Chapter Six: Used To…
"He never used to get in fights."
The walls of the mobile home were paper thin. Every syllable his mother said traveled through those walls; every single grunt of disapproval his father uttered made its way to his ears. He tried not to listen, he really tried, but it seemed like those words were said especially for him to hear.
His mother continued, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. "Before… Before, he never had problems. He always got along with everyone."
"That's because before he let them pick on him like a little fag would… At least now he's standing up for himself. Maybe those treatments did some good after all." His father's voice was rough, strained, almost angry.
Curt rolled onto his side, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and tried to bury his head deeper under the pillow. But the slightest pressure on his cheek burned, and he didn't want the scrape there to start bleeding again.
They didn't talk for long. His parents never did. He knew exactly when their light went out, knew exactly when his mother gave in to his father's advances, and knew when their strained love making ended, when they rolled apart.
He tried to sleep. It didn't come easily and fighting for it just pushed it further away. When he was little and couldn't sleep, he'd always gone to Alex. He'd never turned him away, just let him curl up next to him, holding him tight until morning. He'd never understood what was wrong with that.
Until that day.
Curt rolled over, brushing his cheek against the rough material of his pillow. It stung and he cringed. He hated the pain of the outside world. There was no morphine to numb every nerve, no meprobamate to make him fall asleep when the pressure of thinking overcame him. It was like that now, a weight building on his brain. He just wanted to stop thinking, stop feeling.
Curt swallowed and stared at his ceiling. He never used to think like that.
His door creaked open, and he sat straight up, eyes wide. Alex stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the moonlight, his sweats hanging loosely at his waist, his torso bare. "Can't sleep?" he whispered, taking a tentative step toward his brother's bed.
Curt's hands tightened on his quilt. "I'm fine."
Alex sat nervously, perched on the corner of Curt's bed, eyes staring intently at his little brother. "What happened today?" Curt shrugged, then grimaced at the pain that echoed through his body at the motion. "Lewis said something about the hospital, didn't he?" Curt didn't need to answer; Alex read it on his face in an instant. He sighed and ducked his head. "I'm sorry."
Curt shrugged again, ignored the pain. "Doesn't make the bruises go away."
"I know that." Alex's hand reached for his, pulled back at the last instant. "Get some sleep. Lotsa stuff to do tomorrow."
"Good night, Alex," Curt said mechanically, lowering himself to his pillows, not taking his eyes off his brother.
Alex's jaw clinched, something flashed in his eyes. Then he swallowed and it was gone. "Night."
Alex stood and Curt rolled to his side, away from him. A moment later, he heard the door close, and he was left more alone than he ever used to be.
*
The pine forest was enormous, blanketing what had been a dry field when he saw it last. Bare spots littered the field, where trees had been plucked up to be decorated and played around. Dirty sludge pooled on the ground, trod over remnants of pure snow. Curt stepped in one of the puddles, and waited until the freezing muddy water sunk into his tennis shoe.
"Ma wanted us to wait till you were home." Alex's voice jolted his eyes from the mud puddle and he blinked, completely confused. "The tree… The day before Christmas is kinda late." Alex continued, swallowing hard. "We were gonna get one last week, when there was a bigger selection, but Mom wanted us to wait."
"Thanks," Curt replied, moving his foot to solid ground.
Judy's laugh, tinkling like Christmas bells called him over to a small tree, full and round, where his mother and his father stared anxiously at the price tag as Judy pranced around it. "We have to have it. It's perfect."
"It's expensive," Michael replied harshly.
"It's Christmas," was Dorothy's reply, her big brown eyes finding Michael's immediately.
Michael shrugged, conceding. "Alex, help me get this thing to the car."
Judy squealed happily and skipped off with Dorothy to pay the salesman, looking six instead of sixteen. Curt looked from his brother and father, sizing up the tree, to his mom, then backed slowly away from the tree.
His father's voice stopped him. "Curt, give us a hand."
Curt froze, blue eyes moving from his father to Alex, who stared forlornly at his wet shoes. Then he nodded and moved to help.
"He never used to get in fights."
The walls of the mobile home were paper thin. Every syllable his mother said traveled through those walls; every single grunt of disapproval his father uttered made its way to his ears. He tried not to listen, he really tried, but it seemed like those words were said especially for him to hear.
His mother continued, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. "Before… Before, he never had problems. He always got along with everyone."
"That's because before he let them pick on him like a little fag would… At least now he's standing up for himself. Maybe those treatments did some good after all." His father's voice was rough, strained, almost angry.
Curt rolled onto his side, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and tried to bury his head deeper under the pillow. But the slightest pressure on his cheek burned, and he didn't want the scrape there to start bleeding again.
They didn't talk for long. His parents never did. He knew exactly when their light went out, knew exactly when his mother gave in to his father's advances, and knew when their strained love making ended, when they rolled apart.
He tried to sleep. It didn't come easily and fighting for it just pushed it further away. When he was little and couldn't sleep, he'd always gone to Alex. He'd never turned him away, just let him curl up next to him, holding him tight until morning. He'd never understood what was wrong with that.
Until that day.
Curt rolled over, brushing his cheek against the rough material of his pillow. It stung and he cringed. He hated the pain of the outside world. There was no morphine to numb every nerve, no meprobamate to make him fall asleep when the pressure of thinking overcame him. It was like that now, a weight building on his brain. He just wanted to stop thinking, stop feeling.
Curt swallowed and stared at his ceiling. He never used to think like that.
His door creaked open, and he sat straight up, eyes wide. Alex stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the moonlight, his sweats hanging loosely at his waist, his torso bare. "Can't sleep?" he whispered, taking a tentative step toward his brother's bed.
Curt's hands tightened on his quilt. "I'm fine."
Alex sat nervously, perched on the corner of Curt's bed, eyes staring intently at his little brother. "What happened today?" Curt shrugged, then grimaced at the pain that echoed through his body at the motion. "Lewis said something about the hospital, didn't he?" Curt didn't need to answer; Alex read it on his face in an instant. He sighed and ducked his head. "I'm sorry."
Curt shrugged again, ignored the pain. "Doesn't make the bruises go away."
"I know that." Alex's hand reached for his, pulled back at the last instant. "Get some sleep. Lotsa stuff to do tomorrow."
"Good night, Alex," Curt said mechanically, lowering himself to his pillows, not taking his eyes off his brother.
Alex's jaw clinched, something flashed in his eyes. Then he swallowed and it was gone. "Night."
Alex stood and Curt rolled to his side, away from him. A moment later, he heard the door close, and he was left more alone than he ever used to be.
*
The pine forest was enormous, blanketing what had been a dry field when he saw it last. Bare spots littered the field, where trees had been plucked up to be decorated and played around. Dirty sludge pooled on the ground, trod over remnants of pure snow. Curt stepped in one of the puddles, and waited until the freezing muddy water sunk into his tennis shoe.
"Ma wanted us to wait till you were home." Alex's voice jolted his eyes from the mud puddle and he blinked, completely confused. "The tree… The day before Christmas is kinda late." Alex continued, swallowing hard. "We were gonna get one last week, when there was a bigger selection, but Mom wanted us to wait."
"Thanks," Curt replied, moving his foot to solid ground.
Judy's laugh, tinkling like Christmas bells called him over to a small tree, full and round, where his mother and his father stared anxiously at the price tag as Judy pranced around it. "We have to have it. It's perfect."
"It's expensive," Michael replied harshly.
"It's Christmas," was Dorothy's reply, her big brown eyes finding Michael's immediately.
Michael shrugged, conceding. "Alex, help me get this thing to the car."
Judy squealed happily and skipped off with Dorothy to pay the salesman, looking six instead of sixteen. Curt looked from his brother and father, sizing up the tree, to his mom, then backed slowly away from the tree.
His father's voice stopped him. "Curt, give us a hand."
Curt froze, blue eyes moving from his father to Alex, who stared forlornly at his wet shoes. Then he nodded and moved to help.