Date: Fri, 22 Feb 2008 17:13:25 -0600 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Series: Damage Deposit (Chapters 11 and 12) Thanks again to everyone who wrote me, you're all awesomesauce. --- Chapter Eleven; if you never say your name out loud to anyone they can never call you by it (Ben) He knows they think he left to hide, to disappear with his parents again, that life, that safety, but when his feet had carried him back there, knowing where to go even though his eyes had been blinded with tears, he had known there was no place for him there any longer either. If this was to be about what he needed to believe it was about, he couldn't stop at the Vasskez door, he had to leave his own refuge behind as well, to force himself out into the wide open world, and to see what he could make of it, and be made by it. So he went in and repacked the boxes his parents had packed for him to move away from them with Kyle and he started making red circles around apartments in the newspaper and going on walks to look for vacancy signs on the sides of buildings. He doesn't know why his parents had chosen that moment to suddenly stop resisting such things, but accepted it gratefully when they offered to help him move and give him money for rent. He gets a job making art with inner city children and spends his evenings at home alone in his postage stamp apartment drinking tea and reading Russian literature and sketching what he sees out his window. Slowly, slowly, he gets to know the faces of the people in his building, the little old ladies who never leave their apartment so he buys them groceries and flowers whenever they have a list for him when he knocks on their door, the university students from Rwanda who make food that's smells will fill the whole hall of their floor, the mother and daughter who own the bunny who is always escaping and hopping from one end of the hall to another. The name by his buzzer code says Ben Remple and he doesn't correct them when they call him that. Everyone at work does the same, and it gets to be that he isn't looking over his shoulder anymore when people call him Ben, wondering who they're talking to. He's starting to feel at home again in his own skin, but in a way he never did as Ben or Jonas before. He goes on walks around the old neighborhood, watches the twins and Braden playing soccer in the yard and observes the progress of the garden. When winter starts coming slowly but surely he ventures closer, sometimes peering in windows to catch glimpses of them. He wonders if he should feel guilty about this, or at the very least afraid that someone will catch him, but strangely he feels neither. He worries about them, for them, and feels that this is somehow his duty. That if he can't do anything else, or be anything else, he can at least check up on them every so often, to try to see for himself that they're alright, or whatever has always passed for alright when it comes to them, that they're taking care of each other. Doing this always fills him with pangs of loss and regret, but he sees their strong arms around each other, their faces, shining when they look at each other and locked firmly against the world, and he knows there was never any other choice he could have made. --- Jonas was brown chords and button up shirts, indie rock T's and purple contacts. He was skater shoes and hemp necklaces. Layers and sometimes painted nails. Hippy dreads and pony tails. Ben wears jeans that have been ripped and re-sown over and over for years, flannel shirts and plaid. He stands and flicks the ash from the cigarettes that Jonas shunned, and always has bags under his eyes. He rarely speaks, even when spoken to, preferring to stare nakedly at passers by. He acts, for the most part, the way you'd imagine someone invisible might act, and maybe he thinks he is, sometimes. He looks younger and older at the same time, an eerie, always startling contradiction. When he does speak, it is always blunt and honest, never sarcastic of playful. When he laughs he does so in his eyes, and the small smile that curls the hard edges of his face. He looks like a bruised and worn Leonard DiCaprio, circa Romeo and Juliet, and his shaved head makes him look tough and vulnerable at once. Confident and collected, lost and alone. Finally, he looks just like he is. He's waiting in line when it happens. He's just trying to get a coffee before he has to work but maybe nothing will ever be that simple again, and why should it because that's real life right – and so of course there's Colin – fucking Colin, of all people – standing in the line beside him, waiting for coffee just like he is. It's too late to do anything about it, their eyes have met and someone's going to have to say something sometime. "Hey man," He says, to do away with the inevitable. Collin looks surprised but then sort of nods his head hello. "Jonas, man. What are you doing off the reservation?" He blinks. "What?" Colin scratches his head. "Well you know. I just figured, it was fucking hard enough to get those people to leave their house as it was, and with Calgary and then everything with Mr. and Mrs. Vasskez, I just figured it had to be pretty much on lockdown over there. But, sorry, it was a stupid thing to say. I don't know what I was thinking." He doesn't know how to begin to deal with most of that statement, starting with the sincerity of remorse at the end, and so he ends up sticking with what he knows. "I'm sort of, off the reservation permanently. I left." "What? Why, left how?" "Just after it happened," he admits, meeting Colin's eyes squarely. "I left them. Turned around and didn't look back." Colin's just staring at him, a look of utter incomprehension ruling his face. He shakes his head. "Why?" He shrugs, not because he doesn't know, but because he knows it's useless to explain. It doesn't change what he did, or what they have to feel about him because of it. But he answers anyway. "Because I couldn't do it, not again." "Do what?" He demands hoarsely. Again, Ben looks Colin squarely in the eyes. "Lock myself away in a house and throw away the key. No matter how much I loved the people inside." --- After he said what he did to Colin, he'd expected the conversation to be over somehow, for Colin to simply shake his head and ignore him until they got their coffee's and could go their separate ways, but instead Colin had nodded and said, "Yeah. I get that." And he'd been so surprised that somehow that surprise had propelled him into asking Colin if he wanted to sit down and have his coffee with him, and whatever had made him Colin say what he did and mean it made him say yes. The conversation was awkward and stilted at first, all the history they had shared without having ever really gotten to know each other hanging between them, but eventually they managed a certain rhythm. By that point in the summer, Jonas had compiled enough art to put together a portfolio that had gotten him into the University of Manitoba's Fine Arts department, and it turned out Colin was going there as well, although he was just planning on taking general courses. They both admitted, after a pause in the conversation when these facts were revealed, that the choice to go to the further a flung University had to do with avoiding certain Vasskez's. "Although that point might be a totally mute now anyway. I'm guessing they'll probably be taking the year off." Colin had added. Ben had just sighed, saying darkly, "I'm just hoping they don't end up taking the rest of their lives off." Colin said nothing in response, but he raised his coffee a little, a silent toast of agreement. They started seeing each other with increasing regularity after that. They met for coffee and talked about school plans, the strangeness of living on one's own, the stresses and rewards of their jobs, the movies and books they were discovering. Alone in his presence, Ben finally began to understand the appeal Colin had presented to Carrots, something he'd never quite managed to grasp the previous school year. Colin was perfectly frank at all times, he neither minced words or spared feelings, but applied these principles to himself as well as others, and there was certainly something in his `this is me, take it or kindly fuck off' attitude that Ben found appealing. They discovered a mutual appreciation for the works of Burgess and Tolstoy, and on a whim agreed to take Russian language and literature courses together in the fall. After the initial strangeness of finding themselves in each others company wore off, they discovered they were extremely well suited to it, both preferring quiet and seclusion most of the time, asking little of each other and taking none of each others bullshit. They shared an understanding of the things they'd both left behind without feeling much need to discuss it, and were always relived that the other also felt this way. When they talked about Carrots or any of the Vasskez's at all, it was largely cryptically, and they left each other alone when it came to their grief or guilt about how things had been left with them. Because both of them had been the one to leave, in their own way, they shared a silent understanding of one another, a solidarity felt strongly though largely left unacknowledged. But more than that, they managed, more than with any one else, to have fun with one another, to make each other laugh, to feel at ease. There was nothing remotely romantic about their friendship, but by fall a strong affection had been forged, and they met the coming school year with a confidence and optimism neither would have dared expect at the start of the summer. They stopped short of throwing imaginary hats into the air and singing `we're going to make it after all,' but they allowed themselves the occasional private moment to think it. Chapter Twelve; when there's nothing left to burn you must set yourself on fire (Kyle) On afternoons alone, he paces around his mothers study trying to figure out what to do. That, and trying to figure out how he got so stupid that he's convinced himself there's anything to actually figure out at all. Figure out how the rational, SANE part of his brain that reminds him constantly that Jonas left and Shelly came back and the math pretty much does itself got be the side that's somehow losing to the crazy side that can't get Jonas's slender frame and sad smile out of his head when he's trying, usually unsuccessfully, to sleep nights. Because really, its not like he has any more luck getting Shelly's face out of his mind, its not like his skin doesn't burn at his touch, that his heart doesn't stutter and stop when Shelly smiles at him just so. It's not like Jonas is the one he wants and Shelly is just the one he has, even that much would be far too simple, too easy. What its actually like is that he's got two hearts beating at the same time, each totally and completely devoted to a different person, each equally persistent that theirs will be the one he chooses. And that's about the point where he gets right back to square one, wanting to beat some sense into himself for thinking there's a choice at all. Never mind that every one of his siblings would physically stop Jonas from attempting to reenter their lives, having no qualms about resorting to violence, even. Never mind the betrayal he should and does feel on behalf on himself and them. It's not like Jonas is exactly beating down his door. Sure, he sees Jonas making the occasional perimeter sweep around the block, taking the occasional creep up into the yard and checking out what's going on inside, but the one time he stepped a little out of the corner he had been watching Jonas from and let their eyes meet, Jonas had bolted from the yard and he hasn't seen him since. So. What exactly does he think he has to decide? Right? Except, except... It doesn't exactly matter what Jonas feels, does it. No. What matters, what he's got to figure out is what the hell HE feels, because he can't, he WON'T go making promises to Shelly only to find out later he can't keep them, can't mean them. If nothing else, if that much is all he's got, he won't be that guy. So instead he paces back and forth in that small book lined room, or he goes out into the kitchen and bakes unnecessarily complicated desserts and experiments with new bread dough's and pizza crusts, or puts on sweats and layers sweaters and his wind breaker and goes on three hour runs along the river in the biting November wind. He eats and runs and talks with Shelly, and when they allow themselves that one moment each night in each others arms he feels like everything makes perfect, total sense, but outside those moments his mind is this totally unacceptable jangle of uncertainty and self doubt, and quite frankly, it's pissing him off. So if he could just get his fucking head on straight – if he could just figure himself the fuck out – then maybe, maybe he could get some sleep, could find some peace, could do something right, make some one happy. And maybe for once, just this once, this one time, he could start with himself. --- At first he throws pebbles. This has no apparent effect. He's digging around in the bushes looking for something larger to throw when Shelly opens the door of his apartment building. He's wearing sweat pants and a thread bare t-shirt and blinking tiredly. "Kyle," he rumbles, voice gravely from sleep. "You're all wet." Kyle rolls his eyes, hoisting himself up off the muddy sodden slush covered lawn and wiping his hands futilely on his soaked jeans. "Yeah. I noticed." Shelly is rubbing his eyes, unphased by Kyle's sarcasm. "It's like 3 in the morning. And it's snowing like a mother fucker out here. What's going on?" In a flash, Kyle remembers, and all wetness and discomfort and cold is forgotten. His face splits into an automatic grin. "I just – I wanted to tell you something. I was lying in bed, trying to sleep and I realized – you're here! You've been here for like WEEKS now and I've spent the better part of a decade wanting to tell you this something and I never could but now here you are and well..." Shelly looks at him expectantly. "Well?" Kyle shrugs big, hands up in the air. "I love you!" He laughs, just from the joy of it. "I'm a fucked up dumbass, and I don't know anything but I do know that. I love you." Shelly, looking up until this moment like his heart has stopped, stands by helplessly as his face breaks out into the widest, purest smile he's ever known. "Oh. I... I mean, thanks." He's actually blushing. He wants to kick himself. "Shit. I mean – I love you too." They stare at each other, just soaking it in. Then they shake their heads. "It's like..." "Nothing else matters?" "Yeah." "Except," "It actually doesn't solve anything." "Still, after all these years – it's nice to hear." Kyle is still smiling. "Yeah. It really is." "Kyle?" Shelly starts, a few minutes later. "Yeah?" "I can wait... I mean, even if I'm waiting forever, even if this much is all I'll ever have for certain... it would be enough for me – I can be this, if it's all you can give me. I can wait for you." Kyle shakes his head. "I can't ask it of you, and I KNOW I can't give it to you. I'm losing my mind not being able to touch you and its only getting worse. No matter how much I try, no matter what I do, one way or another, eventually I'm going to crack, slip. And I can't let that happen – I can't do that do you, or myself – not before I've actually figured some of this shit out. But I WON'T ask you to spend the rest of your life living on the sidelines of mine." "Then what are we going to do?" --- He works up whatever it was he needed to work up, courage, stupidity, determination, after his 20th lap of the three block radius around Jonas's apartment. It takes him another 20 minutes of staring at the building from across the street before he finally marches himself up the steps and rings his buzzer. He's thinking of the colossal joke this will all be if Jonas isn't even home, but then his voice is coming through scratchy and confused from the speaker. "Hello? Is anyone there?" At the sound of his voice Kyle stands frozen for a moment, two, before finally croaking out, "Hey, it's uh—" "Kyle?!" "Yeah, hey um..." "Kyle, just, just don't go anywhere, okay? I'll be right down – I'm coming down." Jonas sounds frantic, insistent, so he follows along, ignoring the part of him that wants to bolt. And suddenly Jonas is there, pushing open the door and staring at him, maybe two feet away. Kyle swallows and then says the first thing that comes to his mind. "You cut your hair." Jonas's hand automatically rubs across his fuzz covered scalp self consciously. "Yeah." "You promised me you wouldn't." Jonas looks at him strangely. He answers, finally, "Yeah. I know. Sorry." Kyle laughs, just a little. "Yeah, well." They stare at each other helplessly for a minute, before Jonas asks, "How did you, I mean, how'd you know where I was?" Kyle looks relieved to be asked a question he knows the answer to. "I followed you." Jonas raises his eye brows. "You followed me?" Kyle nods. "Yeah, yeah, sure. On one of your, you know, walkbys or whatever. Seemed, I don't know... only fair I guess." Jonas blinks a few times, taking this in. Eventually he nods. "Right." They contemplate each other in silence again, and again, Jonas breaks it, this time asking, "So, so, what are you," he stops, closes his eyes, opens them. "What are you doing here?" "I missed you." Kyle blurts, seemingly without his control, if the surprised look that follows is any indication. Jonas looks equally startled, and then his face fills with a kind of helpless longing. "I've missed you too." His voice comes out cracking on the final word. This seems to propel Kyle into a sudden bout of awareness, and he takes a step back, away from Jonas, one foot going to the steps, off the landing on which he'd been previously standing. Jonas holds up his hands, as if to slow this movement. "Do you, wanna maybe just – come in for a couple minutes? Huh?" He tries to sound casual, and not desperately hopeful. "It's really fucking cold out here." He adds at the end with a nervous smile. At this Kyle takes a few more shaky steps back. "No I really um – I can't do that, I mean, I'm not supposed to be here, and I didn't, didn't tell anyone where I was going and they're gonna be you know, worried and I'm gonna see him and he's gonna know and this is really – its really bad enough so, no, uh, thank-you, I should go... now." He's never in his life seen Kyle like this, babbling and uncertain, and it twists viciously at his heart, knowing he was the one who did this to him. "Who's gonna know, Kyle? Carrots?" He asks in what he hopes is a calming tone. Instead, it makes Kyle laugh, somewhat hysterically. "Um, no. No. But uh, he's gonna be pissed too – I mean, everyone's gonna be, yeah, really mad at me so—" "Kyle," Jonas protests. "No one's going to be mad at YOU. You didn't do anything." He looks at him, but Kyle doesn't say anything. "Kyle. This is not your fault. This is my fault." Kyle's got his arms wrapped protectively around his chest, his eyes are darting back and forth, and he's smiling, smiling like Jonas doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. It occurs to him that maybe he doesn't. Then Kyle is saying, finally, almost absently, "Sure. Um, okay. I was, I'm gonna, go now, so..." "Kyle, just talk to me, please? Just stay for a little longer, huh?" Kyle shakes his head and takes another step backward. "No, I really have to go. So um," he laughs, "good seeing you again." Jonas swallows, but nods. "Yeah. Yeah. You too." And that's it, Kyle turns and jogs down the remainder of the stairs and away down the block – Jonas calls his name but he doesn't look back. --- When he gets home, late starting supper and shivering long after he should be, Shelly knows just like Kyle knew he would. He's sitting at the table working on something, of course he'd be early the one time Kyle was late, and he looks up at him from the book he was reading and he just knows. Kyle thinks about apologizing but he doesn't know what to say, how to begin, so he just walks past Shelly and starts rooting around the kitchen cupboards looking for he supplies he needs to make dinner. The twins are in the living room watching TV with Braden and Kara is at the dinning room table cataloging insects, and he's guessing Carrots and Celery are up in their room enjoying themselves, the lucky bastards. Shelly lets him get away with the busy cook routine until he cuts himself slicing green peppers and can't hold back the "fuck" of pain that results. His shoulders are shaking from held in sobs and Shelly's hands come to rest securely on them, saying over and over, "Hey, its okay babe, come on, its okay, its okay..." Kyle turns around into Shelly's arms, and forces himself to steady his breathing while Shelly holds him. "I'm sorry," He whispers, letting go, inching a safe distance away. Shelly punches him in the arm, hard, and he feels instantly better. "Thanks." Shelly rolls his eyes, smiles. Kyle manages to smile back for a second, but then it slips from his face, replaced by a lost, hopeless expression. "I don't know what to do to get over him man." Shelly holds his face blank for a second, keeping in whatever reaction is going on in his gut, before grinning and saying, "I don't suppose I could convince you a lot of sex with me would do the trick," Kyle laughs, because that's what Shelly wants him to do, but the smile quickly turns serious on his face. "Why are you doing this man? Why are you putting up with me like this?" Shelly tilts his head, looks at Kyle, as though trying to gauge if this is a rhetorical question and then shakes his head. "That would be because I'm incurably in love with you and patience and hope are about the only things I have going for me right now." Kyle feels the heat in Shelly's voice like another punch, but he just nods and smiles. "Oh yeah. Right." Shelly shakes his head again, and then slaps Kyle lightly upside the head. "I'm starving. Quit standing around and make me dinner woman." Kyle laughs, for real this time, and begins to do just that. As for Shelly calling him a woman, well, that's what the Tabasco sauce in his burrito is for.