I remember that I was fifteen when it happened.

The days from the crib had flown by. Now you were thirteen. You were much more grown up looking than you were in the other memories. Your arms and legs and feet and hands were growing too fast and the rest of you was trying to keep up. Your eyes beginning to look wiser and your jaw line was beginning to look more sophisticated. Jumping from my last memory to this one, you are barely recognizable except for the glasses and look of wonder in your eyes. I am happy to see you haven’t lost that wonder.

Mom and Dad had gone to dinner. It was something they did every Friday night. I was watching you, as usual. You had whined about how you were old enough to be alone, but it wasn’t a problem. You didn’t care that I had to stay with you, you just didn’t like being treated like you were still young. Even if you were still young.

I made you dinner from a cardboard box and we watched TV together, but you didn’t sit in my lap like you used to. I still stared at you continually but I get the feeling you were used to it. Like I must have used to do that a lot.

It was getting late and I was tired. I told you I was going to bed. You said you were still awake and wanted to watch TV more. I shrugged and handed you the remote. I went off to my bedroom and drifted to sleep. It was turning out to be a normal night.

But this one wasn’t normal.

I woke up and you were standing in my doorway. I asked you what you were doing. “I can’t sleep.” I shrugged and told you to go read or something.

“Watching you usually helps.”

I asked you why. “I’m not sure. I just feel at peace when you’re here with me.”

I didn’t know what to say. You crossed my room and sat down on the edge of my bed. I felt my heart beat pick up in my chest. “Do you remember when Sam Miller and Tony Mikkelson beat me up?”

I said I remembered.

“It was cause they were talking badly about you. They said you weren’t normal. They said you didn’t have a lot of friends. They blamed me for it. They said you were too busy spending time with me to make friends. Is that true? Am I the reason?”

I sighed. I told you that you were the only friend I ever needed. I didn’t need anymore friends. That’s why.

You didn’t seem content with this answer.

“Why? What’s wrong with other people?”

I shook my head. I told you there was nothing wrong with other people, I just liked you.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

I asked you what you were asking me. What you were getting at.

“I don’ t know. I just want to know… why it’s so… comfortable… when we are together?”

I told you we were brothers. That’s what it’s suppost to feel like. I think we both knew better than to believe that though.

“Then why aren’t other brothers like that?”

It didn’t seem like any of my answers were what you were looking for. I asked you what you wanted me to say.

You were silent for a while. Your fingers were tapping away at your knees like you were typing out the words before saying them. “I want you to say that we’re not just brothers. That this isn’t normal.”

I repeated your words. We are not just brothers. This is not normal.

“I want you to say you love me.”

I love you.

“I want you to mean it.”

I paused but not to think. I didn’t need to think about if I meant it.

I moved through the covers and grabbed your arm. You looked at me with the ever-present wonder. But I knew there wasn’t wonder in my own eyes; there was certainty. I knew you could see it now that you were looking in them. I kissed you.

I pulled back and opened my eyes. I asked you if that’s what you wanted to hear.

You nodded, but the look in your face was still unsure. “Do it again.”

This time I pulled your arm and you let me. I pulled you behind me, until your head was lying on my pillows. I dipped down and kissed you again. I kissed you like I was trying to rid you of your confusion. I was trying to persuade you that this was real. All my energy was focused on that. I never heard the door open.

“Gerard?” I heard Mom say.

My heart rammed itself against the inside skin and tried to come out my mouth. I looked back and saw Mom, in her dinner dress, in my doorway.

She looked like she had just found my dead body. She might as well have.

“Mikey go to your room,” she said with her eyes still on me. I knew I was in trouble.

Your warm body slipped out from under me and bypassed her in the threshold.

Mom flipped on a light switch. My eyes stung at the sight. I felt myself repose a bit.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I felt the heat wash over every pore in my body, the feeling I always got when I thought I was in trouble. I felt like she could see it rise off of me. I didn’t say anything, there was nothing I [i]could[/i] say.

I saw the fear in her eyes. Why was she scared?

She turned around and shut my door. I felt her heels against the staircase. She was going to tell dad. I knew I was done.

I turned my light back off and lay back down in bed. I listened. I tried so fucking hard to hear what they were talking about in the room below me. The muscles in my ears perked as stiff a possible.

I heard Dad’s voice make questioning tones and Mom’s voice sounded shrill and still fearful.

I heard the heels back up the stairs. The knock on your door. “Come down and talk to us.” I heard Mom order you. Two sets of feet down the stairs. Yours were slower than hers. Perhaps you thought they were overreacting or maybe you were scared too. Scared of what they were gonna say to you. I was scared for you.

I crept over to the vent in the corner. I lie on the wood floor and put my head against the slitted metal. The edges were sinking into my skin, but I had to hear what you said.

“What were you doing in there?” I heard Dad’s voice boom. He sounded angry. He sounded intimidating,

“We… we were just talking. Then he grabbed me and he kissed me.” Your voice sounded scared. Your voice sounded petrified.

I covered my mouth to keep from crying out.

“Did you want him to?” I could hear the look in Dad’s eyes when he said that. I could hear their fire and fury. I could hear the way his cheekbones always showed so strong against his skin when he got this mad. I was scared for you.

“No.” Your voice shook uncontrollably and I could hear the tears in your voice.

My eyes automatically began watering and my whole chest felt like an anchor that was keeping me on the floor. My teeth gnashed together as my jaw tightened. No, I thought. Don’t do it. Don’t lie.

I heard Mom burst to tears.

“Go to bed, Mikey.” Dad’s voice sounded disappointed and frustrated and confused all at once.

I knew right then I was done.

They didn’t speak to me all that week. Mom cried a lot when she thought we weren’t listening and Dad’s face always seemed on edge. He sighed a lot that week.

I didn’t talk to you much either. I think you didn’t want to talk to me. I was a reminder of the lie that you had stated. I don’t think you wanted to say it, but I know you didn’t want to get in trouble. Looking back I’m glad you didn’t tell them the truth. We would have both had to endure what I went through and I can’t even bare to think about that.

One time, I remember, I came home and I saw Mom getting off the phone. “Thank you, Mrs. Shea. I’ll give them a call.”

I didn’t know what she was talking about. Now I know.

It was Wednesday and they called me down from my room. I was nervous as I treaded carefully down each stair step. They were both on the couch, but they were sitting far from eachother, on opposite sides of it.

“Your mother and I have talked it over,” Dad said. He blinked a lot and scratched at his collar. “Your gonna go away for awhile.”

I asked what they meant.

“There’s a program in upstate that helps boys like you.”

Like me how? I asked.

Dad pursed his lips and sighed, “Boys that are confused.”

I told them I wasn’t confused. I was fine.

“Gerard, you have to trust us. We need to help you. This will help you fit in better. This will make life easier for you.”

[i]Fit in better.[/i] I had heard those words before.

I asked if it’s the same place Anthony Shea went.

Dad nodded solemnly.

I asked them if they wanted me like him. Dead.

“Son, that was different. Some walk away better and some don’t. We’ve been assured that Anthony was a different, rare case.”

He wasn’t a case, I said. He was a person.

“God damn it, Gerard!” he yelled at me. “You don’t have a choice. You’re going. We are doing this for your future. What if we didn’t come home when we did? What if you hurt your brother?”

There was nothing I could say to that without blowing your cover. I didn’t say anything.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.” I was done. There was nothing I could do. I looked over to Mom. She was just trying to contain herself. She didn’t want this. But she didn’t want me like this.

I remember my bags being lined up at the door. I remember Mom kissing my forehead. “It’s only three months.” She hugged me and rubbed my back. An attempt to comfort me. A failed attempt.

I remember walking out my bedroom door for the last time. I saw you looking through the crack of your doorway. Trying to message me. Something that wasn’t allowed those days. I stopped to look at you, for the last time. Your red eyes were filled with tears and I could see the apology written across your face. I felt myself breaking. [i]I’m so sorry.[/i] Your lips moved with the words I could see.

I couldn’t say anything. I shook my head and continued down the stairs, out the door, to the car. I pulled out of my driveway for the last time. The last time I would ever look at those things the same way again.