NOTE - I've noticed as well as my viewers that my writing style has changed. You wanna know why? Chapter 9 began the beginning of November and was on-and-off for half a year, and I am extremely sorry for all the people who can't wait for this story to reach its conclusion and then all of a sudden are like "Where the hell were you?!" So, ya, over that half year, I've gained experience in writing - I don't know, it gradually happened. I'm currently in a Writer's Craft class, so that could help. I guess my life's experiences have affected my writing styles (?). I dunno. Hopefully I can get this done as quick as possible.

NOTE 2: And I've decided to lay off BA2 until Mamma Mia is finally finished, then I'll finish that story up (however long that'll take, haha) and try to think of a new story, perhaps. Enjoy!

NOTE 3: I was gonna start writing again sooner, but the laptop broke down and production was delayed for a few months. I've finally decided to continue. The date is October 2nd, 2009.

Chapter X - Slipping Through Our Last Summer

Kyle continued to work on his face in his bedroom. He had recently noticed then that there was a rather unattractive cluster of zits sitting peacefully on his chin. Kyle hated zits as much as the last guy, but he found getting rid of them fascinating. He made a game of it. Almost like a game of Bomb Sweeper. There were some heads that would kinda just flop, but other would pop – you could hear them and, if you were lucky, it would land on the chin.

Kyle didn't enjoy playing the game as much as he normally would – the whole stress of the wedding and all. He pulled out from his drawer a Mega Pack of Oxy pads. Before his fingertips could reach his skin, there was a big knock at the door.

"Hello, Kyle?!"

"Gregory," Kyle breathed. He raised his voice and attempted to become more presentable. "Gregory? What are you doing here?"

He quickly slid on a violet, silk house coat, not bothering to tie the band. He opened the door a little bit of the way and then entirely.

"I wanted to give you this," Gregory replied displaying a cheque held between his thumb and coiled index finger.

"I don't mean here here," he explained half-ignoring his gift, "I mean here on the island."

"Please," Gregory calmly pleaded further extended his arm.

Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed finally taking the paper and taking a good look at it. At first glance his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Jesus Christ on ice-skates! What the fuck is this?"

"Well, I thought you must have had to tighten your belt over the years," Gregory assumed. "You've been looking after Ike all on your own. I wanted to contribute a little something to the wedding."

"Well, this could cover FOUR wedding!" Kyle exclaimed. "… And a funeral! Gregory, it's a lovely gesture, but…"

"Do you remember the last thing you said to me?" he interrupted. The two remained silent. Kyle's eyes fluttered to the floor while Gregory's eyebrows arched awaiting a response. Kyle raised his face to the boy letting his hair toss. "No."

"The night I bought you that guitar. I can remember thinking those were the last words I'll ever hear from you and I'll always treasure them. 'Oh, Gregory, it's a nice gesture BUT…' "

"You're lying!" Kyle laughed. "I'm sure I just said toe-dah nicely like a well brought-up Jewish boy."

"That's better," he chuckled. "Do you know that's the first time you've laughed since I got here?"

"Well, I am a bit stressed, Greg, what do you expect?"

"A bit more of the old Kyle – and a bit less of the well brought-up Jewish boy. I still remember our summer."

"Oh really?" Kyle asked somewhat playfully.

"How can't I? The walks along the Seine, the week I took you to Paris, the nights we'd swim in the lake while it poured on us – we swam in our clothes knowing they were going to get wet anyhow." Gregory sat down on the bed and wrapped a stray boa around his neck and hummed a C in falsetto. "Let's not forget the tour of Notre Dame," he added noticing Kyle's smile spread.

"You know I haven't."

"How could you? It was the best time of our lives."

Kyle continued to smiley humbly and then took one last glance at the cheque – after which his smile faded.

"Gregory, I can't take this. I dunno why you think I should."

"I want you to have it," he insisted.

Their conversations was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Kyle called.

"We can't talk about this know. I'll see you at the wedding?"

"The wedding?"
"Yes. I've been invited."

Ike opened the door slowly remembering their recent fight. He slid to the side to make room for Gregory exiting. Ike's eyes reached that of Kyle's with solemnity - the awkwardness of remaining fire-like anger lingering in the air like a house fire's smoke. Ike fully stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked rather dashing. He wore a beige v-neck with matching slip-ons with a bleached casual jacket and khakis. His beautifully painted irises made the beige more rich like caramel and cinnamon and his whites like icing sugar.

"That the suit?" Kyle asked. It was a nice suit, but it was wrinkled and the pants were dusty from the walk through the dirt path.

"Yeah…" He lightly twisted the ball of his foot into the floor.

"Marvelous," Kyle commented hesitantly. "Right, so are Filmore and Vic ready to help you?"

"Umm, Kyle? … Would you help me?"

Kyle screeched his train of thought to a halt. Ike had always been independent in everything he did. Ike asking Kyle for help was like asking the lunch-time smokers to get together after school to research Michelangelo's sexual interests giving artistic evidence in an essay – in essay format. Kyle quickly nodded and motioned Ike to come to him as to get ready for the big moment.

He sat him down in the seat and began to rough his hair up with a special brush. He had to look roughish but not ratty. This was Ike's big day and it was Kyle's job to make sure he looked like he cared about it – and he did.

This process was especially important to Kyle. He never seemed like the brother he was supposed to be – like he was never there for Ike. The truth was that Ike never needed any help. Whenever Sheila wasn't home, Ike would change himself. Kyle would smell Ike from a mile away. He would wait on the couch as his mother was telling him what to make for dinner while she was gone as she made her way out the door. As soon as the door clicked shut, Kyle ran for Ike's bedroom to find him whipping his own bum then applying powder. Ike wouldn't notice Kyle but his older brother would have been seen standing at the door with a look of disappointment.

Ike would be in bed, his eyes blissfully shut, is mouth lightly opened in the cutest 'O'. Kyle would sneak in and kneel next to his face through the crib's bars and softly stroke his cheek with the surface of his finger. Ike's face would twitch every so slightly with sensitivity making Kyle smile.

Kyle did this more than once when he felt down or depressed. One night he was in Ike's room, he spotted a tear on his face slowly trailing from his eye. A silent nightmare. This made Kyle cry himself. It was the one moment where he felt truly close to Ike – when both their tears were removed by the same finger.

This moment, right before the wedding, would be the second moment.

"Alright," Kyle announced holding out Ike's suit coat after being ironed. "Slip in."

Ike slipped on the coat and looked in the mirror. He smiled proudly. That same smile slowly drooped into a face of indifference. Kyle snapped off a white rose from a vase on his dresser and carried it to Ike still observing his new self. He reached around Ike's shoulders and began to pin the rose to the coats front pocket.

"Kyle," Ike suddenly said.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'm letting you down?"

"Why?" he asked still focused on the flower.

"'Cause everyone's all like 'Oh, your brother's so cool raising his baby brother all by himself and running his mom's business – and all with a straight face'."

"Well, didn't have much of a choice raising a child, did I?" he replied as if Ike's statement were ludicrous. "As for the whole 'straight face' thing, I didn't really need that much help in acting like I was okay. Sure, mom's death hit me like a brick, but when it came down to it… I didn't like her that much."

"No!" Ike exclaimed. He wasn't upset - Ike didn't like her either – but he was curious as to why. "I thought you and mom were on good terms. Why were you crying a while ago?"

"She was still my mom. But when she died I was too bent on the fact that she deserved it. It took me a while to realize she was never coming back."

Ike looked at himself once Kyle was officially finished his touch-up. They were both impressed.

"Kyle," Ike quickly turned around to him. "Would you give me away?"

Once again, Kyle quickly nodded – smiling bigger than he had ever thought before. Ike swiftly grasped Kyle's body with his arms in a deeply compassionate monster-of-a-hug. "Thanks, bro!" Ike quickly ran out of the door almost running right into Stan who was in the doorway. "Oh. Hey, Stan."

"Hey, lil' bud."

Ike ran off leaving Kyle and Stan alone. Stan closed the door behind him as he walked in with a certain Kyle who now seemed to be upset.