Twisted Reunion

by Tullius, Mark

  A crowd of parishioners filed through the church doors, every type of villager filling the pews. The farmer and his family were in the front row, trying to get closest to God so He would answer their prayers for rain and an abundant crop. Across the aisle, an elderly woman said a prayer for her dead husband and asked when she might be reunited with him, not understanding that she never would. Believers and skeptics held hands as they wished for salvation and survival, peace and prosperity, fame and freedom.

  Conflicting prayers bounced off the tower’s four walls. The farmer’s prayers for rain were just as heartfelt as the travel agent’s plea for clear skies. The teenage boy in the back held his girlfriend’s hand and prayed she would abandon her beliefs and have sex with him, while she prayed God would give her the strength to hold out until they were married. Some prayers were silly, many were selfish, most unrealistic, but all were heard, and all were unanswered.

  The artist studied the canvas. She reached toward it and stroked the hair of a beautiful eight-year-old girl who promised over and over that she’d be good if God let her younger brother walk again. The boy had stepped on a land mine and lost both legs, but the girl truly believed God could change that.

  A few strokes later, the artist’s brush paused, then peppered the street with her final touches. She listened to the rumble outside and set the canvas against the wall, stood at the window and took in the entire scene. As the villagers set aside their differences and joined hands to say the Lord’s Prayer, rebel insurgents crouched outside the building, holding their submachine guns, their fingers anxiously tapping the triggers. The rebels stormed the church, mowed down the farmer and his family, the preacher, the Mayor, nearly everyone in attendance.

  The artist shook her head and left the tower. She’d try again tomorrow.

  Split Decision

  Waking every morning with regret and resentment was taking its toll on Brian. Turning and seeing that lumpy, out-of-shape body, and hearing the incessant snoring, was just that much worse due to lack of sleep. Brian was tired and unhappy with this lifelong commitment. If this was one of his novels, he’d simply erase Joseph and create someone more appealing, or, better yet, allow himself the pleasure of being alone for a while. He’d never been alone, and the thought made him angry.

  But it was too early to be angry, definitely not the way to start the weekend. They were supposed to be installing new shelves in the living room. Brian had been putting it off for months, maybe longer. He couldn’t remember. Everything had become such a blur of procrastination. He didn’t even open his yellow notebook of things he’d promised to do.

  He and Joseph had gone to one of those self-help seminars last Christmas. A gift from Joseph, but really a gift for Joseph, just like every other gift he gave.

  Brian felt Joseph stirring and decided it was time to get up. Brian cleared his throat.

  “Huh?”

  “I gotta get up,” Brian said.

  “Hold on.”

  “Just get up.”

  “Fine.”

  Brian shook his head as he slid off the bed. Even when he didn’t want to fight, they started off this way. The bathroom mirror verified that Brian looked as miserable as he felt. He wasn’t surprised to see his bloodshot eyes and the dark, puffy bags under them, while Joseph’s face seemed so fresh and young.

  “Goddamn it, Joseph. Some privacy would be a nice change.”

  “I’m sure it would, but what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I gotta take a piss. And don’t stand there and watch. That creeps me out.”

  “Like I haven’t seen it before.”

  “Please, just move. I’ve got a bad headache and I don’t want to argue.”

  Joseph’s face softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re my everything. You’re my heart,” he said. “I couldn’t live without you, you big fucking pussy.”

  Brian rolled his eyes. He and Joseph rearranged themselves in the cramped bathroom. As he emptied his bladder, Brian made up his mind. Their relationship was over.

  Half an hour later, Brian was sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, eating cereal and reading the sports section. Joseph was sitting on the stool to his left, smacking up his oatmeal and trying to read over Brian’s shoulder even though he had no interest whatsoever in the football scores. Brian took another swig from his coffee mug.

  Joseph said, “I really wish you would cut back on that. All that caffeine is bad for the body.”

  “It helps me get through the day.”

  Joseph sounded very hurt when he said, “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Brian set the mug down and tried to look at Joseph objectively. It was no wonder everyone stared at them as if they were freaks. They were.

  “Don’t look at me like that. What did I do now? Go ahead then, drink your coffee. You’re being such a prick today.”

  Brian ignored the comment and finished his drink.

  “You aren’t going to be able to sit down long enough to write anything decent,” Joseph warned. “You’ll be getting up every five minutes.”

  “Maybe I don’t feel like writing today.”

  “You should. It helps you relax. And I don’t want you to be a dick all night. Plus, I would like to paint later.”

  “Your stupid flowers…”

  “I sold three this year.” Joseph’s eyes turned cold. “What is your problem?”

  Brian took a deep breath to brace himself for what he was about to say. “You know what we talked about? About separating? I think it would be a good idea.”

  Joseph’s too-small mouth hung open. “You’re just saying that. You’re just angry. Let’s get you some eggs.”

  “I don’t want eggs. I think it’s time.”

  “But the doctor said…”

  Brian nodded. “I know. And I don’t care.”

  “I love you. You’re everything to me.”

  “I love you too, but I think it will be the best thing for both of us.”

  “The doctor said I could die.”

  “He said it was a risk. But so could I.”

  “So that makes it better?” Joseph said, “I won’t do it. Even if I could survive, which I couldn’t, have you thought about where we would live? Who would keep the house?”

  “We’d have to talk about that,” Brian said.

  “No, no. I won’t do it. I won’t go along with it. I won’t consent.”

  Brian turned back to his paper. “Just forget it. Sorry, I brought it up.”

  Joseph asked, “So are we done talking about this?”

  Brian turned the page even though he hadn’t read a single word of print. “Yeah…”

  Later, while he and Joseph were watching television, Brian used the remote to turn down the volume. He turned to Joseph, who was snuggled up beside him, and asked, “Do you want to give me a hand with something?”

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s get those shelves up.”

  Joseph perked up. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  The men got up from the couch, walked through the kitchen, and made their way into the garage. After a quick search, Brian located the Skilsaw.

  He told Joseph, “You can grab the hammer and extension cord.”

  “What do we need all this for?”

  Brian looked down at the plastic drop cloth rolled up in his right hand. “I need to trim the shelves, and I don’t want all the shavings getting into the rug.”

  They stopped at the cupboard in the kitchen and set down the equipment. Brian pulled out a bottle of Early Times whiskey. He gulped down a longer-than-usual drink from the half-empty jug and then offered it to Joseph.

  “Are you crazy? It’s barely eleven o’clock.”

  Brian shrugged and put the bottle away. “Come on, we’re being men.”

  “Well, I wish you would take me into consideration next time you get the urge to drink. Which will probably be in what, two hours?”
>
  “Probably.” Brian mimicked Joseph’s whiny tone. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

  Once they were in the living room, Brian glanced through the window and noted the neighbor’s high brick wall. It was the only time their crappy apartment view didn’t bother him. He closed the blinds, and then connected the Skilsaw to the extension cord. “Go ahead and plug your end in down there. And help me lay this down.”

  The conjoined men bent over at the waist and began unrolling the drop cloth the length of the room. Brian noticed that Joseph was pushing the roll while still holding onto the hammer.

  Brian held out his hand. “Here, I can take that from you.”

  Joseph looked around the room and then at Brian. He kept the hammer and asked, “Where’s the wood?”

  “What?”

  “For the shelf.”

  “Oh, I forgot it in the garage.”

  “I didn’t see it in there.”

  “It was next to the workbench.” Brian held out his hand again. “Here, give it to me.”

  Joseph remained still. “Forgot the nails, too, huh?”

  “Yeah. We’ll go back and get them and the wood. Why don’t you just put the hammer down?”

  “I think I’ll hold on to it for a little while.”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then stop acting crazy.”

  “Me?”

  The whiskey kicked in and gave Brian the extra push he needed. “Give me the goddamned hammer!”

  Joseph took a step back, made Brian stumble. “No.”

  Brian tried to remain calm. “Hand it over.”

  Joseph shook his head. Brian felt his smaller self tremble with fear.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Liar.” Joseph backed up again, but Brian was right there with him. Joseph lifted the hammer in his left hand, but Brian’s much stronger right pinned it to the wall.

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No. I’m tired.” Brian wrenched the hammer from his twin’s grip and watched it fall to the floor. “I’m tired of you.”

  Brian and Joseph simultaneously bent over for the hammer. Brian reached it first and swung as hard as he could, aimed for Joseph’s jaw.

  Joseph brought his arm up just in time, deflected the blow. Both men staggered backward. Joseph shook his arm and shouted, “You’ll kill us both!”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Brian swung the hammer again, but Joseph ducked, the hammer sticking into the wall.

  Joseph latched onto Brian’s arm and fell to his back, pulling Brian down with him. “Fucking stop. Just fucking stop!”

  Brian saw the terror in his brother’s eyes and finally let go.

  Joseph said, “Get off me.”

  Brian awkwardly rolled his head off of Joseph’s neck; the two of them sprawled on their backs, both gasping for air. Brian gazed up at the hammer stuck in the wall, the Skilsaw over on the floor. Tomorrow, he thought. I’ll do it tomorrow.

  Lethal Injection

  Jack held the phone with his shoulder so he could use both hands to clean his chrome-plated 9 millimeter.

  “I’ll be there,” Brian said. “I was just asking if you were sure about this. I don’t even know this guy.”

  “He’s cool.”

  “I got a bad feeling.”

  “Don’t care.” Jack set down the wire brush and checked the gun’s barrel. “You should’ve told me that last week so I could’ve found someone else.”

  “You really trust this guy?”

  “I already told you he’s cool. You need to chill. Can’t lose your shit just ‘cuz your slip said STRANGER.”

  “I said I’d be there.”

  “Good. My rent’s due Monday. If this guy’s right, we should be able to clear at least ten thousand. How many of your teenage buddies make that in one night?”

  “Fine,” Brian said. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  Jack set the phone down, loaded nine hollow points in the magazine plus one in the chamber. It’d be better if Brian wasn’t his sister’s stepson, but at least he was trustworthy. Unlike nearly everyone else in Jack’s life

  The phone rang a minute later. Jack picked it up and said, “You better not tell me you changed your mind.”

  After a brief silence, a woman asked, “Is Jack there?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  The voice softened. “Jackie?”

  Ashlynn was older now and her voice sounded different, but Jack would never forget the woman who’d stabbed him in the back.

  “Jackie, that you? Please say something. It is, ain’t it?”

  Jack had to sit down. “How’d you get my number?”

  “I know you gotta hate me, Jackie, but…”

  “Stop calling me Jackie. That’s not my fucking name.”

  Ashlynn stuttered an apology. “How you been?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “What makes you think I’ve got anything to say to you?”

  “Did you finish up school? I like thinking about you as a lawyer.”

  “Yeah, finished top of my class.”

  “Oh, wow, I always knew you’d do good for yourself.”

  “Glad to see you’re just as sharp as ever. I dropped out three years ago.” Jack stopped for a second, surprised to feel a twinge of guilt at being mean. He focused on her betrayal and could barely keep his voice from shaking as he said, “Who gave you my number?”

  He listened to her pained, amphetamine-laced breaths and eyed the 9 millimeter, wondered what he might’ve done with it if she had appeared at his door instead of calling. They’d gotten married at sixteen. He’d known it was doomed from the start, but he couldn’t let her go, stuck through every stint she spent in rehab. Until she blew everything to shit on his 20th birthday. “I’m hanging up,” he said.

  “Don’t, don’t,” Ashlynn begged. “I got your number from your Selection Service letter. They mailed it here by mistake.”

  Jack stayed on the line, unsure of what to say.

  “Your slip came with it.”

  Jack’s stomach twisted. Part of him wanted to know what was on the slip, but the other part wanted to slam the phone down, rip it from the wall, smash it into a million pieces.

  “You there, Jackie?”

  “I’m here.” Jack’s hand began to cramp around the phone, his knuckles white. He forced himself to relax his grip. “What’d it say?”

  “You’re not getting drafted.”

  Jack’s hand loosened a little.

  “That’s good, right?” she said.

  “What’d it say?”

  “You remember Todd?”

  “What do you think?”

  She sighed. “Jack…”

  “What about him?”

  “His slip said GUNFIRE. They didn’t even stick him in basic training, just sent him right over there with a gun in his hand, figuring he should take out as many as possible before his time’s up.”

  Jack didn’t want to think of the scrawny geek who’d banged her in their bed. “You want me to feel sorry for him?”

  “His brother, Charlie, can’t get a job. His slip said ELECTROCUTION. He could die anywhere. No employer will touch him.”

  “Why are you telling me this? What did mine say?”

  “Come home, honey. Come back home.”

  Jack looked around his filthy, one-bedroom apartment, grateful for what he had. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, baby. I know I made mistakes, but I love you.”

  “That means absolutely nothing to me.”

  “I know you’re mad. You got every—”

  “You’re right. Now, I’m hanging up.”

  “Jackie!”

  Jack was furious at the tears building in his eyes. He shouted, “You just can’t call up and expect me to — what do you want?”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I sc
rewed up…”

  “You’re high right now,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  “No, no. I’m clean. I swear it. I’m better now, Jackie.”

  Jack didn’t know what to say or how he felt. He set down the gun and wiped his hand on his jeans. “What the hell does my slip say?”

  It was Ashlynn’s turn to remain quiet.

  “If you ever want to see me again, you’d better tell me. Now.”

  After a moment, she said, “The death penalty. You’re going to die from the death penalty.”

  Jack blew out a breath. “The death penalty?”

  Ashlynn sounded too cheerful when she said, “It might not be that bad. Maybe it will be when you’re an old man ready to die anyhow.”

  That’s not how it worked, and she knew it. “Holy shit.” Jack was now talking more to himself than to her. “This is why I didn’t want to know.”

  “You get used to it.” She filled the phone with a coughing fit then cleared her throat. “Sort of.”

  Jack pictured himself strapped to a gurney, some heavyset nurse plunging a foot-long needle into his arm, feeding the fatal fluid into his veins.

  “Will you come home? Please come home.”

  “I want that letter. I need to see it.”

  “It’s right here. Did you eat yet?” Such painful hope in her voice. “I could make lunch for us.”

  “I won’t stay long enough for that.”

  “So you’ll come by?”

  “Same house?”

  “Yeah. Same one.”

  “Fine.” Jack hung up the phone, considered calling Brian, telling him they’d have to postpone the plan. But that’d be premature. Maybe Ashlynn was lying; it wouldn’t be the first time. She was probably trying to sucker him back now that she was alone. There wasn’t a letter. It was only one o’clock. She’d said she’d gotten it today. The mail didn’t come that early. She had said today, right? Maybe he should go. He could make it to her house and back with plenty of time to figure out what to do about the job.

  The death penalty was the worst way to go. They cut the anesthetics years ago, and shortages had forced them to dilute the potassium chloride. Jack got up from the table and considered leaving the 9 millimeter even though he never walked outside without protection. If Ashlynn was telling the truth, Jack didn’t need to worry about being gunned down by anyone. He didn’t have to fear for his life. That was already decided. The Selection Service didn’t make mistakes.