|
By Grace McNamee
Ferris stood on my doorstep, blond hair waving down
below his navy knit cap, sea-green eyes dancing.
“Well, hello, sister dear!” His voice was overly
cheery, an echo of the TV character he’d been playing for the past three months.
Then the character slid and he stepped inside, heading for the fridge as if
he’d been here within the last two years.
“What are you doing here?” was my only response
as I shut the large wooden door. He searched the fridge, no different from
when I’d seen him last—same old hat, same old shoulder-length hair, same old
out-of-place laughter. He turned in response to the tone of my voice, watching
me over the rim of a Diet Coke. If I’d known he was coming, I’d have gotten
regular.
“Ah … so we’re still annoyed over the whole blowing
you off for Thanksgiving and Christmas and not returning the calls …” He paused
to take another gulp of soda. “Or the dozens of emails that you probably sent.
I lost the password to that account, Janice. I would’ve responded otherwise—really.”
He shoved the door closed on the industrial-sized fridge, then sat in one
of the plastic swivel chairs around the island in the middle of the kitchen.
He was solemn for maybe half a second.
“Listen … I’m really sorry about that. I went through
two dozen excuses trying to come up with one you would believe, but I haven’t
got one. I’m … well, I’m sorry, if that counts for anything.” It didn’t sound
whimsical, casual, or false. He meant it, in a small way. He regretted not
having called or emailed, but I knew that as soon as he left, he’d forget
about calling again.
“It’s OK.” As soon as the words left my mouth he
was my twin again, grinning at me behind the soda, talking again.
“So I’ve decided, acting isn’t my thing.” He was
like a little kid, pouting like a 28-year-old toddler. “Too bland. I think
I want to go into …” He paused for dramatic flare. “Graphic design!” He grinned
again, eyes flashing with childish delight.
“Were you fired or did you quit?” I asked, grabbing
the dish soap and a rag to wash the lunch dishes that couldn’t go in the dishwasher.
“Come over here and help me,” I ordered before he could start talking again.
“Fired,” he replied quietly, “But that dude was
a freakin’ …” He took in my arched eyebrows and considered the tone I’d use
if he went on like that. “You’re too
much like Mom, you know.” He set down the dish he’d
been drying, pushing up the sleeves to his turtleneck a little.
“When was the last time you talked to them?” I handed
him another dish to dry. Once again I was wishing, as I always did when he
came around, that he had a job, a wife, a son, a daughter. All he had was
a dog named Marley, who was probably sitting outside right now waiting for
his return, and a girlfriend named Anita, who he’d probably dumped by now.
“August.” There was a note of pride in his voice,
as if having talked to them two months ago made him a good person.
“Over the phone?”
“Nah, I visited them, needed a place to stay for
a day or two when I was in Phoenix.” It occurred to me how easily distracted
he was. We’d been talking about something he was supposedly excited about,
and now we were talking about something else with almost no transitions.
“Freeloader.” I threw a wet dishrag at him, watching
his attempt to catch it before it made a wet soapy spot on his sweater and
giggling when it splattered there.
“Old maid!” He was laughing as he said it, scooping
up bubbles from the sink and trying to throw them at me.
We were both 6 again, dancing around with the hose
inside the house—though this time the hose was an extendable sink nozzle—calling
each other names, and laughing.
“Ferris, where’s Marley?” I asked when the water
was turned off, the soap bubbles pooling at our feet.
“Outside. Figured I shouldn’t have him at the door
in case April or that God-awful boyfriend of yours answered the door.” He
gave no thought to whether I minded that he hit on my roommate every time
he saw her, insulted my boyfriend both to his face and to mine, and brought
his big yellow Lab mix to place where he might not be wanted.
“Where is April by the way?” He acted all innocent
as he said it, making me want to laugh at his attempt.
“She’ll be home tomorrow.” Ferris grinned again,
and settled down on the couch. I went out and let Marley in the house, and
he promptly joined Ferris on the black leather surface.
As if under orders, I began to make dinner. I’d
planned to have Mexican, but that wouldn’t do. When we were four, I’d put
an entire bottle of hot sauce in his taco in revenge for his decapitation
of my business-executive Barbie. Ever since, he wouldn’t touch tacos or any
other Mexican food.
“How’s Anita?” I asked idly as I stirred the mac
and cheese and put the hamburgers on the grill.
“Oh, I dumped her about a month ago.” His tone was
so casual I could’ve sworn he didn’t care. He probably didn’t.
We said nothing throughout the meal except what
was due in manners. All the stories between us had been shared, the stupid
things he’d done as the class clown starting practically in Pre-K and my commanding
attitude that followed as a result. He wasn’t one to make small talk about
other people and I didn’t have the patience to ask him about his new job,
new girlfriend, “new life”. His oval face never moved away from his plate
until the food was gone, and then he didn’t look at me, taking the time to
adjust his cap. He hadn’t bothered to take it off.
He stood up when he was done, taking his dishes
into the kitchen and letting them clatter in the sink.
“Well, I’m off to Motel 9. I’ll swing by tomorrow
to say hi to April.” Marley trotted along behind him as he headed for the
door.
“Don’t do that,” I sighed, picking up my own plate.
“Motel 9 doesn’t allow dogs. Take the guest room downstairs.” His eyes lit
with laughter, his mouth curling into a smile. I don’t think he knew how to
smile with his mouth closed.
“Thanks.” Once again I could tell he really 100
percent meant it.
“Where’s your bag?” I probably sounded strained.
I wanted Ferris to leave, but I knew he didn’t have the money for Motel 9.
I couldn’t leave my twin out on the street with only Marley for company.
“On the porch.” He brought in the small, second-hand
suitcase and the crammed backpack, then pulled out a Tupperware container
and a bag of dog food. He set them on the kitchen counter, looking around
the huge room, looking out of place among the neat shelves.
I stood in the doorway wondering why he didn’t come
here more often, so he wouldn’t be homeless and alone. He poured the dog food
as if he was a child feeding his pet. But there wasn’t the pride of a nine-year-old
boy feeding his prized pet.
“Goodnight,” I told him, watching the dog eat rather
than watch his face.
“Night.”
I woke up the next morning when Marley curled up in my bed, like a giant smelly
pillow. It was nice to have him there. I lay my head against his neck, too tired
to think about why Marley would be here and not downstairs with Ferris. The
paper in his collar crinkled uncomfortably under my cheek. I pulled at it, removing
it from the collar and rolling over on my side to read the scrawl sketched across
the sticky note.
Janice,
I’m sorry.
I’ll get a job eventually, and a house, and some cash and maybe a
wife and some kids.
At the moment, you might want to know that I’m broke. I’ve
got fifty bucks left and that’s it. I’m not asking for money. But
maybe you could take Marley in for me for a little while …
I’ll try to call you when I get to school; I’m going to Maryland
University to learn graphic design somehow. I know you don’t think it’s
going to last. Maybe it won’t.
Sorry and Thank you, if those two go together.
Love to you, Marley, and April,
Ferris
Grace McNamee just completed her first year at
Georgetown Day School.
|
