2

"What the hell are ya playin' at? Why can't I remember a goddamn thing?"

Old Kiku looked so sore that I regretted snapping at him in the first place. I could see a kids starting to creep out of their apartments and go to school. Kiku sighed and said in a gentle voice, a real gentle voice and not a phony one people do to be polite, I hate when people do that, "It's early, still, so you probably can't remember it, Sorry for scaring you and all."

Kiku looked like he wanted to say something more. "Look," I said before he could, "I've got work to do—"

But he went on. We chewed the fat for quite a while. I still had some time, I always get to work early, so I let him go on. He explained that he was in town and he had heard of me from some family member or other, and that he wanted to say hello. So he sort of invited me to dinner at his place and picked up a paper from his pocket and scribbled down his address. I put it in my pocket and said I'd meet him and all. He really looked so sore the whole time. I guess he's a touchy guy. Not a bad guy or a flit or anything, just a sort of touchy guy.

I made my way to my car, a crumby, beat up old truck. The Old thing worked just swell, so I didn't care if it couldn't get all those miles per gallon hot-shots brag about and all. I got in and drove to work, since it's pretty far. I only had one job to do, I usually have to do both of them in the same day. I made my way to the gas station, Drive n' Go, a cheesy name but it offered me work so I have nothing to say about it. I parked in the little area they had for employees that was almost half as crumby as for the customers but a million times smaller. When I got in there was only the owner's wife. She gave me a big smile.

"Hiya, Al, you're later than usual." She said so cheerfully it made me wanna puke. She's always so optimistic and happy that tragedy could dance naked in front of her and she wouldn't notice. I guess it isn't a bad thing, and she isn't a bad person, really. She's just kind of dumb. I think if her husband didn't own the place she wouldn't have a job. She wasn't pretty in a way, she had this dark brown hair that was short and frozen in place. She smelled nice. She wouldn't be a model, though. But she had her own sense of pretty.

"Yeah, someone stopped me in my way and I had a sort of conversation." I said and started picking up boxes of candy and bags of chips. They got here some time ago as it always does on delivery-days. I opened them up and put them away. I used to love to shoot the shit with this crap, but when you work with it and see messy guys buying truckloads of it, you get kinda disgusted with it. Like, I guess if you made cakes all day you wouldn't want to eat cake ever again. Too much of a good thing or something.

Her name, the owner's wife I mean, is Kristen Winchester. But I always call her Mrs. Winchester 'cause she's old enough to be my mother or something. I don't know how old she is. Old Mrs. Winchester looked towards me.

"How's your kid brother, Al?" she asked.

"He's fine, he's doing great in school."

"That's marvelous."

Marvelous, what a boring word. I guess for most vocabularies it's this cool, long thing, but I've heard it so much that I've gotten bored.

"I guess so."

She looked me over. Only she, her husband, their son, and I ran the place. I doubt they really needed me around. I think they took me up out of pity. They were good people like that.

After some time of me shuffling around, Ramsay Winchester, her husband, came in. He was this big guy who hardly spoke and was yellow. I don't mean that meanly. Once, when I was still just starting the job, this guy came in blind-drunk and started messing up the place. I went to stop him but Mr. Winchester was too yellow to do anything but watch with these pitying eyes. It makes me so mad I swear. He's a good guy and all, but sometimes I think a toilet seat has more common sense than he does. He's like my brother. He just kills you with kindness but he can't fend for himself. If you put the two of them a maze—a corn maze for that matter—they'd get lost in two seconds I swear.

I finished putting the boxes away and went up to the front. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester were talking in soft voices about the taxes or something. He patted my back all friendly-like and my heart just froze up. I thought I would be laid off. I was about to just drop dead, but he just smiled and told me to go in the back and clean up there. I nodded and scampered off. There's something about him that makes me want to do what he says.

If my principle, this charming-guy, a real moron, were to tell me to do that I would have socked him in the jaw. I wouldn't've cared about getting expelled because I really don't care what the hell he thinks. But he was just so fake, you know? During these stupid parent-teacher conferences he was witty to all the parents but when he saw I didn't have any he just ignored me. I guess he thought less of me. I talked with all the teachers and they said I was failing, this was last year, and that I should try to work harder. It made me so mad and irked that I wanted to jump out of the window. But I thought that I didn't want just anybody picking up my gore and blood and teeth from everywhere. Anyway, I needed to care for Matthew.

The backroom was so goddamn cold I swear my ass was about to fall off. I found two garbage bags and took 'em out back. The back walls of the place was stained with rust and graffiti. I graffiti wasn't witty or anything. It was this crummy design that meant nothing.

I saw Mr. and Mrs. Winchester's son, Zack, come up with his girlfriend. They're a little older than me and I usually don't think too much about relationships between people 'cause they just bore me. There really wasn't much to clean up, so instead of risking horsing around out of boredom and possibly breaking something, I stayed and watched the two chew the fact. Zack's girlfriend was this blonde who didn't look too sharp. Zack wasn't sharp either, in fact he's dull as a pencil nub used to the end. He had his arm around her and was probably necking her for some time. Zack caught me staring and shot me such a mean look I went right back in. Zack's mean. He's nothing like his good folks, he's a real jerk. He gets all sorts of different girls following him around. He's also has huge can-like muscles that could probably crush me if he wanted to. I'm not fighter, I'm too yellow. Not that I can't fight—don't get me wrong—if I was in the mood I could win any goddamn fight.

I continued to organize boxes and check on the bathroom. Some guy must have come in last night, when Zack was supposed to be watching. Instead of working, Zack must have been being all sexy to his girlfriend, because there was this huge mess in the bathroom and it stank of piss and some other hellish smell. I cleaned up while breathing through my mouth. Goddamn, if I ever could, I swear, I'm gonna break Zack's nose for this.

The rest of the work day went on like that until I drove by Matthew's school to pick him up. Matthew found me in the parking lot. His backpack sagged to his ass, and he's pretty small. The doctor said he would rocket up eventually and be taller than me, and I could see it. His trousers were too short and they showed his knees. He slid into the other seat in the car.

"How was the last day of school? Ya ready for summer break?" I asked.

He nodded wordlessly. When he has nothing to say he doesn't say a damn thing. I guess he doesn't like wasting his breath of useless conversation.

"Why so blue?" I asked, pulling out of the parking lot and heading home. He really could walk back, but I liked to pick him up. It gave me something to do.

"Nothing," Matthew said, "Just real tired."

I didn't want to push the topic too hard or he'd get sore. And when he was sore I got this real smarting pain in my chest. I don't like it.

"An old friend of mine invited us for dinner, by the way." I said. Matthew nodded. He wasn't a whiny teenager. I think I would've gone crazy if he was. It would be like living with a little me.

We stayed at home until six, when we were due, playing card games. He had a few books he needed to read for the next year but he wanted to relax for the rest of the day. We chewed the fat about school. He was so modest it just killed me. I really love him. He wasn't fake or phony or anything, he was real, right down to his pimply face and asthma.

I dressed in this leather jacket that looks tough and slid some cigarettes in my pocket. Matthew got on a real nice shirt and pants, looking like a real hot-shot. The kind of hot shots that don't try, but just are that way. I pushed some hair back from my face and slicked it back, I wanted to look real suave. Not that I wanted to impress Kiku, but I didn't want him to make me out to be a slob 'cause then we'd be in trouble.

I got in the car and we drove on. It wasn't dark yet, in fact, it was real bright. I put my sun glasses on and Matthew gave a sharp laugh that almost gave me a heart attack. I turned to him. "Whatcha laughin' at?"

"Nothing, it's just you look like part of a gang in the glasses and jacket." He explained. Boy, how dumb I must look. I drove in silence into the neighborhood that Kiku lived in. It was probably just loaded with snobby people. I hated it right off the bat.

I parked by this slick, French-looking car and Matthew and I made our way to the front door. It was a really nice place, really. I knocked on the door and stepped back, feeling suddenly really nervous. It wasn't Kiku who opened the door. Instead it was skinny guy with reddish-brown hair and a stupid smile plastered on his face. When he spoke he had an Italian accent. It wasn't a tough, mafia-mob-leader kind of Italian accent that means business, but a cheerful, musical thing.

"Oh, hello! Come right in," He stepped back and let us in. He kissed Matthew and me on the cheeks. I get that it's a European greeting so I didn't make a comment. I liked kisses, actually. Not like on the lips or sexual body parts or anything, just on the forehead, cheek, or nose. I think it's a sort of nice thing to get every once in a while. Nothing romantic, though.

"Sorry, what's your name?" I asked the Italian guy.

"Feliciano Vargas," he said and led us to the living room. I didn't see Kiku anywhere.

"Nice to meetcha, Vargas." I said and Matthew looked at him politely.

Feliciano grinned goofily and told us to take a seat. We did.

He sat by the only other person in the room. It was his brother, I think, he looked a lot like him. He had slightly darker hair, but the exact opposite personality and his accent was of one of those mob-leaders. He said his name was Lovino Vargas. He was a real touchy guy, I noticed right away. He had this grouchy expression that looked ready to sock ya for looking at him funny. He crossed his arms and watched us suspiciously, like we might gang up on him or something.

After a few minutes Kiku came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He rushed over and greeted Matthew and I, welcoming us home and all that.

"I apologize, I was readying the dinner." He said, he meant it too.

"It's no problem, Mac," I said. I have this really bad habit of picking at something around me. I can't sit still, sometimes. I'm always horsing around or picking up something. I have this chain I keep in my pocket for these occasions. I was spinning it around my finger. I couldn't stop I swear.

If you thought I had a dirty mouth, you should listen to that Lovino guy. It just killed me. I swear his language was foul. He used swear words like commas and adverbs whenever he could. I noticed this when the other guest, this tan Spaniard, came in. Lovino started throwing insults at him and shooting the shit about everything. Goddamn, his creativity in swearing was astonishing.

"Hey, not in front of the kid," Antonio, the Spaniard I told you about, was saying. I guess he noticed Matthew turning his face away. He was a real nice guy, and charming. He had this sort of care-free way. Some other people came, an Englishman and Frenchman, as well as this bulky Russian.

The Frenchman called himself Francis, though he doesn't remind me too much of Uncle Francis. Hell, I can't remember what Uncle looked like half the time. And the Englishman was Arthur. I didn't think they were our uncles 'cause they were so young and all. Our uncles must have been ages old. The Russian was named Ivan.

I stood, before the food would be set by a few minutes, to go smoke. Smoking usually opens up my appetite more. Ivan went with me. We went to the backyard and I offered to light his cigarette. He smiled this frosty smile and didn't thank me. He was a head taller than I was and had a dangerous voice. I devised this scenario in my head where he pulled out a gun and shot me in the guts and I heroically kick his ass, I'm childish like that. But the more I talked to him the more I realized he was nothing like that. He was calm, cold, but calm. He asked how I was doing and I said fine.

"How old are you?" He asked, looking up to the sky. It was a pretty amber color.

"A hundred and one, what's it to ya?" I tried blowing a smoke ring but couldn't.

He shrugged, "Let's go in, Kiku wouldn't want us to stay so long."

I snuffed out the cigarette on my shoe and threw it in the trash since there wasn't a tray anywhere. "Where are you from?" I asked him.

"Russia," He said, giving me a deadpan look.

"Hey, I know that, but where?"

"Moscow," he replied and we went in. It was cooler inside and that was a relief. I was starting to get all sweaty outside. I took a seat by Matthew. Kiku had prepared this good-smelling fish, this soup, and some rice. It was all really good but kinda salty. Lovino was snapping at his brother in Italian so I couldn't really understand what he was saying. I oddly had a very faint idea, though, something about forgetting. Don't ask me how, 'cause I haven't the slightest goddamn idea. I think maybe I'd heard Italian somewhere and it floated to my subconscious or something like that. Feliciano seemed to be getting a helluva kick from it, though. God, his expression just killed me. It was so annoying yet kind of nice to look at every once in a while.

Even if I didn't smoke so much, I still would eat so much. I eat like a goddamn horse, when I get started I just can't start. Matthew, however, kind of pecks at his food. He's so skinny. I noticed the French guy, Francis, watching him all sad-like. He touched Matthew's shoulder gently and Matthew looked up, surprised. God, he just kills me, I swear.

Francis asked him, in the softest French I swear I've ever heard, something. I didn't know what. Mostly because I'm dumb and I didn't pay attention in French class. I flunked it so bad I was moved into the Spanish class since we had to have a language class to graduate. I actually did quite a bit better in Spanish, but I still flunked it.

Matthew responded something and Francis's expression got all soft, but it was a good kind of soft. I liked these people. They were real, you know? Nothing like the morons back at school, better, really.

Old Arthur turned to me and asked how I was doing.

"Fine," I said.

He nodded. He had a whatsitcalled—a brooch—on his lapel. It was all fancy and showed this raven. I thought it was kinda weird since ravens are supposed to be evil and all.

"How old are you, young man?" he asked, though he looked sore about it for some reason.

Boy, was I getting sick of that question.

"Twenty-two," I lied. I'm not a compulsive liar, I just don't like saying my real age. They don't give you a goddamn cocktail or scotch at restaurants if they know you're a minor. I know they can lose their jobs and all, and I don't usually get drunk, but a good scotch or beer is good every once in a while. I suddenly had a mean thirst for some coke. I didn't ask for something 'cause then I'd be imposing.

"Oh, I'm twenty-six," he said. But he was lying. The goddamn man was lying. His eyes were way older than twenty goddamn six. I didn't say anything though, in case he was sensitive or something.

"You from London or something?" I asked.

"Yes and no, I go around England usually."

"It's kinda neat. There're people here from all over, huh?" I pointed out. Everyone fell silent.

"So it's true," Antonio muttered like it was a goddamn soap-opera. God, I hate drama. I hate movies too. I remember taking Matthew out to see the newest flick and he liked it. He was good like that, listening or watching or reading any story. He always laughed at the right parts and was sad at the sad parts. But I was so bored. I don't get them. There are just phony actors who practiced how to be these people. I shouldn't be so mad at them, they didn't do nothing to me, I mean, but I still get so annoyed. It bothers me is all.

Or maybe I'm stupid, like I said.

"What's true?" Matthew asked, leaning forwards. His eyes were curious and his lips slightly parted, it just made one want to answer him right away. He was so innocent. I know I say it a lot, but he just kills me.

"Nothing," Feliciano intervened.

"Christssake, don't act like this is some great big mystery," I said, but I was sure getting a helluva kick from it, a right big bang from this. It was giving me something to do, and Matthew too.

Kiku looked at us.

"Isn't it odd, though," Arthur spoke up, "That you two orphaned boys were suddenly plucked off the streets to come to a dinner party with several strange men?"

"What are ya, a wise guy?" I snapped. God, when I got going I get going. I know it's stupid now, but boy did I snap.

"No," Arthur responded. I was surprised. He didn't yell, though he looked ready to rip me to shreds. I think he was overpowered by a sort of misery. I'm not a psychologist or anything so I can't tell you. "I was just pointing it out."

"And we don't live on the goddamn streets. We live in an apartment, no matter how crummy it is." I can be a royal pain in the ass, really.

"Let's not get in a fight," Kiku said suddenly, panicked. He seemed real nervous about something. "We're the only few left, after all."

"Would you goddamn explain something?" I interrupted rudely.

"You wouldn't believe a word if we told you," Francis said.

"Marvelous, then, we'll head home. Give us a buzz if you need something or want to explain." I said, waiting for them to be all sore. Or maybe they'd give me a real couple of knuckles to my head like I deserved. Matthew stood, looking down. He was probably embarrassed about me, but I was so hot I needed to keep going. God, when I get going I get going. I swear it's so annoying.

We said good-bye and I scratched my number down on a paper and left it there. It was real dark out, I couldn't see a damn thing. My headlights barely pierced a beam into the pitch-black. That's another thing I hate about suburban places, they're always so dark at night. It's like they know all the goody-two shoes living there won't get out of the neighborhood. I know that ain't true, though. A lot of the wealthy people here just need some trouble. They go out and shoot the shit, they drink a few shots and get parked out of their minds. Or maybe they have all the streetlights out because they want to hide all the snobby morons there, conceal them from their parents who spend all their time talking about their cars and money anyway. Anyway, that reminds me of a kid from school. He was this wealthy kid, lots of dough, great grades. He wasn't a friend, no siree, he was a great big jerk that's what he was. He always picked up all the whorey-girls and got all sexy with them. It made me so mad 'cause they didn't know any better. I mean, they say don't even say stop or anything. They're just quiet and let the guy get to their under garments. It makes me mad, real annoyed you know? I guess they do it to have some sort of trouble, they have so much they don't know what to want anymore. It makes me so mad. Anyway, I was talking about that kid, Alex, and he got into so much trouble. Apparently, from what a little birdy told me, he got into some deep crap with his jock buddies. They went out and got blasted, parked out, drunk. They couldn't see anything really, and found some middle-aged ladies and did some nasty things. I won't say what because it's repulsive to me and makes my blood just boil. God, I was afraid I'd run into a street lamp or house in this darkness.

I pulled out a cigarette when I found some goddamn light on the highway. I coughed some, really my lungs didn't like my smoking, but I smoked one anyway. I rolled the window down and had my elbow sticking out, like how the tough guys do it. Matthew sat quietly on the other side, staring outside. He liked the darkness, it gave him some comfort. I didn't. God, I loved the sunlight and the warmth, but that's just me. I guess it doesn't make me too tough, but I don't care. If no one knows—not that I really care what people think of me—then I'm fine with liking whatever. I mean, I care what people think and all, but I try not to.

Hey thank you so much for the reviews! Keep 'em coming! I'm so happy you guys liked it. Oh, and about pairings-none! Why? Because I want a broad audience. I don't want people to hate it because of a pairing. There will be some friendship and brotherly affection, though. And I'm pretty sure people don't mind that! Again, thanks for reading!