special. This was right.
And soon it would be over.
He knew he would never fully lose her. He would never lose access to her thoughts, her intelligence, her humor. Yet the other aspects of her personality—her kindness, her caring, her warmth—all those would be subdued to the degree that they would cease to be recognizable. That's what he would miss. That's what was about to die. She would cease being everything in his life and take up residence as only part of it, still large in its own way, but not everything.
Sally would become his sister again... and nothing more.
It was the nothing more that almost scared him to tears and it was the nothing that he wanted no part of this night. There would be a hole in his life that would never be filled, and he feared that hole would only grow larger and deeper until he fell so far into it he could never escape.
She would be happy, though.
That was his sole consolation.
“I'm ready to get up now, Chris,” he heard her say suddenly.
“That's good. How's the toe?”
“Better, but we'll look at it when we get back to the room. It could have fallen off and I would've never known.
“In that case we better start looking for your toe.”
Chris got to his feet, dumping his sister's head ungraciously on the sand. Even from her back, he saw her shake her fist at him threateningly.
“Do you think it's over there?” he continued, pretending not to notice the ire in her expression. He pointed over to a spot twenty feet from them.
“No, I don't think so.”
“It might be in the water by now. I could throw you in so you could have a look-see.”
“Whatever,” he heard her laugh. “Just help me up, would you?”
“Of course,” Chris said, extending her arm to help her up.
He felt his sister grab his arm tightly to steady herself. Finally, after much effort, he watched as she managed to hop up on her right leg and gingerly put her weight down on her injured toe.
“Chris?” he heard her ask just as gingerly.
“Yeah?”
“What am I going to do if he can't understand?” It seemed her toe was doing better and she was now standing in front of him no worse for the wear.
“I don't know, Sally. I don't know.”
“I love him.”
“I know that.”
“He's really good for me.”
“I know that.”
He watched as she took her first step to the hotel. However, before she could take another one she stopped in place.
“I love you too, but I think you're right.”
“I love it when you say stuff like that to me, Sally.”
He watched her turn her head around, with the rest of her body slowly following.
“I think I'm going to tell him. Regardless of his answer, this will have to have been the last time we 'go on vacation.'”
“I agree,” he answered, catching up to her.
“I think I needed you when I was a kid, I needed that.”
“Me too.”
“But we're not kids anymore. It isn't healthy.”
“Exactly.”
I'll never leave you, Chris. Never.
Chris placed his hand on her shoulder, feeling once more the familiar texture of his younger sister. She still felt warm and smooth to the touch.
“Hey, Sally?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too, sis.”
One last smile for the night. One last good memory to hold onto.
“Yeah, but I loved you first,” he heard her say through the laughter.
He felt her kiss one last time before they made their way back to their hotel. Then it was all over.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
...continued from "You Are My Sweetest Downfall, I Loved You First, I Loved You First, Beneath The Sheets Of Paper Lies My Truth, I Have To Go, I Have To Go"OPENING UP
a story by E. Patrick Taroc
“Can we stop here? It's really hurting now, Chris.”
Chris hung up his cel phone immediately. His friend Jeff would have to wait another day. Placing the phone into his pocket, he turned to face Sally who was beginning to teeter on one leg now planted firmly in the beach sand.
“Yeah, sure. Here's a good spot anyhow,” he said, smiling. The sound of her voice still startled him. The two of them had been walking along the shore from their hotel for quite a ways in silence. The only thing he had heard before Jeff had called was the sound of the nighttime waves rolling into shore. Together they had walked maybe two miles down the shore without a word passing between them, hand in hand. He had almost forgotten the fact that the two of them had a great deal to talk about on this week.
He had almost forgotten he had a purpose in asking her to come out with him that night.
“Yeah, yeah. Here,” he heard her say before plopping down on the sound unceremoniously. Her plopping had seemed unnatural for the simple fact she wasn't accustomed to plopping. In fact, Chris wracked his brain to think of another occasion when he had seen her plop like that and he couldn't quite come up with any other instances. He decided Sally was most emphatically in the non-plopping camp. “It's throbbing now now. Great, it's throbbing. Can you take a look?”
He watched her extend her left foot up to him from her seated position. Instead of immediately taking the bait, he took a seat beside her, the sand making a soft cushion beneath him.
“Leave it to you to stub your toe at the beach. Not only that, but stub it with enough oomph to have it bleed,” he laughed. He tried not to, but the sight of her over-exaggerating her discomfort was a funny sight. The two of them used to joke that she wasn't a mere drama queen; she was a drama empress. “Let me take a look.”
“No, you're making fun of me. Now I don't want you to look.”
He watched the corners of her mouth curl up sourly. It was meant to be her indignant look, but to him it always reeked more of petulance. She had meant it to look angered and full of callousness towards him; he was always more reminded of the young girl who had been told to get her hand out of the brownie tupperware. No matter how much rancor she tried to gather up, the most she could muster on her face was mild annoyance. At least to him. Other people saw different things, but he knew better than to believe any sign of bad mojo could be directed at him by Sally. He knew her better than that. To him, no matter her countenance, she was always all sorts beautiful.
He gave her a quick glance under the blackened moon. He could barely make out the reddish-brown hair, usually nested above her face, but this night sprung free and delicately chasing down off her shoulder. He could barely make out the greenish and freckled eyes that the two of them shared. He could barely make out the smile beneath the smirk. He could barely see the Sally he knew, but he had faith she was in there somewhere. After she stopped thinking about her direly injured toe, she would slowly make her way out again to him.
“Come on, you big baby. Let me just see it,” he said. He grabbed her left leg from her and started to lift it to his face. The feeling of her bare skin in his hands felt nice, as it always did. The two of them had gone walking in matching khakis (both his) and non-descript secondhand t-shirts. This had been a last-minute idea suggested at the last minute of the days.
They hadn't spent much time getting ready to go out and basically grabbed the first thing at hand.
“Well, there's just not enough light here to see anything,” he continued.
He felt as Sally yanked her foot away.
“Then give it back. You're hurtiting it,” she whined.
“Oh god, not that again,” he whined back.
He heard her laugh, punctuated with small gasps of her perceived pain.
Sally.
She could be such a baby sometimes, he thought. I mean—there he was a big guy, basically doting on tiny, little here. If you stood them side-by-side, somebody had once told them while they had been spotted walking together, it'd be like looking at a tree walking a rose bush. You would have been struck with the enormity of the tree and the brilliance of the rose bush, but never would have thought to see the two of them side-by-side.
Yet there were similarities, he had to admit. The aforementioned eyes were like an exact clone of one another, urban and serious and green. People always jumped to say, “you guys look like you're related,” when Chris and Sally had been seen sharing a bench somewhere and it always stemmed from how similar their eyes were to one another. However, whereas Sally's hair could shift from red to brown, his hair was a smoky brown. His mouth was a expressive and often broadened into a massive span whenever he smiled; hers was most often tight-lipped and tense almost always. Even when she laughed, her mouth always gave the impression she was holding something back. Except for the eyes they definitely looked like they did not fit with one another.
But fit they did. Whenever he said her name, she almost said his, as did everyone else. They were always being mentioned one right after the other, almost as if they were one word. Chrisandsally, Sallyandchris.
Sally, whose first word had been no. Sally, whose bark was meaner than her bite. Sally, who liked to sing when she thought no one else was around. Sally, who was always remarking that she thought she chewed her food too quickly. Sally, who was a walking ball of wants and desires that had to be immediately fulfilled.
Chris, who always thought a simpler life was a better life. Chris, who almost never said no to anyone. Chris, who scratched at his leg when he was nervous. Chris, who thought she screamed rather too much like a girl when he got scared. Chris, who got lost far too easily.
They did make a rather odd pair.
He wouldn't have it another way.
He listened to her laughter run away just as quickly as it had made its appearance. He didn't know where it went to hide, but very often wished it would stay a moment or two longer. Then, after a short silence, he heard her speak once more.
“I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't think I can walk back to the hotel like this.”
“We can rest here for awhile.”
“I don't think that's going to help.”
“I could strand you out here. I'm good to go back to the hotel any time I want—I don't know about you.”
He watched Sally shake her head. Next she rolled her eyes back.
“Again, not helping.”
“Sorry. I'm serious, rest it awhile. We don't have to go back any time soon. We'll see how it feels and then if it's still bad I'll think of something.”
He turned to face her, scanning for some sign that she was facing back at him. In the darkness it was hard to make out much of anything. All there was was a blackened sky, a laughing ocean not fifty feet from where they were sitting, and the two of them sitting next to one another. Everything else fell away to unimportance. This is all that mattered to him.
“If that's what you think is best, but I highly doubt anything is going to change no matter how much time we give it, Chris,” he heard her say as she brushed some sand off of her exposed knee. “I don't see why we can't...” he heard her continue, before petering off.
“We'll just have to see, now won't we? Now silence up and let the night soak into you.”
That was the extent of him being strong with her. If he had a weakness, it would have been how he treated her. With everyone else he was a pretty affable guy, but when crossed he made sure everyone knew it. He didn't venture into bouts of rage or physical demonstrations, yet the content and tone of his voice conveyed more in a few words than one punch or one stream of profanity could from most men. It didn't take much for people to notice that all was not right with Chris. Not much at all. Yet when it came to the attractive woman beside him, his tone was always playful, his touch was always light, and his demeanor was always understanding—too playful, too light, and too understanding.
He watched her. He really studied her, rubbing her toe incessantly, breathing heavily, making sure he knew she was uncomfortable. He watched her until it was obvious to her that he was watching him. He felt more than saw her face turn towards him. There, they remained for quite some time—both trying to ascertain how much the other was looking at him or her. He didn't see her smile or break her concentration. They just looked for each other in the dim light and continued to look until a few minutes had passed.
He didn't say anything until Sally took the initiative.
“Do you remember the last time we were on this beach?”
“Four, five years ago?”
“Four, five years ago.”
Chris puffed. “Has it been that long? We used to go all the time. Remember that?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we stopped.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, actually, you stopped.” He tried to lighten his words as much as possible. Still, she took it as a jab.
The sound of her taking a deep breath was the start of her answer. That was followed with her saying, “Now? Really? Now? With my hurt toe and everything?”
“I'm just saying.”
He knew she was often too quick to anger, but it still surprised him at her alacrity. He never got the sense he had to walk on tiptoes around her about anything, but she wasn't very accommodating even at the best of times. When someone put her on the defensive, she was worse, fire and brimstone worse.
Rather than acknowledge his statement, he listened as Sally moved past it completely.
“I remember when the water used to come up to where we're sitting now. I would warn you that it's coming in too high, too quickly. But you never listened to me.”
“I listened. I didn't care that much.”
The waters were never that high. The truth was that he knew Sally disliked being bothered with trying things. The water was too cold, it was moving too fast, she didn't want to get wet—these were all the excuses she had tried to give him. In his defense, he had only wanted to keep the lightheartedness going. She always put him in a good mood and on those days at the beach all he had wanted to do is return the favor, share some of the joy she brought to his life. It never worked, though. She always complained about him being incessantly bothersome. She never used those exact words. Mostly she said no and let that explain everything about her demeanor.
“You used to threaten to throw me in.”
“Into the cold, treacherous waters.”
“You were mean to me. I remember that too. Now I remember why I stopped going.”
“It was never that cold. Or that treacherous.”
“The fact I was comfortable should have been enough for you.”
“But I never listen, right?”
“No, you never do.”
“It was water. It was water that would've going up to your knees, Sally.”
“I was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable and you didn't care.”
“I cared. I just wanted to open you up a little.”
“Whatever,” he heard Sally say. He listened as she turned her face away from him. Then he struggled to say something next.
He pulled in close to her. Then he pulled her face close into him. Then he kissed her with the conviction of somebody who had kissed her often before. Sometimes he struggled for words when they were together, but when his lips met hers there wasn't any argument she could present that could ever refute the one he made with that simple gesture. She could tell him no, no, no after the kiss ended, but he knew she could never utter those words while it was happening. That was his one advantage he had over her. She hadn't devised a viable counter to that simple gambit. It worked every time.
“Better?” he asked after he had pulled away.
“Not really. I guess. No,” he heard the words stumble out of her mouth.
“I'm really sorry I threatened to throw you in the big, bad ocean, Sally. You're right, it was mean of me. I apologize.”
“You didn't mean that.” He watched as she slowly wiped her mouth with her free hand.
“Oh, but I do. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
“Fix my fucking toe.”
“Oh, would that I could.”
“Could that you would...” Absentmindedly he heard the words escape her mouth for the umpteenth time.
“I'd fix a hundred toes for you if I had the power, Sally. You know that.”
“And I'd give you a hundred toes to fix.”
He watched her arm come back to her side, but, instead of resuming her sitting there meekly, he felt her form glide closer into him. Then she kissed him softly and almost too quickly before resting her head on his shoulder. “And a hundred more.”
The bemused Chris could only say one thing.
“Bring it.”
He took her changes in mood in stride. The perception was that she was playful when it suited her, when she wanted something, but the majority of the time she was distant and almost unbearable. She was pleasant enough, but most people thought she was the kind of person who was fine in small doses. However, the longer you spent around her the more her caustic side began to worm its way out. That was the perception, anyway. In reality, Chris thought the real Sally lay somewhere in the middle. She was neither gentle nor spiteful. She was neither hot nor cold. She was neither fawn nor falcon. She was a rapacious spirit, prone to shocking honest, but it was never at the expense of someone else. Chris understood she would never do that. When she bossed people around, it wasn't because she believed she was better than anyone else. She did it because she wanted something done and the fastest way she knew was to supervise everyone else to do it for her. The tasks she was better suited for she tackled herself, of course. Everything else she naturally assumed others would do for her. He knew she didn't like to waste a lot of time. If it was faster for you to take responsibility, then she expected you not to be slothful about it. She couldn't have you waste your time either.
This extended to her tender side as well.
When he kissed her, she took it as him acting on his wants, his needs. When she kissed him it was much the same. He understood that aspect as well as her. Wants and needs come first. There's no point in restraint when restraint only slows a person down, when only slows the truth about what was happening or about to happen down.
“You'd like that wouldn't you? Evil,” she said, still clutched to his arm.
“I like doing stuff for you. It's not that hard. You're easy to please,” he lied.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, I just do everything you tell me to do. Simple as that.” He let out a laugh.
He felt her head come off his shoulder for only a moment and her fist mockingly punch him there. Her head quickly returned to its nesting place.
“Now it's my turn to wish for a hundred more guys like you. What I could do with an army like that.”
“Everything.”
“Yeah, yeah—everything sounds like exactly what I want.”
“Always have.”
“Always will.”
“Ever since we were kids, enough was never enough for you.”
“Because it isn't.”
He remembered the tantrums at the dinner table and how he used to sneak food into her room when their parents would banish her there. He remembered being complicit in her accusations against them both—how they were unfair, ugly, terrible creature. He would even promise to spirit her away from the both. Even then he looked out for her in a way that went beyond protecting her. She was his responsibility and he took it as his lifelong quest to live it up to that responsibility. He remembered the tears, the insults, the occasional welts when she had gone one step too far and their dad couldn't take it anymore. He remembered pleading with their mom to be a little more forgiving, more understanding, and her telling him that he was the good child. He was the one they were counting on to show her the ropes.
He had grown up feeling like everyone counted on him to keep the peace. He had done his best, but it had taken a lot more than he knew at the time. It had taken everything he could muster to keep his family together.
“You used to drive mom and dad crazy. They'd think they were doing something nice for you and you'd shoot them down time and time again. You were a real brat when you were a kid, Sally. You know that?”
“I know.”
“And you've grown up to be a real bitch too,” he joked with her.
“I don't know about that.”
“I do. I mean—who comes to a place like this—with a guy—the month before they're supposed to get married to somebody else?” he asked, still half-serious.
“For all everyone knows I'm on vacation with my brother. That's all this is.”
“To them. Not to you. Not to me.”
When they were younger, Chris had been the only one to tell it to her straight. Oh, he was nice about it. He gave her advice the best he could without it making it seem like he was pointing out all her faults. Yet there always came a time when he had crossed a line, hadn't thought, and he would have to be brutally truthful with her. The truth was she wasn't a nice person all the time. The truth was she wasn't as decent a person she thought she was. It often fell to him to explain to her why she was being punished. His parents would never do that for her. They would just do the punishing without any word of explanation. The most she learned from them was not to get on their bad side. She never found out how that happened or why it happened. For that she had to come to him to hear it fleshed out for her in words she could understand. That he could do for her. He was good at that. For him, staying on the right side of his parents' good side was easy. It was the wanting more for them that was the difficult part. When he would comfort his sister he felt needed. That was the truth also. The only time he felt like someone saw him for the special person he was was when his sister thanked him, when she showed her appreciation with a playful kiss on the cheek or a hearty embrace.
That was genuine.
That was real.
That wasn't some empty words of praise. That was one person making the other person believe in the quality of their character, their spirit. That was the one thing that made everything else he had to endure quietly worth it.
As a particularly loud wave crashed onto the sand, he heard her say simply, “I am a bitch.”
“You are,” he agreed. He sighed before continuing, “But you can't help it. It's just who you are.”
Shake of her head. Roll of her eyes.
“You always know the best way to cheer me up, Chris.”
“That's what brothers are for.” Chris laughed until Sally had no choice to throw in a sympathy laugh as well. “Look, all I'm saying is that we all were a little too loose with you—mom, dad, and me. We all coddled, gave you what you wanted. When it came time to say no to you—well, eventually everyone figure out that it was easier to give you what you wanted.”
“Is that what it was like?”
“That's what it was like. It took a few years, but that's what our family became.”
“I was that bad?”
“Bad isn't the word. You were you. You are you. It's too late for you to change now.”
He felt Sally turn towards him in genuine surprise, this time leaving the comfort of his shoulder for good.
“You think that low of me?”
“Not at all. I wouldn't be here if I did. There's just few people who know the real you, Sally, who know the real you and like the real you. Just remember that.”
“What does that mean?”
He felt the indignation monster once more stirring in her.
“Nothing.”
“No, I want to know. You're trying to say something specific and I want to know what it is.
“It's nothing.”
He could taste the moment of silence hanging in the wind. There was a palpable tension in the air that was dangerous and deadly to what was happening. He hadn't even arrived yet at what he had taken her out to the beach to say. Again, Chris found himself struggling to right the ship that would get Sally to the place he needed her to be. Again, he found himself placing himself at her patience.
“Then I think it's time we go back to the hotel room then... if you're not up to talking anymore,” he heard her say, every venomous word joined by an equally poisonous tone.
“That's how it is?”
“That's how it is.”
Chris tried to recall her eyes, how soft and slight they could become. He didn't want to picture them as they must look now, hurt and bristling with impatience. That was the ugly Sally that he sought to avoid most of his life. He tried to recall the soft Sally, the loving Sally, and that's what gave him the courage to finally spill what he needed to say to her.
“Fine. I'm just trying to say I don't think Louis knows what he needs to know about you. I don't think he's seen all of you.”
“He knows enough. He knows enough to love me. He doesn't need to know anymore.”
“I think you mean he wouldn't want to know anymore.”
“Same difference.”
Chris pushed his face almost directly in front of where he expected hers to be. Under the blackened moon, he pushed on as well with the thrust of his advice to her. Finally, he could see her lips tightened into the thinnest of lines, her cheeks red with excitement and more than a taste of anger, her green eyes watering at the very corners. He had to see his words through.
“It's not, Sally. If you're going to be marrying this guy, there are things he needs to find out from you beforehand... not after you've both gone through it. That isn't fair to him.”
“That's just where we differ,” he heard her begin. His grasp started to loosen around her as she made to get up and away from him. After a brief struggle to get to her feet, he heard more than saw her plop back down to the sand. “Fuck. I thought that would have been dramatic as hell to walk away from you right then.”
“Quit fooling around and talk to me,” he said, again erecting a state where he could talk to her face-to-beautiful-face. “Rest that toe.”
“Fooliling?” he heard her ask the question after a short while, doing anything she could to change the subject.
Chris tried to hold back his laugh, but one or two escaped before he could regain his composure.
“You're not getting away from me that easily. You asked me to meet you here this weekend.”
Again, he watched her shift her gaze downward to pick at the sand settled on her knees. “You know the reason.”
“No, it wasn't just that. You're smart enough to make me think your reasons were cut-and-dry, but I can tell there's something else.”
“Something else?”
“Something more.”
it must have been the darkest night
not even a star in sight
when you walked away from me
When they were younger they had to hold in reserve the wealth of feelings they had for one another. At home, at school, with family, with friends—it didn't matter. The world was their enemy. Chris always thought in a way it solidified them as one single entity. It provided them one more area of commonality. It bonded them solidly in a way most couples are never afforded. Not only did they have to fight to keep what they had going, but they had to fight everyday to keep it a secret.
Chris knew Sally always fared better in this regard. She was naturally disinterested in gushing about this or that. She had no time for the telling of stories. Sally spoke mostly in commands and protests; the former to people who were underneath her spell, the latter to the people who weren't. Chris wondered which side of the line her fiance fell.
Chris had a harder time of concealing his feelings for his sister. He'd always been fond of her. It had just taken a few years to ascertain exactly what manner his fondness was constructed in. When he had found out, when he had been sure of his hypothesis, it seemed like a laborious agony to not to be able to act upon his findings in the open. It seemed unnatural to not want to show everyone what his heart felt. It felt wrong.
At home it had been easier. There, his parents either didn't care what happened behind closed doors, not wanting to think the worst, or they were to busy to even notice. He didn't know which was worse. He'd almost have preferred that they take some kind of interest in how much time Sally and Chris spent together. He had hoped he could have come to them to ask for advice. But, because they had never found out, they only person he could ever discuss his feelings with was her.
At school she ridiculed him like the bratty sister she was. It hurt him every time, even when she assured him behind closed doors she hadn't meant any of it. The prowess at which she chastised him was almost too practiced, almost too perfect to be an act. He believed her, though, because she also excelled at making it up to him.
He was never good at secrets.
Sally was the keeper of secrets, the Secret Queen.
The Secret Empress.
He watched her now place her head between her knees, her arms atop her head. It formed a perfect ball of armor around her—arms and knees shielding her from the chilled coastal her, shielding her face from his gaze. He went to reach for her, but stopped himself. When she was ready to talk, she would talk. That's what most people had a hard time deciphering. Yes, she was a drama queen, but just as often as she did it for attention, she also did it because she was naturally emotional. Her body was a tool that she sometimes forgot how to handle. When she got upset or sad she showed it. She never said it entirely, but if one looked long enough, she always demonstrated exactly how she was feeling.
“I want to tell him about us before we get married. But I'm scared to,” she finally whispered, freeing her head from her prison. He saw her hands beckon him closer next to her.
When he got closer he instinctively put her arm around her.
“It's alright, Sally. I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me.”
He listened as she wasted no time.
“It's almost guaranteed I know what he's going to think. He's going to hate me. I can't have that.”
“He might,” he answered her quickly.
“Yeah, yeah—that's exactly what I wanted to hear. You're a great brother.”
“I'm just saying this isn't going to turn out well if that's what you're expecting. Don't get your hopes up.”
“So I shouldn't tell him? I should leave it buried. That's what you're telling me”
“On the contrary, he should know.”
“He should know.”
“You should tell him.”
“How?”
“Just tell him. There's no way to sugarcoat it.”
That's what he told her. What he really wanted to say was, your hair has never looked so good on your face, you have never sounded so adorable, you have never been lovelier. What he really wanted to ask was if there was a way for them to stay what they were forever.
“So I should say, 'by the way, Louis, I've been fucking my brother since I was a kid. But it's alright because we've stopped cold turkey.' That's going to go over great. Genius idea there, Sherlock.”
Chris scoffed.
“Not like that. You don't blurt it, Sally. He's going to end up hating both of us.
He watched Sally's hair whip quickly as she dropped her back onto the sand. He tried to pick out exactly what she was looking up at the moment. It couldn't have been stars because there were not many to be found. It couldn't have been him because if he couldn't see her eyes, her eyes couldn't see him. That was the scientific law of how sight worked. He wanted to know because he wanted to be looking up at the same thing as her. At a time like this, it was important that they both be seeing the same exact thing.
“Never mind, Chris. I can't do it. I'm not going to do it. He doesn't need to know.”
“You need to tell him before it's too late. Secrets are no way to begin a relationship. You know that better than anyone.”
“He won't understand.”
He crawled to her head. He rested on all fours while he lowered his head to kiss her. He didn't feel her kissing back, but still he persisted until she did.
“Not at first. But if you explain it all to him, he might. In the end, that's what you want, right?”
Then it was turn to lay on his back and look up at the unstarry night.
“I should tell it all to him,” she whispered again.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she mimicked him in the way they did. “'The truth, Louis, is that when we were kids, Chris and I only had each other. Our parents were never around as much as they were supposed to be. They always said they were overwhelmed with me, and left it to my brother to do all the heavy lifting taking care of me. I know it's sick and perverted, and whatever else you want to call it, but it seemed natural for Chris and I to go that one step too far. The truth is, Louis, I loved him first and I'm just hoping you can accept that about my past.'”
“That's good, Sally.”
When Sally didn't answer immediately, he took it as a sign that she didn't agree. When she didn't bother to raise her head to playact her indignation, that's when he knew for sure she was seriously contemplating the ramifications of giving that answer. Neither of them had told their parents, their friends, or anyone. This was a giant leap of faith she was about to attempt. He could understand her trepidation. He knew his role. It hadn't changed in the slightest. He needed to tell her what the right thing to do was, even though it stung him to do so. She counted on him her whole life to take care of her.
This was the best way now for him to accomplish that.
“No, it's not. That's fucked up, Chris. What we did, what we're doing—that's seriously fucked up,” he felt more than saw her lift her hands to her face, covering it up completely in her palms. “I'll never be able to tell him.”
“You have to. This has to be the last time. We can't do this again.”
He saw her remove her hands from her face and tilt her head towards him. He could barely make out that her lips were pursed once more.
“That's what I said to you once. And do you know what you told me?” He heard her ask the question coldly.
It took him a minute to respond.
“Please, no.”
“You told me it'd be good for me. You'd be good for me. You told me we already loved each other, and that was enough. That's what you said when I told you I felt uncomfortable. You told me you wanted me to open up a little, that's all.”
Trust me, Sally. We need each other. I know that you need me and I want to show you how much I want to be here for you.
Trust me.
Trust me.
Trust me.
“Please, don't say it.”
“And when I asked why we couldn't tell mom and dad, all you said was to silence up. So I did, and we did. You me to believe it wasn't wrong... but why does it feel so wrong now?”
Her voice sounded softer to him now. At first he thought she was bitter, but she wasn't bitter at all. She was confused. That was a fact. She was lost. Her confidence was gone, but she wasn't accusatory. He was always afraid that moment would come. He dreaded coming to find out she had blamed him all these years for what had happened between him. If she said it, then he would have to admit there was kernel of truth to it. If she believed it, then he would have to start believing it. As long as the two of them stayed resolute in their belief in the sanctity of their love for one another, then he could hold it up to his conscience as something pure, untainted. As long as they both believed, it stayed unblemished in his memory.
“We're older. We've got a better perspective to look back at the little things we did.”
“Little,” he heard her say with the hint of a laugh to her tone. “What we did wasn't little, Chris. It was kind of fucking big.”
He wished he could fake it for her. He felt he should have been more confused to make her feel better, to make her feel like she wasn't so alone in this dark, empty beach. He just couldn't act confused, though. He didn't have it in him. He had decided days before they had left on this trip that he wasn't going to apologize for what had happened. It needed for it to come to an end, but he would not leave thinking that he should be ashamed for it, for any of it. It had happened in the course of their lives naturally. There hadn't been some pre-meditation to falling in love with Sally. He hadn't willed it into being. And, despite her misgivings at the beginning, it hadn't taken her long to lose all her hesitation. She wasn't a victim and he wasn't a scoundrel. There had been no crime. There was no sin. There was only what was inevitable and the years they had wasted attempting to halt it.
Sally's voice continued in the darkness to reach his ears.
“Of the two of us, I thought you'd be the one pressuring me to keep it a secret.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Yeah.”
“It's hard, you know? It's hard to move on when you're always around me. When I always see you, when it's this natural, I can't ever get away. It's not like a normal relationship where I can just cut you out of my life. Even when we're through we're never through; you're still my sister Sally.”
He felt her roll up to his side and gently place his arm around her. He wanted to stop her, but he couldn't. Years and years of conditioning overruled what he wanted at the moment. Her natural place was at her side like this. Her warmth next to his warmth had been the only blanket he had ever wanted or needed.
“And you're still my brother. I understand.”
“That's why I'm more than glad you're getting married. Somebody has to break this one and for all. It's time to stop.”
“I know.”
Chris shifted his chest, lifting his sister's head gently in the process. He sat up. Once that was done, he again lowered her head down till it was resting his lap. He watched as her small, fragile lips smiled up at him.
“You have to tell him and you have to get married. Because if you don't, I don't know if I can... if we'll ever be strong enough to be stopping this on our own.”
“Stopiping.”
“Yeah,” he laughed.
Staring down at her small face, he wondered if he knew exactly all that he was giving up. He had told him that all of this was for the best, but now he questioned if it really was. Was his future going to be better from her more pronounced absence from it? Was he ever really going to be free to find the person he was destined to be with? Or was she it? More importantly, he pondered if she would turn out happier without him around. He pondered if this was the best course for her.
He always came to the same solution that it was.
That settled it every time.
“When we looked up at the sky as kids, did you ever think we'd reach this place where we're at now?” he heard her ask him, the voice mysteriously floating up from his lap.
“No, did you?”
“Of course. I think of everything. That's my gift to the world.”
“How quickly I could have ever forgotten.”
“It's an honest mistake.”
He cleared his throat.
“Part of me always knew it couldn't last forever. When started dating what's-his-name in high school I was scared we would have to stop.”
“Jason? Jason was my experiment, to see what somebody different would be like.”
“Yeah, that didn't last long. None of them ever did.”
“But what about Driving Miss Daisy? You two almost lasted a whole year. I was sure you wouldn't want to any more while you were seeing her.”
“Me too.”
He didn't want to tell Sally that Daisy was never his type. The two of them only lasted for as long as they did because he thought he had outgrown Sally. Part of him had pushed to sever the connection and that was the part that he had listened to for that ill-conceived year. Daisy, for her part, never said anything. She was too distracted by having enough of a relationship for the both of them.
Breaking up with her had been the hardest task he ever completed.
Until now.
“Yet there you were at the foot of my bed every time you guys would break up for awhile.”
He let out a slight giggle.
“Imagine the look on her face if she knew I was cheating on her with my own sister.”
“Evil. Though, that would have been funny.”
“Funny.”
“I wonder if Louis is going to think it's funny.”
Chris began to mindlessly run his fingers through Sally's reddish-brown hair, letting them slide effortlessly the entire length till they came to rest near the curvature of her breasts. Then he started the journey all over again.
“Probably not.”
“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had met someone else first, if we still, you know, would have started down this road?”
“We probably would have. Like you said, you needed me, and I've always been helpless to say no when you needed something.”
“Yeah, that part I don't regret at all. It was like there was only one perfect solution—all my acting out, all my feeling alone and sad all the time, all the mean things I used to say—and it was you. You were the only calming influence in my life. The only one,” he heard her say to him. He felt one of her hands brush his cheek as she said it.
“Don't you mean calmiming?”
“How could I have forgotten? It's true. Even mom and dad noticed after we started sleeping together I wasn't as rambunctious as I was before. They probably thought it was a natural stage of growing up, but I think it had everything to do with you.”
“Are you trying to thank me?”
“I guess I am.”
“Well, then, you're welcome. It's not like you weren't good for me either. You were my only ally in that house, the only good thing about growing up.”
“And now we're grown,” he heard her start. He watched her raise a fist in mock-celebration. “Yay, us.”
“Yay.”
As he continued to let her hair draw his fingers in, Chris started to think about how tonight was going to be the last tonight they would have maybe forever. He wanted to remember all of it—the blackened moon, the starless night, the waves rolling into the shore. And her. Especially her. He wanted a picture to take back with him in his head.
“I can say one thing,” he listened to her say. “No one's ever going to take away our memories, no matter how old we get.”
“Yeah, when I'm sixty-five I'll still be recalling your tiny twin bed and listening to the rain hit the roof above us when mom and dad were out of town. I don't know if I'll ever feel that content and safe and happy again. At least, not as easily as that. Nope, can't be done.”
They sighed together.
“That was nice,” he heard Sally comment.
“All the sneaking around. All the secrets and lying. It was still kind of worth it, you know? I can't say I'll miss it all, but there were always more good feelings than bad feelings. They can't take that away from me.”
Sally, not-so-sweet Sally, except to him. To him she was the irreplaceable Sally. She was the timeless Sally. His one and only beloved Sally.
Sally was his life and his life was about to come to an end.
Chris felt he should be sadder somehow. They should've marked the occasion in a grander fashion, taking a cruise somewhere. If this truly was going to be the last night of all the nights they spent together then it deserved to be commemorated in a fashion more befitting of its significance. Sitting at the beach alone with barely any moonlight to wash over them seem subdued somehow, a trifle to the more anxious antics that had enlivened their previous nights together. There he was, about to purposefully misplace the most beneficial and giving relationship he had ever had, and he was about to let it conclude with the smallest of whimpers. He wanted the world to know the importance of what he allowing himself to lose. He wanted her to know just how faded his life would become without her presence. He wanted this night to matter more to the world at large and not just them. He knew there would be no newspapers, no cameras, no throngs of people bearing witness, but he wanted a small spectacle to let at least allow one other human soul entry into a miracle that was about to end. Someone else needed to know this was important. This was special. This was right.
And soon it would be over.
He knew he would never fully lose her. He would never lose access to her thoughts, her intelligence, her humor. Yet the other aspects of her personality—her kindness, her caring, her warmth—all those would be subdued to the degree that they would cease to be recognizable. That's what he would miss. That's what was about to die. She would cease being everything in his life and take up residence as only part of it, still large in its own way, but not everything.
Sally would become his sister again... and nothing more.
It was the nothing more that almost scared him to tears and it was the nothing that he wanted no part of this night. There would be a hole in his life that would never be filled, and he feared that hole would only grow larger and deeper until he fell so far into it he could never escape.
She would be happy, though.
That was his sole consolation.
“I'm ready to get up now, Chris,” he heard her say suddenly.
“That's good. How's the toe?”
“Better, but we'll look at it when we get back to the room. It could have fallen off and I would've never known.
“In that case we better start looking for your toe.”
Chris got to his feet, dumping his sister's head ungraciously on the sand. Even from her back, he saw her shake her fist at him threateningly.
“Do you think it's over there?” he continued, pretending not to notice the ire in her expression. He pointed over to a spot twenty feet from them.
“No, I don't think so.”
“It might be in the water by now. I could throw you in so you could have a look-see.”
“Whatever,” he heard her laugh. “Just help me up, would you?”
“Of course,” Chris said, extending her arm to help her up.
He felt his sister grab his arm tightly to steady herself. Finally, after much effort, he watched as she managed to hop up on her right leg and gingerly put her weight down on her injured toe.
“Chris?” he heard her ask just as gingerly.
“Yeah?”
“What am I going to do if he can't understand?” It seemed her toe was doing better and she was now standing in front of him no worse for the wear.
“I don't know, Sally. I don't know.”
“I love him.”
“I know that.”
“He's really good for me.”
“I know that.”
He watched as she took her first step to the hotel. However, before she could take another one she stopped in place.
“I love you too, but I think you're right.”
“I love it when you say stuff like that to me, Sally.”
He watched her turn her head around, with the rest of her body slowly following.
“I think I'm going to tell him. Regardless of his answer, this will have to have been the last time we 'go on vacation.'”
“I agree,” he answered, catching up to her.
“I think I needed you when I was a kid, I needed that.”
“Me too.”
“But we're not kids anymore. It isn't healthy.”
“Exactly.”
I'll never leave you, Chris. Never.
Chris placed his hand on her shoulder, feeling once more the familiar texture of his younger sister. She still felt warm and smooth to the touch.
“Hey, Sally?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too, sis.”
One last smile for the night. One last good memory to hold onto.
“Yeah, but I loved you first,” he heard her say through the laughter.
He felt her kiss one last time before they made their way back to their hotel. Then it was all over.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: family, fiction, first love, Hayley Westenra, Responsibility, sacrifice
posted by mojo shivers @ 1:35 AM
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