Damaged Hearts. Jan St. Marcus

ever separate us or else I would just keep going ape-shit until they put us back together. I can’t explain what it was like growing up, but I couldn’t stand being away from him for even ten minutes without hyperventilating and having these panic attacks. He had trouble, too, but not in the same way. I guess I was just so protective because he was my little brother or something.

      “It took years of therapy to get us somewhat normal when we were apart, but we were never apart for that long. This is going to freak you out, probably, but we slept together all our lives. Not sexually or anything gross like that, but we shared a bed all the time. You’re sleeping in his room, but he never even used that bed. It wasn’t weird for us, but, duh, society wouldn’t understand two brothers sleeping in the same bed as adults. But we didn’t care. I couldn’t sleep without touching him. And I never felt complete without him. I guess I was never a whole, complete person unless he was with me. So to answer your question, I don’t have anybody because I always had somebody—my other half was literally my other half.”

      “What was his name?” I whisper.

      “Leonardo. Both my parents were art professors and artists. My father’s favorite artist was Michelangelo and my mom’s was Leonardo Da Vinci.”

      I laugh gently. “That actually makes perfect sense.”

      “You realize that you asked two questions, right?”

      I have to think about this, but it doesn’t take long for me to realize that he’s right. “Okay then. You’re up.”

      Michelangelo takes a swig of his beer and smiles. His eyes blaze at me. “Are you gay?” Kaboom!

      “Fuck, dude! Really?”

      “You don’t have to answer.”

      “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I don’t know for sure one way or the other.”

      “That’s it?”

      “It’s honest,” I tell him. “Feel free to ask a follow-up question if you must,” I add, egging him on a bit.

      “No. I’m good. Your turn.”

      “Do you really want to be my friend?” I blurt without thinking. Fuck me! How the hell did that happen? I quickly look away, studying the pattern my lime is making as it slowly swirls near the bottom of my bottle.

      Michelangelo is silent. After a minute, I look up at him and his eyes are blazing at me again. “I want that more than I’ve wanted anything in a long, long time,” he says.

      “Really?” I say, again speaking before my brain has fully activated.

      “Absolutely. And that’s five. I win,” he says. I can do nothing but smile, finish my beer and look back at this remarkable human being.

      “I want that too,” I say softly, staring into his eyes.

      “I didn’t ask,” he says, looking serious.

      Oh shit. Did I just screw everything up? He leaves me hanging for another beat or two before he starts laughing. “I didn’t ask, but I was going to.” Our eyes meet again. “I’m glad.”

      We sit in silence and finish our beers. He stands up and returns to the window. I follow shortly after. So we’re standing there, side-by-side, looking out the window at the beach with our empty beer bottles for a long time. I don’t know how long, but it was long. And there’s nothing weird about the silence. It’s like what we just shared was all that needed to be said. Well, maybe not forever, but for a good long while. I’m okay with that. Then he turns, squeezes my shoulder with his powerful hand. “I’ve got a meeting in the morning, so I’m going to turn in.”

      “Good night,” I say softly.

      “Have good dreams,” he offers as he walks towards his bedroom.

      “You too.” I hear his beer bottle clink into the recycling bin and his footsteps retreat down the hall. Sparky, who has been sleeping in the corner of the living room through all our drama, wakes, sneezes, and follows him down the hall. “Traitor,” I say. Sparky looks back over his shoulder at me, and he’s looking at me like, “What do you want from me, dude? You’re cool and all, but he pays the rent.”

      I turn back towards the window and realize that, once again, I’m all alone. I smile when I realize that I’m not really alone anymore. Not the complete aloneness that has been with me all my life. Michelangelo likes me and wants to be my friend. And at that moment, my chest feels full, like I can actually feel my heart filling up. I take a deep breath, and my body tingles from where he squeezed my shoulder. And with these fresh feelings, I decide to call it a night and go to my room, admire my new clothes again (no, I didn’t forget about them), and go to sleep. Yeah, I also plan to have good dreams, just like Michelangelo told me to.

      6. Michelangelo

      Well, that just happened, I think as I strip and crawl into bed. I’m trying to recap the conversation I just had with Bran when Sparky jumps up on the bed and throws himself on top of me, wriggling his back all over my face and chest. I reach up to pet him and try to calm him down because I’m really tired and not looking forward to my meeting tomorrow with Marty and Sal, but he’s being a spoiled little shit. And then he calms down a little bit and puts his face right in front of mine, like three inches from my face. As soon as I start to say something to him, he starts licking my mouth. “What the hell, Sparky?” I ask him. He keeps licking. This goes on for another couple of minutes, and as I continue to pet him, rubbing the sides of his face with my hands, he begins to calm down. Then it hits me. He must sense that I am starting to like Bran. He’s jealous! Holy shit, my freaking dog is jealous of my new friend. Okay, that’s more than a little weird. Or maybe he’s happy for me that I have finally found a friend? Nah. He’s jealous. This makes me smile, which makes Sparky rambunctious again. Damn. I have a weird life. Not as bad as it was a few hours ago, but weird all the same. When Sparky has had enough, he calms down and lays down with his head on the pillow next to my head and in a few minutes, we’re both asleep.

      ***

      I’m disoriented. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in . . . I don’t know how long. I mean, I’ve slept, but not well. It’s been six months. I haven’t slept since . . . since Leo died. So why now? Bran. It has to be. There’s no other explanation. Now I know the what, but I don’t understand the why. What the hell is it about this kid that has me tied up in knots? That’s the question. I look up at the ceiling and my clock is projecting 8:30 a.m. Just then, my alarm clock begins its steady chirping. Time to get up.

      I’m not tired. Another first. I stretch and hit Sparky. Doesn’t he usually wake up before I do? Well, he’s awake now. He jumps up on my chest and begins licking my face. “Good morning to you too, Sparky.”

      I roll my legs off the side of the bed, look around, and then stand up and walk to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. I look the same. But I don’t feel the same. Something has changed. But I can’t figure out what it is. No matter how many times I turn it over in my mind, the answer is always the same: Bran. It has been two days, and he’s changed me.

      I take my shower, get dressed, and make my way to the kitchen. When I round the corner, Bran is standing there in his dark-blue jeans and his light-blue shirt. It’s the combo I remember from the GAP. Yes, he looks like a college student. But there’s something else. He’s made breakfast. I don’t know why I didn’t smell it, but I didn’t. Bacon, eggs, and biscuits. I smile. “Wow. Looks good.”

      “I did my best,” Bran says with a smile. “I don’t know if it will be as good as yours. But time will tell.”

      I move to the counter and sit down. He has set up the place settings exactly the way I did that first night. He learns fast. I smile again.

      Bran carries a bowl full of scrambled eggs and a plate with the bacon and sets them on the counter in front of me. Then he opens the