Part 1
August night, street lights knocked out, we sat on a high brick wall that faced the lake. Cars drove past swishing music under our feet. Lights from the distant shore danced on the water. Wet breezes warm on our skin. Ugliness hidden in the dark, magic sensations enveloped us.
The lights across the water lured Carmine. “I’m gonna live over there in a big house when I’m rich.” Told me of all the fancy things he’d have, about dancing for his friends, scads of adoring fans, incredible costumes.
Mailman, that’s what I aspired to be. Hundreds of people look forward to you every day, wear a snappy uniform. Postmen had warm hats with fuzzy ear flaps in winter.
Don’t pity my mundane dream. And don’t pity my childhood in a slum. I didn’t know better, thought most kids had their own deteriorating hood to explore. My early environs set me up for a career I never dreamed of, earned me respect and the amenities my half-brother Carmine imagined.
Ghastly Green
Earliest years were spent in an ancient wooden building; three stories, three stairwells on the outside of the building. Home was four small rooms on the second floor in the decaying grandeur of that stately, aged structure. Our abode stood in clear contrast to the brick apartments surrounding it. It had a courtyard.
Those three wide, spiral staircases were inside cylindrical encasements. The turrets made the old house look like a castle with its conical peaks. Years ago, tall windows with curved glass protected the stairs. They were long gone and the stairwells were where Carmine and I played – my first memories were on those steps.
Carmine found a loose tread, pried it up. He called the rectangular space his ‘treasure step.’ He put his dolls inside, I kept my favorite book there.
* * *
Old nails worked themselves loose through the years, wooden slats were warped and cracked; our building sang nightly with creaks and moans. Last coat of paint was dark green, peeling and chipped. It faded to a ghastly, mottled green; aggressive graffiti tagged the lower level.
Our building had its odors, exhales of decay in the hallways. Smelled too human with boiling cabbage, sausages, spices flowing from the transoms over each numbered door.
From our apartment, tall windows looked out on a decrepit courtyard and the back of a liquor store, both littered with broken glass, trash. The whole area appeared ignored, unregulated by the authorities. Same atmosphere permeated our young lives. As kids, Carmine and I often ran free. Few rules, mostly ignored by our authority figures..
Mom worked a job and a half every day. Her half-time job was at a deli; we split reheated pastrami sandwiches for breakfast.
Mostly seniors lived in the building, a few immigrants. Sometimes there were other kids, families came and left. For the most part, my brother and I explored and played throughout our old building; uncrowned princes of a Depression-era dwelling.
Pooney
Around the time he was seven, Carmine used the word ‘poontang.’ Mom heard him, lit into his butt with her slipper for hanging around the liquor store where the older boys discussed such things. Carmine took his swats grinning – suddenly he was powerful though I doubted he knew what he was saying. That winter we named our private place Pooney.
Pooney was Carmine’s bed at night. Didn’t exist elsewhere or any other time. Pooney was established during a blizzard:
Mom came to our room, “Go pee.” She taped over the slits around the window blocking the drafts, silencing their whistles. Told us to put on extra socks, our sweatshirts, jeans and get in Carmine’s bed. Three blankets she threw over us, sheets of newspaper between them. Tucked us in tight and covered our faces with her chenille bathrobe. “Stay there till it’s light out.”
Air was frigid, breathing almost hurt without the coverings. Like twins before birth, that’s how close we stayed that night. We were warm.
Next day, the courtyard of cracked strips of concrete was pristine with brilliant white snow. Hood was eerily silent; no cars, no buses, no sirens. Played hard for several hours in the powdery flakes, came in and jumped in a hot bath. Devoured cups of chili during our reprieve from ugliness.
Pushed the red gingham curtains aside to watch the stinging winds fluff the flakes outside. Cozy, we felt snug in our warm kitchen.
* * *
Summer nights were the best time in the building. Smells of spicy meals overrode the aroma of decrepitude. Music? Behind every door was a different kind, songs with sparkling notes behind distant voices in strange languages.
Ms Santos from down the hall kept us before Mom came home. Evenings, she stayed in our apartment watching the TV. Santos napped often but said she was resting her eyes, thinking of her homeland.
Some are mothered, I was brothered. Carmine bathed me, dressed me; taught me the ways of adults and how to avoid trouble while Santos dreamed of the burning plains of Jalisco.
In our ghastly green castle, the quirky neighbors loved us, kept an eye on us; seldom snitched on us. They doted on Carmine when he sang pop songs and danced down the hall leaping and twirling with a long scarf around his neck wearing only his briefs. They called him a blithe spirit; “Such passion!”
Carmine entertained all of us. He sought attention. His loose, dark curls bounced and fell over his big brown eyes impishly.
I was stocky, darker-skinned with tight curls – built for being his audience.
Gents
Third floor, Mr Shulze, a peculiar, nervous old man, had a guard-mutt. A poodle-pit bull, it appeared. Tickled Carmine and me when he huffed our crotches.
Shulze had a record player, the old kind that spun disks, the point of a needle scraped minute grooves making sounds.
On the sleeve of his favorite album was a photo of three smiling sisters from years ago, “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen.” Shulze said it meant ‘To me, you are beautiful.’ Carmine loved the song, I was enthralled by the harmonies.
One night, we stayed with Shulze until Mom came home. His dog began barking at the door, loud barks. Jumping and scratching at the door, he wanted out. News at ten blared from the television, said there was a fire in the area. We ran to the window. An orange glow several blocks over shone. Sirens wailed.
Almost immediately, cop cars pulled onto the front of our building. Heavy shoes stomped in the stairwells, radios crackling through the quiet. Mr. Shulze sent us home quickly, he had a past.
My foot slipped in front of the janitor’s closet. Pipes leaking again.
Next morning I saw my shoe prints where I’d stepped in a puddle of blood when we ran home. Carmine bravely opened the door to the broom closet. No one, only a dark stain on the floor. “Coulda been the guy who started the fire.”
As fun as it was frightening in the hood. We lived in a land of extremes.
* * *
Mom was taken aback on a Sunday afternoon when the owner of the liquor store came over and told her Carmine was banned.
Brother didn’t shoplift, he pilfered Mom’s makeup, applied it and went to the liquor store to dance in front of the bulletproof glass of the cashier’s booth. He wanted to be filmed by the security cameras; sure someone would recognize his talent and send him to stardom.
After the owner left, Mom held Carmine close, stroked his hair. “Keep your dancing in the hallways, my beauty. Those thieves don’t deserve your talent.”
I tried to come up with ways to get some of Carmine’s attention. My body, my looks, didn’t allow it; had none of his grace or panache. My life was about books, words, numbers. Mystified by marks on paper and how they translated into reality. A drawing could become a building, or a machine, numbers defined the unseen. Ciphers held strange secrets.
* * *
At the time I was eleven, Carmine was almost fourteen. He took me to the library, then to a small park after school. I sat outside reading while Carmine worked the cinder block restroom. Always came back with money for ice cream. Said he was a valet, handing paper towels, reminding men to zip their flies. They tipped him.
Mr Shulze told us about valets. Sometimes he gave my brother tips to valet for him in his bedroom. Had to figure this was Carmine play-acting for going into the movies, practicing a butler’s role.
Shortly thereafter Carmine’s problems began; severe constipation and moodiness. I had no idea what brother’s new penchants and purchases were about; stayed enraptured by my his verve. I was in love with Carmine, Pooney reinforced it.
I got the attention I needed nightly.
Carmine assured me it was what all kids do. Rubbing against each other became rubbing naked. Wasn’t hard for him to get me to suck him, my ardor kept my lips on his slowly enlarging nut sac, his short, stiff rod, his foreskin and I loved the whiffs of his musk.
He tried putting his rod in my ass. My excessively round rear and his immature shaft didn’t work out at first. It did when we figured it out.
* * *
After a few months of providing valet services at the park, Carmine had problems at school; he skipped days. Mom came home from her second job, counseled him.
By this time, I knew Mom was not the usual parent. Lenient, lax with her few rules and she loved us deeply. Wanted us to become ourselves before adulthood warped us into lackeys chained to the capitalist system like her.
Mom’s talks didn’t make any difference to Carmine. The next day he’d leave the house with me and disappear into the hood with other boys.
Mom’s frustration and Carmine’s problems fell to the side when we got the letter. We were evicted along with everyone else in the building. Gentrification; our beloved building would be razed.
The city would relocate us near the suburbs. New school, new apartment, I was excited; Carmine smirked.
* * *
Gents came and packed our furniture. My journals and Carmine’s dolls I placed in an empty Hennessy box along with several books Shulze gave me. He studied pharmacology.
Moved outside the city to a tall building with lots of families, playground and school nearby. No liquor store, no familiar smells, all new, blank and white like blizzard-snow. Mom was able to give up her second job, stay home every night.
Prunes and fruit Mom brought Carmine after our school health exam – his colon issues lingered. Sometimes it was the bag and hose. Later, he stole laxatives. Seemed to center his life around his rear.
Since brother was seldom hungry, I stole his plums, ran outside to devour them.
His once delicate, wispy movements were gone. Carmine’s narrow shoulders widened slightly as he headed toward a slender, almost feminine manhood.
* * *
Carmine caused more problems at our new place.
I was finishing middle school when the cops caught my brother at the mall, took him to the station house. Carmine had been advised by his friends to keep his mouth shut; cops lie. Police were frustrated with him.
They put him through an assessment for three days overriding Mom’s demands to let Carmine come home. He was transferred to a health center on the other side of town. The hood life had ingrained itself in him through drugs. Chained him to another system.
Family counseling: The shrink listed everything I admired about Carmine as an indicator of severe mental problems. She knew nothing of how he’d raised me, cared for me or loved me – knew nothing of his spontaneity, his creativity. I ignored her comments and because I wasn’t eighteen I couldn’t visit him.
Sat in a small, bare lobby reading slick literature from drug companies while Mom spoke with him.
Through the months, I sent him articles about our old apartment building being torn down, photo of the new one. Told him I loved him, missed him. He never wrote back.
* * *
During my second year in high school, I took a science class. Acids, alkalis, periodic table of elements. All logical and orderly, I understood it easily. My teacher mentioned chemical fingerprints. “Substances are seldom pure. There are clues in the compounds. They can tell you who made them and where they came from.”
Old diagrams of molecules from Shulze’ books I’d noticed. Electron bonds, ionic bonds. Metallic bonds drew my attention. They were strong enough to transform simple elements into salts. Volunteered to become Mr Troy’s lab assistant. He took an interest in me and steered me to a career in chemistry.
Missed Carmine, Pooney; slept on the couch often. Mom called him nightly; sometimes he spoke with her.
Seemed Carmine was completely unaware of our loss, how much we missed him. Was he discounting himself or dismissing us?
Part 2
Blackbirds’ flurry drew me to the barred window. Blue-black harpies picked at the plums on the ancient tree. Cawing and sniping at each other as though the tiny plums were treasures. Worrying through the branches, a greedy game they played.
I love a soft, ripe El Dorado. Elephant Hearts are better.
Watching the birds’ antics, I relived a big, red, round orb, teeth popping through the skin into the juicy pulp. Slight tartness lined the peel making the meat sweeter. Dripped down my chin, coated my tongue with fructose. Delightful contrasts. Sensual, stolen plums.
An orderly came in, pulled me from my thoughts. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
Used to that. I brought a bag of sugar-free candies with “Carmine, Bei mir bist du schoen, Rod” written on the front. “Give this to him.”
Through the wired glass I saw he’d shaved his head, grown a scraggly goatee. His heavy frame lumbered slowly.
* * *
“Thought about night classes at the junior college?” Mr Troy suggested after my graduation ceremony.
Began working days in a warehouse and continued my education after sunset as a Chemistry major. Not exactly sure where I’d go with a two-year degree but chemistry was the easiest major for me.
Tuition was on payments, leaving little to enjoy myself. Fridays I picked up a pizza for Mom and me. That changed the second semester when I met Finn. He studied English in night classes.
Finn found me, really. He was queer; spotted me with something he called gaydar. We stole a few hours after classes in his room. Found a new kind of intimacy with him and it wasn’t as comfortable. He’d never know me as well as Carmine. He wasn’t Carmine.
Finn told me about his family in Europe, scattered across several nations. I admitted I had a half-brother, “I visit every Sunday. Wanna meet him?”
Surprisingly, he agreed.
Found Carmine in the rec room dozing. After introductions, small talk, Finn glanced around the room, smiled, “Some hot ass on the treadmill.” Two men in only tight shorts were working out.
Carmine glanced at the men, smiled, “Yeah.”
Finn leaned near, “You’re gay too?”
Carmine’s face froze. He stared at Finn, at me. I knew I was queer, no one seemed to mind. Never asked Carmine.
Finn realized he’d touched a nerve, “Never mind. Let’s play ping pong.”
* * *
Finn was smart, he was in a student exchange program. My grades were excellent, I must be as smart as him. Called Mr Troy, asked him about getting some help with my studies. I wanted to study in Europe. Troy steered me to the University of Göttingen website, then to the financial aid office.
Luckily, Troy helped me fill out all kinds of forms and I was accepted on scholarship.
When Mom and I told Carmine, he cried. Didn’t think it was for my leaving but that my success should have been his.
That last visit with Carmine was puzzling, he fell asleep mid-sentence. Found out that he was chastised by staff. “I’m so sleepy, always hungry, no energy. They put me on a diet – I hate it.”
As I left, I stopped an orderly, asked him to speak with Carmine’s doctor. He was unavailable. She directed me to a nursing supervisor:
“Carmine’s meds are too strong, can’t you titrate – reduce the amount to the most beneficial level? All the sedatives are causing him problems.”
“State law mandates we dose per the label instructions. Carmine’s mental health is under control, the lethargy and weight gain is expected. It’s a tradeoff if he wants to get out.”
Chemical coercion.
Abroad
Europe was so different, so clean. Germany looked like a storybook, they preserved the old buildings as cultural landmarks, survivors of wars.
Campus was cramped into a small space. Dorms were minuscule. Cafeteria food was different. Other students complained but the smells brought back memories of the ghastly green building and all the people who cared for me before I knew of Germany.
Difficult classes; I persisted with a tutor. Professors were helpful. One took a shine to me, maybe he took pity on a foreign student. Told me that the questions I asked him after class defined where his lectures needed more clarification, “You’re braver than the others, they’re too vain to speak up.”
Through the semester we spoke often; I told him I wanted to study how to identify substances by their chemical fingerprints; find where they were from, who made them. He stared at me.
Had I said something wrong?
Suddenly, an invisible door swung open to the professor’s lounge. Found myself inundated with advice on all the places chemists are employed, what specifically they do with trace elements. Chemical analysis proved suspicions, revealing what couldn’t be seen.
Forensic Chemistry is used in crime labs, any agency working with illegal substances. That’s the job I wanted. I was taken under several professors’ wings, given special treatment, extra projects to sharpen my skills. Through those years, my confidence grew, my expertise expanded and I began tutoring first year students.
On the first of every month I called Mom from my professor’s bed after a breakfast of sausages and dark rye bread. Carmine seldom accepted my calls. When he did he was forgetful, his words slurred.
Sent him postcards; “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen, Rod.”
* * *
Before graduation, I called him. “In two weeks, I’ll be back. Wanna go out? We’ll take Mom for pizza.”
He wanted fried chicken. Mom requested a family pass for the afternoon.
Over lunch, Carmine grumbled when Mom said he would be released in three months. She’d get paid for his care and would live with her. Carmine would be on disability allotments and attend a program two days a week..
Carmine looked at me, “I’d rather be with you. Come back, live with us.”
“I’m working on the north side. Maybe you could stay with me on the weekends.” This was a very different Carmine.
* * *
When Carmine was living with Mom, she called me at work saying we needed to talk. The state ordered Carmine to take a paternity test. Carmine blushed for the first time in his life when she read the letter.
He’d made a child while he was skipping school. Being a minor when the cops picked him up and kept in a locked facility, the mother couldn’t find him. She wanted child support. Carmine didn’t seem to care about support or any kind of custody or visitation.
Mom and I were curious about the seven-year-old; my half-nephew, her grandson named Gian.
Unexplainable
Got myself a condo in a high-rise near work; again, surrounded by whiteness. New car, new furniture. Spent my weekends erasing the blankness with soft colors, bright trim.
Enjoyed my job with the county because I didn’t have to start on the lowest rung of the ladder. All the different kinds of equipment, I looked forward to the challenges as I rotated through different departments.
When I worked with drug enforcement, we had a long list of contaminants to compare with our results. I did it! I found the chemical fingerprints on the substances, located their processing sites; some in Asia, others in Latin America. Chemical fingerprints were clear. Writing up precise reports for court was difficult; I was brief, my readouts spoke for me.
Health department sent samples. Mussels from the lake were contaminated with increased cadmium and zinc levels. Only had to show my readouts; the warning was announced on the news that night. No honors, but I was proud.
Weekends, Carmine visited. Listless, napping often, I read the ingredients of the medications he took. Dang, the hospital had him on heavy soporifics. I began reducing them, called Mom and told her how; Carmine was able to stay awake the whole day through the following weeks. Still heavy and slow.
The reason Carmine was with me every weekend wasn’t about Pooney, it had vanished. The heavy medications had destroyed his libido. Unfortunately he was with me because Mom exercised her rights as a grandparent. She got visitation with Gian on weekends. Carmine didn’t want to be around him, said the boy made him jumpy.
Mom sent pics of the boy. He was even more beautiful than Carmine was as a kid. Showed Carmine photos of Gian, “The kid needs a father. Let’s meet him, let him know he’s loved.”
Carmine swiped through the photos, “I look awful. I’m disabled, weak….”
“Lots of dads with disabilities. You look like the perfect father for your boy.”
At noon on Sunday, we left for Mom’s place.
Mom and Gian were at the kitchen table playing with clay and small plastic figures. I approached them smiling. Gorgeous kid — alert, smiling, angelic. Dark curls falling over golden-brown eyes, cherubic lips. His slender fingers made bushes and trees where the figures could hide.
Enthralled, I sat with them, grabbed a ball of clay. Didn’t notice when Carmine went to his room.
Minutes later when I stood to bring Carmine back, there was a loud knock on the door; a cop’s radio buzzed and crinkled with static. “Ten-fifty-nine at the projects on I-80 with the CSW….”
When I opened the door, Carmine shoved me aside and went to the social worker, they stood close, speaking in the hallway. Cop looked around inside, I guess for drugs, alcohol, signs of a dispute.
“Who called you?” I asked.
“Dispatch didn’t say. Have to escort a,” he checked his phone, “Mr Carmine Diaz to the health center. Said he was losing control, something like that.” He pulled out his handcuffs and put a spit mask over Carmine’s head. They left.
Gian watched, came beside me. “He hates me?”
“He’s taking care of himself.” Mom started crying, holding Gian against her, “Your father’s so confused.”
Took them out for ice cream and cruised past where the ghastly green building once stood. We left quickly; didn’t want to get carjacked. Drove Lakeside, looked at the lights.
Mom told him about Carmine, how very beautiful and capricious he was as a child, then made some bad decisions. Her words didn’t explain why Carmine left earlier.
* * *
Next week, I tried to visit, called Carmine a number of times – he shunned me. Called his doctor, asked what was going on. She said he was upset about the results of his DNA test, “He’s sure someone altered the results. We requested a second test.”
No one could force Carmine to accept fatherhood.
State took funds from his disability allotments to pay his child support. Since I could afford it, I sent extra funds monthly. I knew too well that a single, working mother has a difficult life.
Change of Course
Single man, queer and not the best looking guy, I settled for a series of hookups, a few hours at the spa, one-night stands. Thought about the shadier areas of town, valet service in the park restroom, a few moments in the mall’s restrooms Too risky. Had to protect my professional reputation as the next lab manager.
Managing a troupe of socially-adolescent nerds wasn’t what I wanted. The EPA and the DEA had openings occasionally. Rather sleuth than managing a lab, I felt I was a token. Other chemists had better qualifications; my promotion would cause friction among other problems.
* * *
Through those years, I’d seen Gian at Mom’s on weekends. Encouragement and advice that I drew from books and movies – how a father treats a son. That’s all I knew to offer.
They liked to go through the drive-through and picnic by the river on Sunday evening. Had to go through the old neighborhood. Mom said the area was whitewashed.
It was cleaner; fancy boutiques and coffee shops had tables out front. Liquor store was now a wine shop with murals of grape arbors adorning the sides. Trees, landscaping and expensive cars along the streets. Looked too sterile to be any fun.
* * *
Last weekend of the year, clear but cold out. Had to get burgers, drive to the river. Mom changed the radio station, “Classic Hits of the Century” played, she loved the oldies. From the backseat, “My Dear Mr Shane….”
Smooth harmonies of those three sisters filled the car, tears filled my eyes. Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen, memories of Shulze, Carmine, that ancient building, our crazy, warm home stirred. “Mom, is Carmine getting better?”
“I don’t know and I don’t think he does either.”
“Does he ever ask about me?”
“I think he wants to – he’s lost so much. Seems he’s lost himself.”
* * *
Went back to my old high school looking for Mr Troy. He’d give me a letter of recommendation to work with the EPA. He’d retired.
Hunted him down and met him having coffee with the track coach. They sat close, sharing pastry; lovers, it appeared. Got the letter, and a slap of heartache. Invisible threads of love bound me to Carmine… sat in the car and cried.
Why did I continue hoping for the warmth of our childhood with him?
* * *
Gian grew quickly, I provided new clothes. Enjoyable shopping with him, he knew what he wanted, checked the price, asked if he could have it. His prime pushover, I always nodded.
Came time to buy swim trunks. Inside the department store, he lingered over the small, stretchy kind, then moved on to the baggier styles. “If you’re swimming in competition, I believe the smaller kind are better. Not as much drag.”
“Did you swim?” He tucked several pair under his arm.
“Didn’t have a pool. I’ll support you if you want to join the team. Diving, swimming, I like to watch.”
Followed him to the dressing rooms, sat outside. He called me in.a few moments later, “Where – how do I put my junk in these so it’s not so obvious.”
Smell of teen smeg hit, he hadn’t showered. “Where it’s comfortable. Haven’t you seen the swimmers at school? I think the cold water reduces the bulge.” I pulled the elastic on one leg down. Slender, flat body, few hairs around his nipples, long, thin legs.
“These would be better.” He picked up the baggy trunks, “My dick’s always getting hard. Mom says it’s my age.”
Turned to leave, when he grabbed my arm. “Wish I had a brother like you did. Grandma says you were so close, like joined at the hips.”
“We were….” I looked into his eyes, soft curls fell over his forehead, “You look so much like him.” Slipped my arms past his waist, pulled him to me, “I miss him.”
He pulled me to his chest, “I want a brother like Carmine was to you.”
What could I do about that? “Come to me if you feel lonely; you need anything.”
“Tell me about my dad. Tell me what you did together when you were young.”
“Find the trunks you want. We’ll talk later.”
* * *
Beside me: “Carmine unabashedly loved to dance, use his body. Physicality – he enjoyed movement, stretching and jumping, loved the attention it brought. We never played cops and robbers, didn’t have a rec center for sports. We invented our fun.”
Tried to recall all the things he did. “When we were young, music excited him, dance was how he expressed himself. He dreamed big, knew he’d be a star on stage.”
Flipped through clippings of the old house. “Number 214. Four rooms, that was home.”
Brought out the old Hennessy box I’d packed with things from the treasure step. “These were his dolls. They weren’t baby dolls, but dolls he dressed with scraps, used crayons and markers on bits of fabric. Probably would have been a great designer.”
“Why does he have to stay in the health center?”
“When he was your age – around fourteen, his physicality led him to trouble. Remember you said you’re always popping a stiffie? Carmine did too. Men took notice. Not polite men but men who paid him for using his body. Carmine had cash, dealers knew it. Drugs came into the picture. He wasn’t interested in them before.”
Gian picked up my phone, dialed, asked for Carmine. “Dad, this is Gian. Do you have any other children? Do I have a brother?”
Carmine hung up.
“Good question, I hadn’t thought that there may be an unknown brother somewhere.”
Gian rubbed his tears on my sleeve. “Why does he hate me?”
“As a boy, Carmine never spent much time hating. I don’t know why he won’t talk to us. Is there any specific reason you want a brother or sister?”
“Someone close to me, near my age. Mom’s okay but she’s an adult. Gramma’s okay she told me about how Carmine loved you. Every night in bed, she said he gave you the love she didn’t have time for.”
Mom knew? “Do you need some attention?”
He nodded, his head on my shoulder.
Held the boy against me, felt warm pressure rising through my chest. When I considered the totality of his life, I was sure Gian wanted affection.
His hand was on my thigh, close to my groin. Looked down to watch his slender fingers move to the long lump aside my zipper. Finger tips teased along my swollen rod; it needed attention as much as the boy did.
Slippery lie I told myself: it would be okay if Gian instigated anything. I wouldn’t be the aggressor, the pervert. ‘A lesson in manhood he’s teaching himself,’ salved my conscience.
Can’t recall exactly how it happened. We were soon pantsless, touching each other in a cloud of teen musk and the smell of my anxious sweat. His rod, his veil of foreskin ringed a dark head, enticing slit. So aroused I couldn’t stop myself. Turning and pushing him back, I moved to kiss it. Lick it, explore every smell, taste the smooth skin with my tongue. Rubbed the short head as deeply down my throat as I could. Varied the pull, teased the triangle under his slit. Tasted, felt rich.
Only a few drops of moisture as he pressed my face into a sparse nest of pubes. Smooth skin, slender hips I could have devoured him.
He stayed the night, we kissed and slept fitfully. Sheets were crusty in the morning, we’d found what we needed.
“And don’t tell anyone, ever.” Serious voice over breakfast.
Grinning, “I know.”
* * *
Weekends we stayed indoors, affectionately engaged. Fingered each other until the night came we didn’t use our fingers. His dark pucker, small frame, immature genitals were so much like when I began with Carmine. Couldn’t stop myself.
I took him. All of his warmth and tight dark pucker opened ahead of my dripping rod. He was in pain. When I saw that, I couldn’t continue.
Through the weekends, we achieved what he wanted and I was dizzy with the pull and push, the grip, the heat.
Just the thought of it made me lightheaded.
Part 3
Carmine was released from the health center for the second time. County sent him to his own apartment in a seedy area, not too rough. Not like where we’d grown up but plenty of informal business on the corners.
Mom planned a housewarming several weeks later. She brought linens, Gian and his mother a few things. I gave him a gift card for the discount store. The county only supplied the minimum.
We were met with a mellower Carmine; smiling. He welcomed us. I was perplexed when we set up his bed in the living room.
His bedroom was now a studio, walls covered with paintings. The ghastly green building, liquor store, lights twinkling on the lake. Kitchen window looking on blindingly white snow. Our old dinner table set with chili and crackers, mittens hung near the stove, gingham curtains opened. Incredible detail.
The restroom in the park with a dark boy sitting outside reading. Shulze’s dog jumping at the door – colors swished at tail and paws. I was in awe, these weren’t like photos, but reflected the impressions they made. He’d captured how those scenes felt, bringing back my feelings years ago.
Gian and his mom were baffled at the subject matter. Mom was amazed, and no one mentioned that Carmine was here, commenting on his work, recalling our pasts with some confidence.
Carmine looked us in our eyes when he spoke about his art groups at the health center. Engaging with his dark curls,now with a few glistening silver rays falling over his big eyes. “New meds do me good.” He gave me a wink.
He even took Gian’s mother aside, “My internal struggles overwhelmed me. You may not believe it, but it was harder on me than you. Thank you for my son. He’s beautiful.” We were all flummoxed, this was not any Carmine we’d ever known.
He held Gian in an embrace for a long time, then announced the party had begun. Ice hit cups, Gian poured punch, Mom brought a cake. Everyone stood at his breakfast counter enjoying being at ease together. I became suspicious.
“Wish you would paint that boy who danced down the hallway in his briefs, scarf flying.” I smiled.
“I could do that, Need a model.” Carmine looked at Gian. “Next weekend good for you?”
At first Gian looked at Carmine, then glanced at me.
Gian gave an unsure nod.
Carmine leaned close to me and hissed, “If I find out you’ve done anything, you’ll know what sorry is about.” Gave me a hard wince.
* * *
Helped everyone clean up wondering how Carmine converted his slow, muddled thoughts to craftiness. I hoped that threat was empty, Carmine was not as heavy, and no longer slow.
Couldn’t help but notice his timing. He’d been released from the health center right as the state stopped removing child support payments from his disability allotments. Gian was now eighteen, in his first year at the university.
Couldn’t stop the kid from seeing the man he wanted for so long as a father.
* * *
Clear the air, that’s what my brother said when he came over several weeks later.
“Doesn’t need to be cleared.” Started a pot of coffee.
“You’re gonna tell me what happened, the boy doesn’t want to be around me. You poisoned him against me.”
“He loves you, missed you for years. Painful when you ignored him, then hung up on him. Gian needed a father; he wanted you.”
“What did you tell him about me?”
“Only the best. We were good brothers before….” I paused, “Could be your… the way you… your behavior. You rejected him, now you want him around. Confusing.” Thought it best not to mention he seemed paranoid.
“He won’t let me touch him. There’s more behind that.” Stepped closer to me.
Couldn’t, wouldn’t answer. Heart rate increased, I stood straight, gathered my composure: “Your relationship with your son is yours to repair. You’ve done nothing but rebuff him. Now, what do you want from him? What do you want from me?”
“The truth. Did you mess with my boy?”
Face heated; I looked away.
He grabbed the front of my shirt, “Thought so.” Cursed me, cursed his son.
My blood vessels tightened, adrenaline slammed me into fight-or-flight. He pinned against the wall, body to body.
Tried stepping to the side. Blocked. “Back off. Now.” I ordered.
He leaned closer, tight fist raised. His face reddened, twisted in a scowl. “Don’t tell me what to do you stinkin’ fag.”
Raised my right arm to block his fist and lifted my knee between his legs. Fast. Forearm still near his chest, I swung outward, upward, hitting his throat.
Bent over holding his nuts, gasping. “I’m oughta kill you.”
“Better do it before I call the cops; won’t be the health center this time. I’ll make sure.”
My unexpected mettle stalled him. Mumbling curses, he backed down.
Where did he get his aggression, rage? “Leave Mom, Gian and his mother alone. Don’t even try to pull any of this with them. Get out.”
Opened the door, pointed to the hallway. As he slipped into his jacket, turned away, I saw a hair on the shoulder. I grabbed it. “If you hurt Gian, expect problems from me.”
He slur-mumbled something as he left. Couldn’t make it out.
“Don’t come back.”
* * *
Bolted the door and took a deep breath. Couldn’t believe what happened, what I did. That man was the boy I once loved.
Carefully slipped his hair between two credit cards in my wallet, then called Gian.
Went to pick him up at campus. On the way back to my place, he told me of a strange conversation with Carmine. Said his father was crazy. He had to leave when Carmine wanted him to strip, examine him for physical similarities saying they were more definitive than DNA.
Carmine didn’t ask about Gian’s life, asked nothing about school. He wanted his son naked, began demanding, then started pulling at his clothes. Gian took the bus back to campus.
Carmine had never shown interest in my life, my new job with the EPA. Only got his attention when I was naked and servicing him when I was a kid..
Coincidence or a pattern? Either way, it didn’t explain the threats of violence and attempted assault.
* * *
That one hair: The next day at work, I examined it under the microscope. Rough on the cuticle, but that didn’t help me and I didn’t have the right equipment to process it for chemical fingerprints. Called back to the crime lab where I first worked, met the manager for lunch.
“Could you do a chemical analysis on this? Looking for heavy metals, drugs, anything that could cause aggression.” Held out the hair.
“Is this person on any meds?” He slid the hair into a folded paper.
“He was at the health center. They gave him soporifics, prescription pills.”
“Why do you want this tested?”
“One-eighty degree behavioral change. Want to keep things from getting worse.”
Wisely, he didn’t ask any more, only said he’d call me when he got the results.
* * *
Saturday, he called. Gian and I met him and his wife at an upscale restaurant a few blocks from where the ghastly green building once stood.
I left them with the appetizer and took the manager to the bar. He handed me an envelope, “High testosterone levels. Looks like steroid use. Found a few other things, you’ll see.”
“Thanks.”
“The kid, was the hair sample his?”
“No.” I forced a smile, “Call me if you need a check for industrial effluent. I’ve got a list.”
Fine dinner. We window shopped for a while and went home.
Gian watched videos while I took my envelope to my desk. Readout listed traces of various drugs, clearly Carmine’s testosterone level was elevated, likely prompted by anabolic steroid use. No way to get a urine sample to verify.
Why didn’t his prescribed meds show up?
A Night To Remember
December came, the twenty-fifth fell on a Friday. Mom had heard about Carmine’s behaviors with me and Gian. She invited him over for a small dinner on Friday, gave him a new jacket and scarf.
Sunday, the two moms, Gian and I would celebrate at my place. Ordered a prepared dinner with a pecan pie. This was going to be the best Christmas ever.
Gian shopped for wine, candies. We’d photographed each other and framed our portraits; gifts for our mothers. Before everyone arrived, we decorated. Got a CD of the oldies, put it on for Mom.
Evening went smoothly. Gian got all our attention; his grades were high, he enjoyed his classes and excelled on the swim team. Mom joined a walking group. Gian’s mom had a boyfriend. Spirits were mellow as we caught up on each others’ lives.
In the middle of our gift exchange, someone knocked on the door. “Must be Santa.”
My heart stopped. It was Carmine I saw through the peephole. Too late to turn the music off and pretend no one was home. I’d play this easy, “Come in, join the party.”
Sneered as he passed me. He held a box wrapped in brown paper,gave it to Mom, told her to take care of herself.
“Started without me, huh?” Sat on the sofa, tossed his jacket aside. “I’ll take red wine. Thanks for asking.” Obviously miffed.
Sat by him, whispered, “Didn’t I tell you not to come back? You’re on the street drugs. I checked.”
“You don’t know that.” He sneered.
Went to my desk, found the readouts but stopped – this would mean nothing to him. When I turned, he was right in front of me. “Back off.” I opened the paper, “Says here your testosterone levels are higher than normal. Anabolic steroids….”
“Whatsa matter – jealous of my cajones?”
“I’ll take you to the health center.” Noticed blemishes on his face.
“Th’ hell you will.” Rough whisper as his left hand grabbed my shirt near my collar. Right hand reached into his pocket.
Suddenly, a series of loud snaps crackled. Carmine fell toward me, muscles tensed. Eyes rolled back. He slumped into me, slid down my body. Rolled him to his side, found the switchblade, threw it under the bed.
Small pink dots fluttered, looked up to see Gian holding a gun. Wait, it wasn’t a gun, two wires dangled from the barrel, spiraled silver wires that went to Carmine’s back.
Taser.
“He gave it to Gramma for Christmas.” Gian’s hand shook, face was pale.
Heart still beating fast, “Grab my ties, hobble him while I tie his hands. Hurry, he’ll come out of it in a few minutes.”
Face down, ankles, hands tied, that’s how the cops found him. By the time the EMTs arrived, Carmine was conscious; babbling.
Cops interviewed us. Asked why I was the target of Carmine’s anger. Didn’t go into our history, simply gave them the readout. “Last time he was here, I got a hair from his jacket and did an analysis. Supposed to be on psychotropics. He’s not.” My business card seemed to earn me points with them, they didn’t ask much more.
After they left, I figured it out. Carmine traded his meds for street drugs; steroids. Probably hoped he could regain his masculine prowess.
* * *
When the fracas was over, Gian’s mother asked to attend mass. Took everyone down to the cathedral. I stood at the back. As the choir began, the candles flickered, pungent incense wafted, I looked up. On the cross was their savior.
Looked like Carmine years ago, thin, dark hair falling over his eyes. Another man who was once a loving child who grew to leave a trail of sorrow.
There were no answers here for why Carmine kept hurting himself and everyone who loved him.
* * *
Gian was perfunctorily charged with assault, We requested a bench trial with only us and the judge, prosecutor. Charges were dismissed with the revelation of Carmine’s mental condition. The jail performed a urine test verifying my readout. This time brother was sent to a secured mental facility. Date of release: Undetermined.
Cleared out Carmine’s apartment. Mom took all the paintings. Didn’t want them in my home.
Gian’s mother filed a restraining order against Carmine. She encouraged me to do the same. I did it for the boy and knew that a paper wouldn’t protect anyone.
Part 4
Saw less of Gian through the next year. He had a wide circle of friends who would be close through the rest of his life. Something I didn’t have and I encouraged him to make memories with them.
My middle-age was as much of a sexual drought as it was when I began my career. Hook ups, one nighters. I wanted something more than temporary affection from strangers.
Occasionally I spoke at the thrill-a-minute conferences for government chemists; I developed a technique for estimating outfall volume of pollutants. Nothing earth-shaking, only common sense, timing and distance from effluent release sites.
Began taking Mom to the conferences with me; still beautiful with a head of silver hair smartly styled. She was a good travel companion and drew attention from the men. Hanging around her, I used my gaydar, it seldom beeped.
While Mom played to her crowd, I wandered to the vendors’ booths. New analyzers, portable mini-labs, drones.
Drones? If I had one that could sample where the concentration was the highest in the lake, I could better monitor the amount of pollutants released. Air samples taken near processing plants would be more accurate to underscore legal assertions.
Picked up some of their literature, asked about the weight a drone could carry. Did it record latitude and longitude precisely?. That started a lengthy conversation. These guys had a new start-up business looking to take precise samples in difficult places..
Met them for dinner later; Mom was busy with a reagent specialist.
* * *
Doug owned the drone service. Until recently he’d taken on jobs for investigators, surveillance jobs mostly. He was here to find contacts with the emergency management agency. After floods, he could photograph and retrieve water samples or test air from forest fires safely. Lab managers would want the samples quickly during emergencies and Doug was ready to fly.
Asked Doug for dinner. Easy-going, confident man about ten years older than me and ruggedly handsome; square jaw, mustache, brown eyes. Wide shouldered, small waist, hips; wished my gaydar would have beeped.
No luck getting any time with him, he was always busy.
Driven by his industriousness, I took the notes from my presentations, created a white paper and posted it on the government chemists’ website. Sent my paper and note of thanks to him.
Within a few hours, he called, “We have to go to the country. Get packed.”
* * *
Picked me up in a truck with the back loaded with boxes covered with netting. “What’s all that?
“Drones, cameras, food and plenty of beer.” He chuckled, “We’re testing lift capacity and collection accuracy over the lake. I got a new camera.” He winked.
Small cabin outside of Knox on the Kankakee River; I was assured there were no snakes out in the fall. Rustic, small cabin; looked comfortable.
After unloading the boxes on the porch, “Bring firewood.” He pointed to a stack covered with a plastic tarp. Flapped the tarp a number of times, banged on the logs to scare off any animals or spiders.
Inside the front room was an antique cast iron stove. Skillets, cooking equipment hung on the wall nearby. I threw the logs underneath the stove and went for more.
“My son’s coming tomorrow. He’ll take the boat out while we track.” Doug brought an ice chest of food, another of beer.
“Exactly what are we testing?”
“Temperature variations. I got a camera that’ll show heat gradations. Your paper gave me the idea. The contaminants you check, are they warmer close to the release sites?”
“Probably some are. They’re all at ambient temperature when I get them.”
Applied technology. Doug’s ideas would lead the next charge against polluters. He also had night vision and several other specialty cameras.
* * *
Saturday morning Doug Jr, “Dougie” arrived, grinning. Doug sent him to the lake immediately. He took a thermos of hot water, rowed out several hundred yards. Doug and I set up the computer inside the cabin, I monitored the screen while he took one of the larger drones outside.
Screen showed the drone lifting off, going over the lake. I could make out Dougie’s body, then the thermos. He poured the hot water into the lake. Red and yellow images flickered, showing it’s dispersal into the cold water. Thoughts jumped as I watched, this information could revolutionize my work.
The rest of the day we spent celebrating. Beer and bong all afternoon, then a huge meal of burgers and home fries. Camaraderie I’d always wanted, I found. We talked into the night. Childhood antics came up, I told them about the ghastly green building.
Tried describing it to Doug, finally asked Mom to send a photo of the Carmine’s painting.
“That’s the old Stoddard House. My great grandfather helped build it. Lots of stories about the construction, it was a jewel in its time.” Doug commented, inspecting the small photo. “Send it to me.”
“Stoddard.” The name was embedded into the sidewalk near the front door.
Dougie had a different take on the photo, “You grew up there? Or should I ask how you survived?” He chuckled.
”Survived?”
“The whole area was a war zone for years – gang turf. Surprised you survived and went on to become a professional. Good for you.”
That gave me a longer perspective on my life; I’d survived. I’d succeeded.
* * *
Rolled up in a thick blanket on the couch in my underwear that night. Dougie and his dad took the bed, closed the door. I heard their voices in the darkness, heard the bed creaking. They were, no, they couldn’t be… Pooney?
Got up, stood near the door.
“Harder Dad.” Rough whisper. Muffled moans. Skin slapped in coital rhythm. My imagination was in high gear.
Pulled my leaking rod out and tugged. Sounded loving, warm and natural between them. Shot a heavy load into my palm, rubbed it under the arm of my tee shirt when I felt footsteps on the wooden floor. Bedroom door swung open.
Doug stopped, smiled, “Good relationships make life worth the hassles. Join us?”
“Uh, not right now….” From a cloud of jizz-smell.
* * *
Bacon, pancakes, eggs and steaming hot coffee for breakfast.
Dougie took me to the shower; jerry-rigged affair – just several planks over a square of cinder blocks. Stripped and he showed me the sailors’ shower. Trim muscular body, wide smile, he soaped and handed the bar to me. Had to shampoo me while I soaped.
Done, he kissed me, trotted back in the cabin. No towels, I strutted behind him. Fresh air felt liberating, cool on my damp skin.
Music played while we washed the dishes, joked, laughed like comfortable old friends. Danced with Dougie for a while, felt a spark of what Carmine must have felt dancing through the hallways. My spirits lifted, I smiled and enjoyed the movement to the rhythms. Sparks of exhilaration jumped through my torso. Dougie ran his fingers through my tight curls. A first for me.
Sandwich for lunch – the Rodrigo Special. Found myself gripping the headboard, straddling Dougie’s face. Fingers tweaked my nipples, he held a mouthful of my rigid cock; sucked and stroked. Doug slipped himself into me with a copious amount of precum. Rode, got ridden and filled, emptied withing only a few moments. Fell on my side and slept till three that afternoon.
Made a point to ask Doug over for dinner on the way home, “Symphony? Movie? I’ll make a steak dinner or early breakfast.”
He agreed to an early breakfast .
Yes, a good relationship makes life worth the hassles.
Carnation
We dated a full year, concerts, movies, bar hopping, festivals. Not as many as I’d like though. Doug was determined, told me that his talent wasn’t enough, he had to work hard to build a business with a good income, contracts. Then, he’d sell and retire to the cabin.
Through that time, Mom, never the one to marry, found a steady boyfriend. Gian’s mother was dating, teaching ballroom dance in the evenings. Gian, my young lover, was doing well, working.
Doug, and I discussed a union. Not a business partnership, I was still at the EPA.
Me, babe of the barrio, engaged to be married? Too good to be true. Good relationships among our families and friends – we planned our wedding at the cabin.
* * *
Mom asked if I would invite Carmine, “Could we do it virtually? He asks about you.” She’d dutifully continued to call him.
My turn to clear the air with Carmine. He was my only brother, and still part of our family.
I’d told Doug about him. Surprised when he told me he was married to a woman who became addicted. She refused to give it up and lost her child. “Raised my son, got him off to a good start, easier after she left.”
Depressing discussion. No one knew why some people were addicts and others weren’t. Surveys and statistics only outlined pieces of the humans who needed help facing the world.
Control, none of us had much. Only control we had was with the most personal decisions, in the seconds we made them and the dreams we chased doggedly. Luck played a big part and split I’d been lucky though it didn’t seem so when I was young.
Nothing I could do to help Carmine, he’d stay locked up. Had to doggedly chase the keys to his freedom, and he hadn’t.
* * *
Bit my lip, gathered my composure, asked Doug to take me to visit Carmine. Long trip through the traffic. He bought a bouquet from a vendor, pulled out a bright pink carnation, “This’ll lift his spirits.”
Heavier, silver-haired, Carmine smiled through the wired glass. Welcomed me to his cell-sized room. Leaning against the wall were paintings of us; the stairwell, his bed, sitting close on the brick wall at the lake. Sensual, detailed, rich renderings.
Heavy thud in my chest. Had he wanted me for the years I wanted him?
“Like ‘em? Keep thinking about the good times we had.” He rambled on about his art groups then asked if he could visit me. “I can get a four-hour pass with family once a month.”
We only have now, unchangeable pasts, uncertain futures. Only now. I used the moment to define my relationship with him:
Handing him the carnation, “The lights on the water, yeah. I remember.” Then I took a breath, “Brother, you’re like those lights. They were beautiful, like you. For me, their magic is best viewed from afar. The darkness hides the hurts, all the pain between us.”
No response.
“I’m getting married. My fiance sent this.”
He stared. “Congrats.” He paused, “I’m getting better, hope to get out in several years. I could stay with you till I get a job, up on my feet. I’ll fix everything.”
“I’ve held your place in the family, raised the son you ignored, smoothed over your bad decisions. We’ve been hurt repeatedly, and we’re all stronger now. Your illness has been ours, too. Work on fixing yourself.”
He covered his face with his hands, “Mom forgave me.”
“She’s your mom.” Didn’t want to rehash anything. Put my arm around his shoulder. “You’ll always be my beautiful brother. Kiss me and say you understand.”
He kissed my neck. Hugged, squeezing tears of change from our eyes.
He’d never understand.
Went to the car, somewhat dazed at what I’d said. I was strong enough to stand up for myself, all I’d built in my life. It left me feeling I’d evolved. Fully inhabited my own skin, my life.
Began laughing at my years of cowardice; felt giddy. I’d just released myself from my own locked institution.
The Good Life?
Wedding was huge. Doug and the wedding party, all in bright tuxedos. Flowers, friends, food, music everywhere. Mom showed up late with her date and Carmine. She kept my brother on a short lease, held his arm as they walked around meeting everyone. He seemed on point, subdued.
After the ceremony, I made the rounds thanking everyone, Carmine, too. Gave him a hug. Danced with everyone. Looked over to see Doug dancing with Carmine closely, whispering, smiling.
San Francisco’s spa clientele appreciated a husky, curly haired man. The sling. Doug said he’d install one at home. Los Angeles, Long Beach then to San Diego. Crossed the border, spent several days in Rosarito Beach. Food, drink and sunshine – I felt new, excited about life.
Arrived home to find Gian and Dougie had bought me five plum trees; planted them when we were gone. In many ways that was the best present we received.
Dougie put all of our wedding photos and a CD of our ceremony in an album. During dinner, we browsed through and there was a photo of the DJ, everyone dancing. To the side, Doug and Carmine.
“Saw you met my brother. Whadja think?”
“He was okay, seemed a little slow, but he was polite.”
“Looks like you to got chummy while you were dancing.”
“Yeah. Years ago I took off work early, went over to the park. The one near the old Stoddard House. He looked like a kid who used to work the restrooms. Last stall on the right was heaven. Sweet, tight ass. Wouldn’t mind meeting him again.”
Couldn’t bring myself to tell him. “I’m going out to water my plum trees. I love plums as much as I love you.”