One Brother Shy

by Terry Fallis

  I held it all together until I closed my bedroom door. In the dark, in my bed, I cried for my mother. It wasn’t my idea. I hadn’t scheduled it. The grief came rushing out of me in waves and shudders. It was almost what I thought convulsions might feel like. I buried my face in my pillow to dampen the sound, but still Matt may have heard. But he left me. I cried for what Mom carried with her for so long. I cried for the enforced separation from the man she clearly loved. I cried for my father’s guilt. I cried for Matt never knowing Mom. I cried because she was gone. I don’t really know how long it went on. But I was utterly drained when it passed. I could hardly lift my head. But I actually felt better, calmer, grounded, ready. That surprised me. Maybe it shouldn’t have.

  —

  When Matt walked into the kitchen at 6:45 the next morning, I was already there waiting for him at the table. I got up to pour him a cup of coffee and drop the bread in the toaster. I also lowered two eggs into the already boiling water. He kept his peace and sat down to start on his coffee, a medication he seemed to need that morning after our very late night. I’d slept straight through until about five and then had tossed and turned and thought about what I was about to do, the story I was about to share. I spent time mapping out how I would tell Matt my tale. I’d only ever told one other person this story. Of course my mother already knew. She’d been in the auditorium when it had all gone down. But it took me nearly two months of therapy sessions before I could bring myself to tell Wendy Weaver. Now it was Matt’s turn.

  Five minutes later, I’d extracted the eggs, popped and buttered the toast, and set the plate in front of Matt so he’d have something to do while I was prattling on for the foreseeable future. I stayed on my feet. I wanted to be able to move around while regaling him with my sad little tale.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “So, do you have an hour right now so we can get this over with?” I asked. “I don’t want to start if you have to leave in the middle.”

  “Alex, for Gabriel, the time is yours. I need to get to the office at some point this morning to get ready for the big pitch, but the floor is yours, now. I know this is important to you, so it’s important to me. Plus, our father already seems to know all about it, so I’m feeling a little left out.”

  “You won’t be for long,” I replied. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to tell you more about Gabriel than you probably want to know. It derailed me in high school and is still getting in my way today. Even telling you, my own brother, is hard. I’ve only ever told one other person and I remember how hard that was. So just let me talk. Don’t interrupt. Just let me get through it all, and then you can ask all your questions. Okay?”

  “Of course. I promise,” Matt replied. “But just to help me with context, is this why there are two Alexes?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know, with me, when we’re by ourselves, you’re open, funny, articulate, thoughtful, etc. But when others are around, particularly strangers, ‘open Alex’ morphs into ‘closed Alex.’ You lower your head and your eyes, you take two steps back, and you clam up. When you have no choice but to speak, you respond in one-word answers, never say anything more than the bare minimum, and you never make eye contact. Voila, the two Alexes.”

  “Oh, those two Alexes,” I replied. “Then yes, the second Alex, taciturn, anxious, timid, and shy, is brought to you by the good folks at Gabriel.”

  “Right then. Let’s hear it.”

  “It was 2005. I was almost fifteen and in grade ten. I was having fun. I was doing well in school. I had at least some friends. I loved the Drama Society and auditioned for all sorts of roles, landing some great ones. I really loved acting. I wasn’t different, ugly, geeky, fat, bald, skinny, or effeminate. I didn’t dress weirdly. I didn’t have bad breath. I didn’t have severe acne. I didn’t have a speech impediment. I wasn’t a teachers’ pet. In other words, I exhibited none of the traditional markers that might attract bullies. Except perhaps for being in the Drama Society. On the other hand, there were lots of other guys who were into acting but who did not earn the attention of jackasses and jerks.

  “Anyway, for some inexplicable reason, two assholes, one a big burly loud jock and the other a smaller sycophantic follower, latched on to me and wouldn’t let go. It was as if they’d chosen me because I wasn’t their usual fare. Perhaps they’d wanted to change things up that year. Who knows?

  “I recognize what I just described sounds like the set-up for a young adult novel, but stay with me.”

  Matt just nodded.

  “I auditioned for and won the role of the angel Gabriel in the big Christmas pageant, a major production staged every year. The production values and staging techniques in the show were to be bigger, better, and more sophisticated than ever. And I was excited about it. I was pumped.

  “For my big scene, when I appear to Mary to tell her about the surprise son she’s going to bear, I was to be lowered on a cable from the ceiling lighting bay in the school auditorium in my spectacular gold sparkly costume complete with real feathered wings, to give my speech hanging some seventy feet above Mary and the audience.”

  Matt jumped to his feet.

  “Good God, Alex, you’re…”

  “Stop, Matt!” I said, raising my hands. “You promised. Let me finish, and then you can jump to your feet. Sit.”

  He held his hands up in surrender and lowered himself back to his chair.

  “So when the stagehand lowers me into position, three spotlights are unleashed and there I am, seemingly hovering in mid-air, as angels do. I deliver my lines. Mary understandably quakes. Then the spots are doused and the stagehand cranks me back up into the ceiling lighting bay. He pulls me up through the hatch in the floor of the little room, and then I’d wait there until the second half of the show. Then I’d do it all again, this time imparting angelic wisdom to some poor, innocent, ill-informed shepherds, who were watching their flocks by night. I confess, I was nervous at the first few rehearsals, dangling so high off the ground. But I got used to it, and eventually it was very cool to be hanging in mid-air.

  “On show night, I arrived early, as I always did, and grabbed a Coke in the cafeteria. I was sitting with a few other members of the cast talking about the show, when Jackson and Cam, my friendly neighbourhood bullies, sauntered in. Jackson sat down on one side of me, and Cam on the other. My cast mates made a hasty retreat. Jackson grabbed my Coke and took a swig while Cam put me in a gentle headlock. With my head pressed against Cam’s rib cage, I tried to reason with them.” I recalled the scene as if it were yesterday.

  “Come on guys, can we please do this some other time, I’ve got a show to do and I really can’t be late,” I said, trying not to antagonize them unduly.

  “Sure,” Jackson said, sliding the Coke back along the table to me. “That sounds reasonable. Let him go, Cam-man, he’s got a show. Have some respect.”

  Matt was nodding his head. I suspect he was moving ahead in the story without me.

  “Anyway, then they both just stood up and walked out of the cafeteria,” I continued. “So as you can imagine, I was quite surprised and relieved by their withdrawal. It wasn’t really in character for them to back off so easily and quickly. But I thought nothing of it. After tangling with Jackson and Cam, I downed the rest of my Coke. But it didn’t taste quite so refreshing. In fact, it quite literally left a bad taste in my mouth. But I had no time to worry about that, so I grabbed my costume and sat through the director’s last-minute instructions and pre-show inspirational talk. Twenty minutes or so later, I headed up the backstage staircase to the ceiling lighting bay where I would change into my costume.

  “Now here’s where it gets embarrassing to talk about, though not nearly as humiliating as it was to endure that day. But, even though I was excited to be in this production, my excitement had never quite manifested itself as it did right then as I climbed the backstage stairs.”

  “I know, Alex. I know. I’ve seen
the video,” Matt said. “You were, um, somewhat aroused, physically.”

  “Right. Delicately put, and absolutely true,” I replied. “And, of course, you know. You and millions of others.”

  “God, I’m sorry,” Matt said.

  “Anyway, I knew from personal experience that it was not unusual for fifteen-year-old boys to, as you say, be aroused, at almost any time, day or night. I remember that well at that age. But this was different. This was more intense, severe, almost painful in its, um, rigidity, if I’m making myself clear.”

  Matt nodded.

  “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I do remember being thankful I had long flowing gold lamé robes to cloak my, um, excitement. Anyway, when I reached my perch in the ceiling bay, the stagehand who was supposed to help me into my harness and make sure my wings were configured properly was nowhere to be seen. Again, I thought little of it and simply started changing into my gym shorts, which I wore beneath my costume. I heard footsteps on the catwalk outside but it wasn’t the stagehand who showed up, it was Jackson and Cam. They each carried a video camera, which I thought was a little odd. Just to cut to the chase, as I suspect you’ve figured out the outcome already, they stripped me naked, buckled me into the harness to which my wings were already attached, duct-taped my wrists behind my back, then folded my legs up behind me and duct-taped my ankles to my wrists. If you can picture it, my body was fully arched with my wrists and ankles secured behind my back. In my arched position, you can imagine what part of my naked body was soon going to be most prominent in the eyes of the audience below.

  “My extreme condition was not lost on Jackson. I remember his every word.”

  “Fuckin’ brilliant. That stuff worked. It really fuckin’ worked,” Jackson said, pointing to my crotch. Cam seemed shocked, even mortified, by what he saw. But not Jackson. “Wow, MacAskill, you seem really, really excited to be in this show. Your excitement is totally and completely hard…to miss,” Jackson said.

  “Finally, they very securely duct-taped my mouth closed. The only sound I could make would have you looking for pigeons in the area. I’d struggled a bit, but Jackson was a huge, mean defensive lineman, and probably could have pulled off the stunt even without Cam’s extra hands. I was horrified and humiliated, but also resigned, if that makes any sense at all.

  “The auditorium lights dimmed and I heard the familiar soundtrack to the show’s opening number booming from below. I’m quite uncomfortable in the full arch position, but can do absolutely nothing about it. Cam is following the script for the show. This was the kind of well-planned operation I’d seen watching old reruns of The A-Team.”

  “Okay, it’s coming up. I guess you can open the hatch,” Cam said.

  “Roger that,” Jackson said, as he pushed open the floor hatch right next to me. “Let’s get him up so we can get him down.”

  “Right,” Cam said as he grabbed the winch control and hit the Up button.

  “I felt myself lifted up so I was arched face down, horizontal to the ground. They positioned me over the opening. All I could see below was darkness. I could feel a draft wafting up through the hatch.”

  “I see my little blue pill is still doing its thing to your thing. Now remember, MacAskill, if you’re still like that in six hours, call a doctor. Okay, down the hatch you go,” Jackson said, as I shook my head vigorously, making more pigeon sounds. “Don’t fight it, MacAskill, this is going to be epic.”

  “Then, just before Cam hit the Down button, Jackson tapped his index finger hard on my forehead.”

  “I know even you’re not dumb enough to say anything about this to anyone,” he sneered.

  “Then Cam lowered me down through the hatch while Jackson made sure my wings made it through the opening. And then I was alone, in the darkness, being lowered to my position, seventy feet above the audience. I stopped at one point, before I should have, and for an instant, I wondered if they’d come to their senses and the prank was over, that maybe they’d just winch me back up before the spots flared. But no. An instant later, my slow descent continued. I stopped again after what felt like the usual time span. I visualized the little piece of red tape on the steel cable that marked the perfect hanging length. Having rehearsed this show so often, the music told me exactly where we were in the script. At the appointed moment, I look down and towards the back of the auditorium. Right on cue, a spotlight found Mary walking down the centre aisle. Then she stopped, as did her light. I could sense rather than see the audience below me.

  “I remember preparing myself for that moment, for what was about to happen. I decided to stay stock-still. I thought thrashing around would just make it worse. Three, two, one, and the three large spots from three different angles pierced the darkened auditorium and pierced me. I could feel the heat. And there I was, alone, illuminated, every part of my body flexed and curved, save one. A human dowsing stick. You could say I put the arch in ARCHangel, as it was soon to be known by pretty well the entire world.

  “A few seconds elapsed while the eyes of the audience grew accustomed to the bright light but they never grew accustomed to what it illuminated. I heard a collective gasp from below and snickering from above. It took a little time for the audience to comprehend exactly what they were looking at. When I say ‘a little time,’ I really mean about four beats. Then all hell broke loose.”

  Even though he’d already figured it out, Matt was mesmerized by the story. Both his hands kind of cupped his forehead in an expression of what I thought looked like horror and sympathy. He just kept his eyes on mine. He was about to say something, but my raised hand silenced him.

  “People shouted, ‘Kill the lights! Kill the lights!’ but it took another sixty-eight seconds for two of the three spots to shut down. I was counting. By that time, Jackson and Cam had fled through a skylight in the lighting bay to the school roof. Their last act was locking the door of the lighting bay from the inside, where one could find the controls for the largest of the three spotlights, still focused perfectly on my winged, arched, medically aroused, and naked body.

  “I hung there in the spotlight for the next twenty minutes until the janitor finally forced the door of the ceiling lighting bay. You would have thought the audience might have been asked to leave the auditorium. But they weren’t. Finally, the third spot was extinguished, throwing me into welcome darkness, at least for a few seconds until some bright bulb brought up the house lights. I remember thinking, please winch me back up. Please crank me up. Nope. Less than a minute later, the janitor only seemed to find the Down button. I was being lowered directly into the outstretched waiting hands of far too many parents eager to help in my rescue.

  “When I was still about thirty feet off the ground, I locked eyes with those of a young woman about my age who was wearing a bright red dress. I didn’t recognize her. She never took her eyes off mine. There was a look of pure unadulterated empathy on her face as she covered her mouth with one hand. She looked outraged that I was enduring this personal and all too public humiliation. I’d never experienced such a personal connection with anyone before or since, and just through deep and penetrating eye contact. In the years since, I’ve searched for her but have always come up empty. I’m still searching.

  “Eventually, I felt many outstretched hands supporting me and one large coat covering me as I finally made it to the auditorium floor. They unharnessed me, cut the duct tape, releasing my appendages – I mean the ones that were previously trussed up like a Christmas turkey. I distinctly remember someone saying, ‘It’s all right, son, it’s over now.’ The only thought running through my mind was ‘It’s not over. It’s only just started.’

  “Exactly ninety-three minutes later, the full nine-minute video of my naked descent, crisp and clear, perfectly edited, lit, and shot, appeared on what was then a small, brand-new fledgling online platform called YouTube. At least four cameras were used to create the video, which meant that Jackson and Cam had accomplices in the audience. The video was sha
red and reposted across the Internet hundreds of thousands of times over the years, usually with a blurry patch censoring my ‘excitement’ at being exposed in quite so dramatic a fashion. But the blurry patch never quite did its job and there were plenty of versions of the video without the modesty blur. So it’s true. I was, and still am, the star of the very first viral video, the gift that keeps on giving year after year.”

  I looked at Matt, who appeared to be in the throes of early onset PTSD.

  “Okay, you can now finish the sentence you started in the early stages of my story,” I said.

  “ARCHangel. Holy shite, you are ARCHangel. I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “My own twin brother, ARCHangel!”

  “Yes. I know. Believe me, I know.”

  Matt grabbed his iPad from the table and Googled “Top ten viral videos of all time.” Every listing on the first page of Google results had ARCHangel at number one. It was not just the first viral video in the earliest days of YouTube, it was the video with the most all-time views, and we’re talking in the hundreds of millions.

  “So what happened, I mean to you, afterwards?” Matt asked.

  “My life changed in that YouTube instant. Everyone, and I mean, everyone, knew who I was. I grew my hair long as fast as I could grow it. I changed schools on four separate occasions, but each time, it was only a matter of days before my true ARCHangel identity spread through each new school faster than virulent mononucleosis.”

  “Wasn’t there an investigation?” he asked.

  “The school did what it could, but when I remained silent and refused to cooperate, their hands were tied,” I explained.

  “So what did you do?”

  “I stopped going and finished high school by correspondence. I never left our apartment. I withdrew, physically, emotionally, socially, and psychologically. Within four weeks of what my mom and I came to call ‘Gabriel,’ I broke up with Cyndy Stirling even though she was loving and supportive and would have stood by me through it all. But I just couldn’t handle it. I kept right on growing my hair and started wearing big ball caps so I didn’t look quite so much like the poor sap in the video. I looked more like a Metallica roadie. I just went to ground. I kept my eyes and head down through my software engineering degree. I barely said a word to classmates or professors, and I took every possible online course I could find. Then I somehow landed the job at Facetech – how I survived the interview I’ll never know – and I’ve been toiling in a cubicle farm ever since, still with my head down and my mouth closed.”