At least in California I got to see my brother Danny. He’d been living in LA for a couple of years. Our mom spent half her life trying to get him to come home more often, but he’s always too busy with work. Kids are always busy. If you think having a kid will stop you being lonely when you’re old and crabby, you can think again. Kids are always doing their own stuff and they won’t visit you half as much as they should. So in the end, you wind up just as lonely as if you’d never had them at all. Probably more so.
He looked thinner than I remembered, but he still looked good. At least he thought so. He’d lost weight on account of doing too much partying. He’d tell me all about it every few weeks when he called home. He would have called more often but like I said, he’s busy. I told our mom to call his ass instead, but she still thinks it costs a fortune to call out of state.
Danny was never really fat, he just used to carry a few extra pounds when he lived with us in New York. You need some fat if you’re going to survive a New York winter. Last year I nearly froze to death on account of having hardly any fat at all. I’m a scrawny bastard.
”Carty… Beanpole!” He just showed up that first weekend. He didn’t even call to say he was coming. That was pretty typical of Danny. Just showing up places without telling anyone. It drives our mom crazy.
“You can’t just appear out of the blue like that when you’re not expected,” she would say. “People have lives.”
Other times, when he was actually supposed to appear, like when he came home, he wouldn’t show at all - or he’d be late. He’s inconsiderate like that but it didn’t bother me too much. I have no life to disrupt. What did get me pissed was the fact that he was always calling me Beanpole. I told him to quit it, but once someone’s decided they’re going to call you something, it’s virtually impossible to change their mind - especially if they know it drives you nuts.
“So how the hell are ya, brah?” He’d adopted this pseudo Californian tone with me since moving out west. Then he gave me a bear hug, squeezing my ribcage until I could practically taste my liver. So I started coughing my guts up.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
”Like you need any help. You catch tuberculosis or something?”
”Yeah, well you don’t look so hot yourself, Danny Boy. You catch anorexia or something?”
My brother’s real name was Daniel but our father always called him “Danny Boy” on account of that pukey old Irish song. Our grandfather used to sing it to him when he was a kid. If you really wanted to piss my brother off, all you had to do was start singing that song, the louder the better. I did it all the time. Danny would usually pretend not to notice and play it cool, but if I didn’t quit after a while he’d come up behind me very quietly and then jump on my back and get me in a headlock. I’d keep choking out the lyrics anyway until he practically ripped my head off. I can be pretty stubborn like that.
”Fuck you, Beanpole. Do I look anorexic?”
”Fuck you. And yes you do.”
”No, fuck you. Please. I insist.”
”No. Fuck you. Really. It would be my pleasure.”
We’d have these fuck-fights every once in a while when Danny and I and got together. It’s very immature, I realize that, but I got a kick out of it all the same. We never got into proper fights though. Not since we were kids. Except when he called me Beanpole and then I called him Danny Boy and then he ripped my head off and then we’d throw stuff at each other, like pots and pans. And bicycles. I was about ten, and we were at our local park BMX-ing. Danny was behind me but then he charged around in front of me, kicked out his back wheel and skidded to a halt. So then I skidded and fell off - and Danny immediately started laughing. So I picked up my bike and threw it at him. One of the pedals hit him in the cheek and he had to go to hospital and get a couple of stitches.
Another time when we were wrestling, he held me down and gave me a Charley Horse. Whacked my thigh until it was black and blue. He thought it was hilarious but after he got off and tried to escape, I grabbed his lock-knife off the side table and threw it after him. You should have seen the look on his face when he stuck his head back around the door and saw the blade wedged in the wall about two inches above his head.
Danny span a chair around and sat on it backwards like John Wayne.
“Nice chairs.” He was referring to the hairy, orange chair covers. “Almost as nice as the curtains. So what’s up with you being in here?”
I shrugged. “Who knows.”
”You okay?”
”Well I’m not too crazy about this shit hole, if that’s what you mean.”
”Well, not really. But hey, things could be worse. How long are you supposed to be here?”
”You tell me.”
In a place like Kane nobody tells you anything. You can ask all the questions as you want, it won’t make any difference. Everyone pretends like they have no fucking idea what’s going on. Like they don’t work there. Mostly they tell you it’s not their job. Or they’re just the janitor. You take a place like Kane, and it’s never anyone’s job to know anything.
”I spoke to mom and dad last night,” said Danny. “They said it depends on how you do - maybe three or four weeks?”
”Three or four weeks! You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve been here a week and I’m already ready to hang myself.”
That probably sounded dramatic. But I was at least half serious. Kane was depressing. Even with the orange curtains. I’m not saying it never helps to have orange curtains, I’m just saying that sometimes orange curtains aren’t enough. I was sure about that fact because at least once a day, I still had this urge to suspend myself from the nearest light fitting.
”Come on, it’s not that bad. Think of it as a vacation. Chill out for a while. Besides, the weather’s great out here. You know it’s snowing in New York Right now.”
”But what do I have to tell these freaks to get out of here? And what about Christmas? I’ll miss Christmas.” Like I cared. I fucking hate Christmas.
”I dunno… Christ, calm down willya?” said Danny. I don’t know why he said that because I wasn’t being that loud. He was right about the weather though. It was pretty nice. Not that I was about to go surfing any time soon. You can’t just waltz in and out of a place like Kane whenever you feel like it.
”Besides, they have some great facilities here.”
They did have some good facilities. I’ll admit that. If it wasn’t for Sodowski and his psychoanalytic cronies asking me whether or not I’d grown up wishing I was a girl every ten minutes, I might have actually enjoyed it. But you could tell Sodowski wasn’t about to give it up any time soon. Bastards like that actually enjoy their work. Fucking Nazis.
”Hey, wanna play ping-pong a while?” said Danny. “I saw a table down the hallway when I came in.”
There wasn’t much point in arguing about it. Besides, I was pretty good at ping-pong. I hardly ever lost. Once in a while, I’d get the scores mixed up - and everyone would accuse me of cheating - which I wasn’t. I’m just not good at keeping score, that’s all. People never believe you though. You can’t blame them.
”Sure. I’ll play you,” I said. “It’s been a while since I kicked your ass.”
”No cheating, ok?”
”Bite me.”
I wasn’t much in the mood for ping-pong, to tell you the truth. I mean I was when Danny asked me - sort of, but by the time I’d shuffled down the hallway in those ridiculous hospital slippers they give you, I’d lost interest. You can’t play ping pong properly in slippers.
I lost the first game pretty badly.
”Go again?” asked Danny.
”Sure,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything better to do. Besides, Danny had really starting getting into it. I didn’t want to piss on his parade. You could tell he was getting into it because he’d started holding the paddle upside down like a chopstick and doing those fancy Chinese serves, which was never a good sign.
”So…” he said, winding up for this huge serve. “What’s the deal with you?” He threw the ball ten feet in the air then sliced the paddle through the space missing the ball, which bounced once before rolling off the table.
He’d already asked me once, and I wasn’t much in the mood for discussing it. I walked around to his side of the table, pulled the ball off the carpet and whacked it straight into his stomach.
”Hey! I just wanna know why you got kicked out of school again, that’s all. I thought you liked that place you were at?” You could tell was trying to be very casual about it and I probably could have discussed it a while with him but the truth is, I didn’t know the answer. I have no idea why I do half the things I do. Besides, I got the feeling he was only asking because our father had told him to do some investigating. So I started bullshitting him, which isn’t very cool I know, but I thought it might help cheer me up.
”It’s hard to explain,” I said.
”What is?”
”Everything.”
“What’s everything?”
“Okay if I tell you, then you have to promise to keep it to yourself, ok?
”Are you serious?”
”Yes, I’m fucking serious. I’m in enough trouble already.”
”Oh come on. Things aren’t that bad. If you’d just stop… ”
”You want me to tell you or not?”
”Jeez. Okay, sure.”
“So promise.”
“Okay, whatever. I promise.”
“Well over the summer, me and…” I grimaced. “Well, I sort of got this girl pregnant.”
”You did what? Oh come on. Are you…”
”Yes. Look, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I mean she told me she was on the pill. How the hell was I supposed to know? Danny, whatever you do, you can’t tell mom and dad, ok?”
You could tell he didn’t really believe me. I didn’t blame him either. I’m a major-league bullshitter. My English teacher had even started calling me “Mitty.” She said it was because I reminded her of this character from a book called “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” But Mitty was a daydreamer. I’m more of a bullshitter, although I sometimes get caught daydreaming too. It might seem like a technical difference, but I’ve never imagined I was a surgeon, and I’ve never pretended to be in the army like he did.
The thing is, you’d think it would make you stop, the fact that someone doesn’t believe you, but sometimes it just makes me worse - because I have to make the story even more ridiculous just be convincing. Full commitment. It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is.
”You remember Julie. We only did it once… we got wasted at this party after finals. I forgot all about it and so did she, but then a month later she told me she’d missed her period. I thought she was just being cute and blew the whole thing off, but then she started to put on weight and her parents freaked. Because she’s usually so skinny and all. I mean you could practically see the damn thing inside her.”
This was partly true. She was a skinny bitch. I mean, some girls can be six months pregnant and you wouldn’t even notice it, but not Julie. If she eats one French fry too many you can see it poking out between her ribs. She’s not anorexic or anything, there’s just nothing to her. Danny knew that much was true because he’d met her one time at our house. His expression started to crack, and I knew I was on a roll. I would have stopped, but like I said, I was on a roll.
”She wasn’t going to admit anything. She was just going to tell the rents that she’d developed an eating disorder that was making her stomach swell. She wanted me to elope with her to the Caribbean, so she could have the baby before anyone found out. She’s too religious to get an abortion. She said we might even get married. But then her parents found her journal, and her dad called the school.”
That part was all crap. I was still a virgin if you have to know. Not through choice; I’d tried, but every time I got close something always went wrong. Seriously, I don’t even want to discuss it.
Danny was looking worried. And I was already feeling less depressed.
”Carty, are you fucking serious?” He didn’t seem so interested in ping-pong all of a sudden. He stopped holding the paddle like a chopstick. “You’re kidding me, right? Tell me this is one of your bullshit stories.”
I wanted to stop. I really did. But he was on the run.
”The thing is, she’s not eighteen yet and her dad’s a Presbyterian minister. The Principal said I was lucky he was only kicking me out of school and not calling the cops. He said they’d have put me away for statutory rape. But her dad didn’t want the cops involved. Probably didn’t want his holier-than-thou reputation all over the national newspapers. He probably… ”
”Jesus Christ. Are you serious? Tell me you’re not serious.” He was definitely over the ping-pong. Paddle on the table. I really should have given it up.
”McCarton, tell me you’re just kidding,” He looks me right in the eye across the table. I wasn’t trying to worry him. So I told him Julie had it aborted already.
”Her father made her go to this clinic and get an abortion. Even though she didn’t want to. So it’s ok. She got rid of it. But can you believe that? I mean he’s a minister and all - a man of the cloth, and he made her go and get a back street abortion. Can you believe it? What a fucking hypocrite.”
Danny stood there motionless. Finally he says,
”You know what, you’re a fucking idiot. You know that?”
”I know, I know I am. I’m a total screwball. Trust me, I know it. We should have used protection. But it’s ok. I mean it’s not like I’m about to become a father or anything - so don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of. But you can’t tell mom and dad, ok?”
”Carty, I - ”
”Jesus Christ Danny, you can’t say anything or I’ll never get out of this place. You said you wouldn’t. Okay, Danny? Okay?”