Sun, December 13, 2074 2:23 pm: Arbormoor Manor- Arbormoor, Pleasantview
Despite what her mother may have insisted, Oona's life did not begin with her parents sweating and sighing in an underpass while an oil drum fire splashed light against the concrete behind them like some pornographic retelling of Plato's cave analogy. Nor did her life begin upon a hunter green evacuation cot in the hallway of a bomb-threatened maternity clinic where all patients, regardless of caste, had been treated equally. Oona's life began here, at thirteen-years-old, in this drafty corner of Jorge's attic. She felt so insignificantly new to the world then among the few remaining possessions of the previous owners. There was the matriarch's blue taffeta gown fading beneath the window with its high and narrow collar standing testament to the straight neck that once fitted it. Isabella Fiorello had been touted as one of the greatest turn of the century thinkers by men like Lord Ishmael Harp and Augustin Nicholaevna. Today, her poetry was hardly known, let alone read. Most of what remained of her was right here in this little room. Sometimes, Oona imagined that Mrs. Fiorello had simply evaporated into the air, leaving that empty dress like a signpost: I.F. was here. Mrs. Fiorello was a minor character in the annuls of history, just another disintegrating relic in house full of disintegrating relics. Oona's life began with this tactile certainty of her own impermanence.
It was funny, really. Macaulay too slipped beneath the arches of Arbormoor Manor when he did not want to be seen, finding some long abandoned corner of the house to wallow in. It occurred to her to look for him here the instant she realized that the house was a little too still without the music from his piano or his giant, clomping feet. Maybe his life began here too. Maybe when the wind whipped around the turrets and the window panes shivered, it seemed to Macaulay like the rocking of an all-too-familiar cradle. It had seemed that way for Oona at that age, in any case. Macaulay prized his solitude above all things. He was in touch with his thoughts in a way that Oona suspected most people were not.
Needless to say, he had not been delivered in the melee of an evacuation while a bunch of harried nurses failed to notice the woman whose infant was already crowning . Macaulay was born at Queen Isis IV under the watchful eye of one of the best doctors in the country. Oona's mother let her hold him when he was less than an hour old and before he had even been named. He seemed so alien to her then, maroon and wrinkled and startlingly blue-eyed. His big ears hearkened back to some long dead fae ancestor that the two siblings did not share. Already, Oona could see the beginnings of a jawline that squared off like her own, a head full of wiry curls that were so dominant in their family, eyebrows that would curve just as their mother's did, and an inherent disapproval of the world that only the two of them would share. If Macaulay was eerie to her at birth, it was because she could sense that he was her doppelganger, equal and opposite. He offered his new bird an arm to perch on.
"What's its name?" Oona thought this announcement of her presence would startle him, but it would seem that he had known she was there.
"Merrick," he said, petting the bird's breast with the backs of his fingers. "Dad's idea of a surprise." His voice trailed in rather a telling way. It said to her that he wanted to be thought of as too old to be as excited about the gift as he really was. He had wanted a pet for many years, but Jorge always shut him down. If Macaulay wondered at his father's sudden acquiescence, he might have reasoned that the bird was here because Lavinia and Hunter were not. She loved Jorge, but he really was clueless about how to approach his son in difficult situations. Oona proceeded into the room. The floorboards creaked noisily beneath her. Macaulay transferred the bird to his shoulder, where it craned its neck this way and that. Oona didn't like birds. They unnerved her.
"So did this surprise occur before or after you caved Enoch Goth's face in for him?" Macaulay shot her a glare.
"Save it," he snapped. Oona knitted her brow. This conversation was beginning to give her a sense of déjà vu. Yesterday, her father met her and Jack at the front door, his eyes smoldering with that preternatural knowing of his. Sometimes, she felt that she alone could see the machinery turning in her father's head. The problem was that even after a lifetime of studying the mechanics, Oona was still ignorant about the function of the machine. Her father excused Jack from the room and pushed her into the wall, demanding to know what she had done. She thought that he suspected her of having murdered Horace Goth, but she was not an animal. That was Kvornan's department. Anyway, whatever she was, she had succeeded. The vineyard was theirs. They could fence it off, pave parts of it over, secure it. If her father took her advice, they would plant melaleucas to dry the mire up then burn the melaleucas down. When the melaleucas came back, as they surely would, they would set the trees alight again. Oona imagined generations after her razing the forest over and over again until they no longer knew why they did it. She cleared her thoughts.
"Tell me what happened," she said.
"Why should I?" Macaulay eyed her skeptically while the bird rifled through his hair with its beak. She supposed that it must have been uncomfortable but Macaulay gave no sign. Oona exhaled through her nose.
"Because this is your big chance to talk to the one person who's going to understand you and not judge you for it. Who in this family has had a more complicated relationship with the Goths? If anybody has your back on this, it's me. Cully, put the bird away." Macaulay hesitated but eventually opened the cage. He made a few nonsensical twittering noises at the bird and lifted it onto its perch.
"The first thing you need to know about Enoch is that he's a jerk. He's a jerk to everyone in general and a jerk to me in particular." Oona waited while Macaulay latched the cage shut. "He doesn't like that he has to associate with a half-Townie Mid-Caste kid, and he's jealous of me getting all of Laurie's attention. I normally put up with his name calling bullshit because if I let it irk me then that would be giving him power, you know?"
"I know." Macaulay brushed a few stray plumes from his epaulet.
"He just pushed the buttons the other day. And no, I'm not sorry that it happened. And no, I can't promise that it won't happen again." A cloud passed over the sun and for a moment, the room was in shadow. Macaulay wrung his fingers. He was not defiant. He was putting forth simple truths of which he was ashamed. Oona knew what that was like too.
"You grounded," she asked.
"Very." Macaulay cracked a smile. She supposed that he had surprised himself with the sarcasm of that last. He shook his head ruefully. "I spent my whole life watching Vin getting pushed around, and I couldn't do anything about it."
"Cully..." She didn't know what to say to that. Oona knew what it was to be a thirteen-year-old at the mercy of adults. She knew what it was to catch the dark side of the world in snapshots and to try to make sense of it with a child's discernment. If there was a sure way to navigate those sorts of experiences, Oona never learned it.
"I don't hate him. I can't, he's my dad. I don't even think Vin hates him, not really. But he hates himself, and he takes it out on the rest of us. I don't want to be that. I want to feel bad about Enoch." The bird shuffled in its cage. Oona took her brother by the arms and squeezed.
"Want to know a secret? It's not about being a good person or a bad person. It's about working with what you've got in order to create the most harmony that you can manage. If you don't have it in you to feel bad about Enoch, or even to stop yourself from pummelling him a second time, don't dwell on what kind of a person that makes you. Really, don't. The key is to figure out what you want from what you've done. Do you want Enoch to be afraid of you? Do you want him to leave you alone? Do you want him to forgive you? Do you want him to respect you? You determine what you want to come of this, and that's the angle you work. You're in the shit now Cull, and from the sound of it, you're going to stay there. So turn it into lemonade." Macaulay lifted his head.
"You don't really believe that, do you? I'm not sure I believe that." There was a mouse scratching behind the wall. Oona stepped in closer to her brother.
"You are going to trip over unresolved emotional crap down the road. That's a given. Question is, are you going to fall and scrape your little knees, or are you going to roll?" Macaulay shook his head.
"I think I'd rather just stop walking," he said.
Fri, December 11, 2074 7:21 pm-- Caliente Manor; Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Macaulay sank his fingertips into the beveled edge of a wall pannel while Ian positioned his shot. He thought of seeking out a wood grain whose lines would match up with the creases in his knuckles. Maybe he could camouflage his hand into the wall, and the rest of his body would follow. There were things about Pleasantview that Macaulay was not going to miss-- the conflicted blend of progressive and obsolete social attitudes that kept him teetering like a tightrope walker, the way that all of downtown stank like an old penny just before dusk, the black cloud of mosquitoes over that swelled Arbormoor in summer, and this most of all-- billiards night at Caliente Manor.
Macaulay did not dislike his friends. He did not even dislike Enoch who spent the first two weeks of their acquaintance refusing to acknowledge his presence. Even Enoch had his moments of virtue, which were made all the more poignant for his widespread priggishness. When Macaulay thought about it, this was probably why Laurie liked Enoch. It was why Macaulay liked him, in any case. Macaulay had a certain appreciation for all of them, he was just too used to being on his own to know how to be a pack animal like other teenagers.
This failing was not so desperate as it sounded. Most of his life had been spent alone or close to it. He found ways to engage himself. There were always new worlds to be explored within the walls of his own home, books to be read, puzzles to be solved, model cars to be built, music and languages to be mastered. He would never have characterized his childhood as lonely, merely separate. If not for Laurie, Macaulay would not be here at all.
As their circle expanded to accommodate Madeline and Warren Burb, Macaulay felt himself disconnecting further, so much so that he had begun to forge a physical distance from the main action of the room without his realizing. This did not go unnoticed. Earlier in the evening, Madeline threw her arm around his shoulders and subtly coaxed him forward. He had drifted back into the corner since then. Madeline began throwing questions at him to keep him involved. Ian was giving him that whipped puppy look of his at intervals. Ian's empathy was starting to grate on Macaulay's nerves just as much as Enoch's sexist jokes about the maid ever had. Warren sat by the fireplace with his nose buried in the Pleasantview Examiner, too preoccupied to wonder whether or not he should be respecting Macaulay's distance. Enoch, meanwhile, was finding ways to hit Macaulay with his pool cue while making it look debatably accidental. He felt like roadkill. He felt like absolute roadkill with a crowd of children hovering above him poking and prodding, consulting one another about whether or not he was dead.
Laurie left the room some time ago to study for a Physics exam. The game went on without him, and would probably continue until Mr. Caliente kicked them all out, which could take hours. According to him, Spartan citizens began military training as early as age seven, and the only modern corollary for the upper casts was billiards or golf depending on which of the two Mr. Calliente was advocating on a particular day. Far be it for him to interrupt young people engaging in such a core enterprise as billiards. Mr. Caliente had a certain sense of humor that often went way over everyone else's heads. Macaulay did not think that it was funny, not when he found himself staring down the barrel of the long night ahead of him. When Laurie left the room, a piece of Macaulay left with him. It sounded trite and overly dramatic in his mind, but it was true. Laurie was Macaulay's confidence, his connection. Laurie made Macaulay's presence felt, even when Macaulay said nothing at all.
"You going to join the land of the living or what?" Macaulay turned around, slowly peeling his hand from the wall. Everyone but Warren was looking at him. Enoch nodded his head towards the table. "You're up, hotshot." Macaulay looked at the table, losing himself in a sea of green felt. He would scratch on purpose, just to get the others out of his hair. He picked up his cue from against the wall. Leaning over the table, he could almost feel Enoch breathing down his neck. He picked an angle.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look just like a girl from behind?" Macaulay gritted his teeth at the remark while Enoch chuckled low in his throat.
"Give him some room, man," Ian chastized. Macaulay could hear Enoch stepping back. He searched for a clear path for the cue ball to land directly into a pocket.
"Three, side pocket," Macaulay mumbled. Enoch crept up next to Macaulay, wide-eyed and innocent as a lamb. He leaned his backside against the table and kept talking as though he had never been interrupted.
"I don't suppose that's something Lawrence would ever say. Then again, he's probably never been in a position to say it, has he? I think he'd tell me if he had, seeing as how I'm his best friend and all. Speaking of, you might want to act on that soon, Cull. Wouldn't want our man Laurie looking elsewhere for what he can't get at home, am I right? See, older guys expect certain things, and--"
"If I take the shot, will you shut-up?" Macaulay could feel his face growing hot. It was obvious that Enoch was trying to distract him, but the more he ignored it, the tighter his stomach wound in upon itself. Enoch was not saying anything that Macaulay had not thought of. Worse, Enoch must have now known that he had struck a nerve.
"Hey, why the long face? Just a little friendly advice," Enoch cooed.
"God Enoch, you're so pathetic sometimes. Can't you just lay off him?" Finally, the only person in the world with any influence over Enoch whatsoever had spoken. Enoch opened his mouth to protest when Warren cut-in.
"Whoah, that is so fucked-up!" A general puzzlement fell over the room. Macaulay could tell from his friends' expressions that they were all of one mind-- That yes, Enoch was rude beyond measure and yes, Madeline was not shy about cracking the whip when necessary, but these were typical behaviors. Warren's reaction, on the other hand, was completely out there. "Did you guys hear about this?" Warren snapped the paper straight. "'Dead Townsman Uncovers Scandal At Tellerman Manor'?" He was met with blank stares. He folded the paper in half before reading aloud.
"The body of Earl Gozanga, age forty-six, was found by a jogger yesterday in northeast Arbormoor. Gozanga, a caretaker at Gothier Green Lawns Cemetery was reported missing on November 20th after failing to return home from work. According to the Arbormoor Coroner's Office, the victim's cause of death was blunt trauma to the neck, possibly by the edge of a shovel or spade. The family of the victim reports that Gozanga had been hired by Mr. and Mrs. Jean-Luc Tellerman of Gothier to disinter over a dozen bodies found in a mass grave on the Tellerman property, to be reburied in Arbormoor Forest."
"Let me see that." Ian snatched the paper out of his brother's hands. Madeline screwed up her face incredulously.
"I don't believe it," she said.
"Man, this is serious. The Tellermans could be doing jail time if it's true," Warren added. Macaulay wanted to throw in, as well they should but held his tongue. Madeline pressed further.
"What else does it say?" Ian shook his head, his eyes working furiously across the page.
"Not much," Warren said. "There was a second grave digger on the site that the police now have in custody. Apparently, he was the last person to see Gozanga alive and is the chief suspect. The police found the burial plot in Arbormoor. Evidence suggests that Gozanga's body was moved after he experienced significant blood loss. The bodies that they were burying are thought to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred years deceased. The Tellermans were unavailable for comment. Locals think it was something called the Trike-yoo curse."
"What's the Trike-yoo curse," Madeline asked. Ian made a fluttering, dismissive motion with his hand.
"Tricou," he corrected. "It's to do with the family that built the house. Almost all of them died horribly or disappeared or went crazy back in the mid 1990's. People say that the family participated in blood rituals and orgies and the like. Urban legend." Enoch bowed his head, pretending to fall asleep.
"I'm sorry," Enoch yawned, stretching his arms wide. "Must have just dozed off there. Remind me again why we should give a gnat's ass about a bunch of eighty-year-old Townie bones?"
"Probably something to do with a man dying as a result of your aunt and uncle dumping human remains in the woods to make way for a swimming pool," Warren scoffed. "Anyway, the article didn't say the bodies were Townsmen. It doesn't identify them at all, actually." Everyone turned to Enoch, each wondering whether he knew something that they did not. He crossed his arms over his chest, reading their faces.
"Oh come off it, of course they were Townie! The only way that no one would notice a person burying twelve plus people in their backyard is if everyone looked the other way while it was happening. Besides, it's always the same story, isn't it? First Townies are born, then they go missing, then their mangled corpses are found in the woods. Isn't that right, Cully?"
Macaulay could not have said what came over him then. Whatever it was, it moved at an instant and was as involuntary as his heartbeat.
By the time he realized what he was doing, Enoch was lying on the floor shielding his face with his arms while Macaulay squatted above him, dealing blow after blow. Enoch's ink-black hair lay sopping upon his forehead. His nose was caked with blood and snot.
Macaulay could feel his pulse racing just beneath the skin. His fist throbbed with pain, but he could not reign in his need for more. He needed to make Enoch hurt more. There was nothing but the communion of his knuckles with every part of Enoch's head that he could reach, and when that was insufficient, he grabbed Enoch by the hair, striking the back of his skull against the floor.
Some distant part of his brain heard Warren swearing, and felt Ian's hands pulling him away. Macaulay continued to kick and swing ineffectually while Enoch rolled onto his side. Unable to inflict more damage, Macaulay howled in frustration.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Don't you ever talk about my mother, you bottom-feeding piece of shit!" The door flew open then, and Laurie strode in.
"Maddie, did you-- Oh my god." Laurie drew back when he noticed Enoch in a puddle on the floor. Madeline rushed over to inspect the damage. Laurie looked up at Macaulay, who was still fuming. "Oh my god."
"I think he might have a concussion. He's definitely going to need stitches. Enoch?" Madeline was patting Enoch's cheek. His lip had burst and his nose might have been swollen, but who could tell? Macaulay was not sure if it was enough, but it was a start. If anyone deserved worse, it was Enoch. Arrogant, tedious, horse-faced little weasel. Macaulay was done putting up with Enoch fucking Goth.
"Cully, what the hell?" Laurie seemed to be pleading more than anything. Macaulay felt a little ashamed, but no more. When he did not respond, Laurie bent down to help Enoch to his feet. Ian pulled Macaulay back against him by the collar and murmured heatedly in his ear.
"I'm taking you home." Ian pushed Macaulay roughly forward. "Maddie, get him to a doctor. Warren, you're coming with me."
Macaulay glanced over his shoulder as Ian lead him out of the room. Laurie was dabbing Enoch's nose with his shirt sleeve and saying something that Macaulay could not hear. Enoch nodded in response. A fresh surge of bitterness chilled Macaulay to the core. Laurie never asked if Macaulay was alright. He had hardly taken his eyes off of Enoch from the moment he walked through the door. Macaulay had never been angry at Laurie before, but he was now and the feeling was undoubtedly mutual. Maybe it would take a while for things to be the same between them again. Still, Macaulay was not sorry that it happened. It was the first time that he had ever felt truly satisfied to be his father's son.
Weds December 9, 2074, 6:39 pm: Caliente Manor-- Middlebourne, PleasantviewLaurie entered the sitting room in much the same way that he entered any room-- Obtrusively. The brass doorknob punched the wall with a deafening crack upon the initial swing inward, then slammed shut behind him with equal gusto. Macaulay braced himself to be toppled over as Laurie launched his body at the chair like a walrus being pitched from a diving board. The impact took Macaulay's breath away.
"Slowest arrival ever! Your Aunt Donna must drive like she's 90." Laurie locked his knees around Macaulay's waist, rocking him from side to side as he teetered. Macaulay winced. There was an ache in his chest that was too weak to be pain but too uncomfortable not to be pain. He wedged a hand between himself and the grinning typhoon of a boy on top of him.
"I think you broke a rib," Macaulay said.
"Only one? I was aiming for the whole set." Laurie lifted Macaulay's shirt out of his pants and peered underneath to inspect his work. Macaulay laughed, tugging his shirt down. There was something very alien about the feeling of his skin being exposed in someone else’s house.
"Would you get out of there?" Laurie placed a hand over Macaulay's heart, pressing him against the chair.
"No way, I have to make sure your rib is truly broken before we call the paramedics. Which one was it? Was it this one?" Laurie ran his fingers over the crest of an individual rib, knowing just how ticklish Macaulay was. Macaulay laughed and tried to twist away with limited success. "Or was it this one?" Laurie repeated the experiment on a lower rung.
Macaulay lifted his back in an attempt to distract Laurie with a kiss but fell several inches short of his mark and flopped back onto the cushion. Laurie snickered. His eyes seemed to say that he knew what Macaulay was up to. He removed his hand from inside of Macaulay's shirt, and brushed Macaulay’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.
Macaulay closed his eyes. He thought sadly that he had waited too long to tell Laurie how he felt. Each day brought them closer to separation. He should have held him when they were both coughing up pond water and shivering more out of nervousness than cold.
"You're lucky you're so good looking or I'd have tickled you to death just for kicks. It would be such a waste to murder the cutest guy in Pleasantview for no good reason." There was a certain amount of sincerity in his voice but all that Macaulay could do was laugh. He thought that only Lavinia had ever shared Laurie's opinion about his looks. Even his sister called him a "blue-eyed chimp with a head like a grapefruit".
"There's a ton of better looking guys than me," he asserted.
"Name one." Macaulay fidgeted with the kite-shaped knot in Laurie’s tie. It seemed cheesy to say that he rarely noticed anyone apart from Laurie himself, however true.
"Well, Ian, for a start." That was honest enough. Laurie scrunched up his features in mild distaste.
"You think Ian is handsome?" Macaulay did not respond but his bashful smile must have spoken volumes. Laurie appeared to be lost in his own appraisal just before he recalled in horror, "Ian gave you mouth-to-mouth!" Macaulay's smile widened. He had not forgotten. Laurie resumed his tickling assault through Macaulay's clothing. "You are in so much trouble!"
The door opened. It happened just slowly enough that Laurie managed to climb down off of his perch and Macaulay righted himself in the chair before the entire form of Laurie’s father came into view. Maybe Mr. Caliente had not witnessed the tell-tale physicality of the scene but he had probably noticed them shifting their posture during the instant that the door was cracked wide enough to see only sections of their bodies in motion. For a moment, Mr. Caliente looked perplexed.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Good evening, Mr. Caliente.” Their greetings overlapped, both sheepish mumbling. Laurie offered his father a valiant smile and Macaulay followed suit.
Mr. Caliente unnerved Macaulay under most circumstances. He had a presence that was so big it could blot out the sun and if you were unfortunate enough not to guess his movements before he made them, you might find yourself trampled underfoot. Macaulay was very familiar with the looming overhang of Mr. Caliente's sole and the deep shadow that it cast.
"I got a phone call earlier today from the Board of Trustees at Pleasantview Youth Boarding. They want to rededicate the school in honor of your Grampa Terry."
"That's great news, Dad." Laurie remained chipper and finally, the colossus allowed himself to smile.
It was earnest, even happy. He looked like Laurie. Macaulay tried to commit this image of Troy to memory, in case he ever needed to depend on it for support if they came into conflict.
"Don't stay down here too long. You boys are meant to be doing your homework."
"We won't." Mr. Caliente excused himself without another word. Laurie leaned into Macaulay until their shoulders butted.
"So," Laurie paused as if to gather his thoughts. "Did you bring it?" It took Macaulay a second to remember just what Laurie was referring to. When the realization struck him, he began rooting around in his pockets, astonished that he could have forgotten. His ascot was crumpled and clinging to the lining of his pocket. Once he had a hold of it, he yanked it out with one motion. He handed it to Laurie, who rested it gently on his upturned palm. Laurie gave Macaulay his ascot in exchange. The two of them spent a time examining the ties. Laurie's was off-white and speckled with little orange stains.
"Do we have to wear them or can we just carry them on our person somewhere?" Macaulay had to ask. Laurie sucked his teeth.
"You should wear it sometimes but the more important thing is that you live with it. That's the whole point. I want to have something that you took everywhere with you and that you did everything with. I want it to smell like you by the time I get it back." That prompted Macaulay to bury his nose in the ascot and indeed, it did smell like Laurie's soap.
"What do I tell my grandmother when she asks why I'm wearing a dirty tie?" Laurie shrugged at the question.
"Tell her that you're borrowing it from your boyfriend because it reminds you of him, and that he eats curries. A lot of curries." Macaulay laughed.
"I think I will tell her that." Macaulay folded the ascot into quarters and held it in his fist. It seemed too sacred a thing to be stuffed in his pocket like his own tie. "I'm going to miss you so much." Laurie leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek.
"So what's the story behind this one?" Laurie smoothed Macaulay's ascot out on his thigh.
"What makes you think there's a story?"
"The stitching has green stuff on it." Macaulay laid his hand over Laurie's, tracing the seams.
"This is the tie I was wearing when you found me. I always know it because of the algae." The stains were faded now. Laurie must have really been looking.
"I should have thought to give you the one that I had been wearing too."
"No, it's easier to tell them apart this way." Laurie stuck the ascot in the interior pocket of his jacket. He rested his head on Macaulay's ear.
"Will you really tell your grandmother about me?" Macaulay warmed at the thought. He climbed onto Laurie's lap and draped his arms over his shoulders.
"Are you kidding? I'm going to tell everyone that I meet about you-- My family, my classmates, random strangers on the train. I'm going stand on street corners in the middle of the night and yell things about you to anyone who can hear. How could I not?" Laurie's face refused to settle on an emotion. He looked pleased and alarmed, maybe even a little ashamed. Macaulay knew what he was thinking. He hadn't said a word to his parents yet. Of course, he had his reasons, the biggest one being sheer dread. He was hurt that Laurie couldn't find it within himself to stand his ground against a parental explosion, if necessary. They couldn't hide forever. Then again, his father might already know. Macaulay was disheveled enough for Mr. Caliente to have noticed.
"I love you, Cull." Laurie's voice was barely above a whisper but it had been brave of him to say it first. Macaulay laid his head on Laurie's shoulder. He resolved never to move from the spot again for as long as he lived and longer.
Mon December 7, 2074 11:10 pm: Arbormoor Manor-- Arbormoor, Pleasantview
The flames rose, claiming shards of the cherry wood cabinet, dry leaves and the occasional exploding bottle. A resolution stronger than logic kept Jorge in place, within spitting distance of the shattered glass, unflinching.
Often when he opened himself up to impulse, words and deeds poured forth that he never knew he had inside of him. Hidden sentiments emerged from the swirling morass of his thoughts, so black with emotion that they could have been mistaken for a perfect nothing. No assessment, rational or otherwise, was made during these moments. It was as though his body was possessed by the ghost of himself. 
Earlier that evening, Jorge found himself standing in the cellar door, turning the gas lamp overhead on and off, on and off. The hatchet that he used to chop firewood was leaning against the wall, away from the rakes and the spades, flecked with mud. For a time, Jorge studied the object against its shadow, its shadow against the floor. He forgot his purpose, forgot whatever task he meant to accomplish by opening the cellar door. He slid his hand down the length of the handle. The sound of the blade scraping the stone floor echoed down the narrow passage as he dragged the instrument towards him. With both fists tight around the handle, it was equally likely that he was on the verge of dismembering himself as it was that he was off to collect timber.
Jorge lifted the hatchet high above his head as he entered the dining room. His footsteps gained momentum like they knew what they were after. He stopped when the toe of his boot hit the clawed foot of the liquor cabinet.
His movements were mechanical, the slump of his shoulders, indifferent with each fall of the hatchet.
The backdoor slammed, jarring Jorge into the present. A board collapsed and the sparks flew upward, an incandescent murder of crows. Dead leaves crunched under Macaulay's sneakers.
"Dad?" Jorge fought with his own face. He needed to look okay and he needed it to seem genuine. "What is all this?"
Jorge folded his arms over his chest, at once aware that it was cold. He glanced over his shoulder at Macaulay who was rubbing his eyes against the sting of smoke.
"What do you mean? I thought you liked bonfires. You always used to when you were little." Macaulay smiled pitifully. It seemed to say, Nice try, old man.
"What are you burning?" Macaulay's voice was soft. Jorge peered into flames, finding the beveled edge of an ornate leg.
"It's the liquor cabinet." He did not turn back to his son but he could feel their shoulders brushing. The fibers of Macaulay's sweater grappled into Jorge's coat. Macaulay scuffed the dirt with his shoes.
"For serious?"
"Yep." Macaulay's eyes widened. He understood that this was less a piece of furniture chopped to kindling than it was a funeral pyre.
"Was the alcohol in there when you lit this thing?" Macaulay's tone was somewhat joking, despite his morbid sense of wonder.
"Some. Most of the bottles broke when I smashed the damn thing. Didn't you notice the mess?" Macaulay leaned against Jorge's arm. Whatever amusement Jorge had heard in Macaulay's voice settled. His curly hair brushed Jorge's nose and mouth.
"I'm not sure I want to leave you like this when I go to Veronaville."
"Leave me like what, exactly?"
"Quirky." The wind blew, revealing a few charred remains. Macaulay lifted his head to look Jorge in the eye. "If you need me, I'll stay. I won't even think twice." 
Jorge's chest ached. Every disappointment that he had ever put this boy through, every worry, every rage, every ladder rung towards a forced adulthood-- Jorge had disassociated himself from his own parents for arguably less, and yet here Macaulay remained. His son, who did not judge. His son, who forgave without rancor. Jorge cupped his hands over Macaulay's ears and pressed the bridge of his nose against Macaulay's forehead. He'd done nothing to deserve the love that he felt for this boy and less to deserve the love that was returned. His hands slid down Macaulay's neck, resting on his shoulders.
"I'll never stop needing you but I'm not your responsibility, alright?" Macaulay nodded. Jorge patted his cheeks. "You're everything to me, you and your brother. You know that?"
"I know." The fire cracked and hissed. Macaulay's gaze drifted amongst the embers. "Vin looked pretty at dinner the other day, didn't she?" Macaulay paused as though awaiting a response. Jorge did not give him one. "I don't expect you to pledge your undying passion or anything but can't you at least be friends? It makes me sad to think that you can't."
"Cully..." What little pride Jorge had barred him from saying this aloud but he was beginning to understand how essential Lavinia had been to his life. Everyday he would think of things, trivial things that he wanted to say to her. When he remembered that he couldn't say them, that they weren't even friends, he knew a heartbreak akin to mourning.
"I just want you to be happy, both of you," Macaulay whispered. Jorge wrapped an arm around his back.
"You make us happy." He could say that with a certain amount of authority, even in Lavinia's absence.
"Not enough." It was not an accusation, only a simple truth but it lashed Jorge just the same. This was what he deserved.
They stood in silence for a time. The fire began to burn low. A barn owl hooted far off in the distance.
"I'm selling the house." It seemed as good a time as any to break the news. There followed a pause so prolonged that Jorge thought Macaulay did not intend to respond.
"That's probably for the best," he said. Clouds obscured the stars, making the ground that much dimmer. "What about Mom?"
"Mom is going to to Gothier Green Lawns, where she should have been in the first place." Macaulay rubbed his arms to generate heat. His breath washed over him as he exhaled.
"We're going to be okay, aren't we?" Jorge was not sure what his notions of 'okay' were anymore but in that moment, he could have promised Macaulay anything and meant it.
"Yeah. We're going to be okay."
Fri, December 4, 2074 6:42 pm: 124 Valleymoor Rd.-- Arbormoor, Pleasantview
There was just enough noise at the dinner table to underscore the lack of conversation-- A clinking bowl here, a scraped fork there. Macaulay rested his chopsticks and stared blankly at the avocado slices on his plate. He was certain that his meal was delicious, as Lavinia's cooking always was, but very little food made its way into his mouth. Macaulay had spent the better part of an hour rearranging his salad into abstract formations while covertly studying his company.
The atmosphere around the table was growing more at ease with its own demise by the second. Macaulay could only imagine how awkward this must have been for Laurie who, though silent, maintained an air of lightness about him.
Laurie didn't mind being here. Perhaps he even understood Macaulay's motives. They had not discussed this exact arrangement beforehand and for that, Macaulay felt particularly low. Lavinia had wanted to meet the infamous Laurie for weeks now but with as silly as it seemed, Macaulay was not ready to share. His time with Laurie was his own, and he liked it that way.
The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to involve Laurie in his messy home life. Then from the furthest, most heinous reaches of his adolescent brain an idea was born. It was a stupid, puerile, misbegotten idea but one that would nag at him until he saw it take fruition. He would arrange the dinner at Lavinia's house. He would do this and then he would get his father to drive them there. On the way, he would convince his father that this was a good time to peek in on the baby. Lavinia would see Macaulay's father with the baby, and no matter how hardened against him she had become, she would lower her defenses just enough to invite him to stay for dinner. The only real variable in this scenario was whether Macaulay's father would accept the invitation.
Macaulay's master plan to get the two of them together in the same room with a guest present (thereby forcing their civility) ended before the four of them sat down. Macaulay never believed that he would get this far.
But he had to break the silence. Something drastic had to be done. Macaulay shot Laurie a quick glance, wordlessly begging his forgiveness before announcing,
"Laurie and I are going steady." He'd said it louder than what was necessary.
At first there was nothing. Lavinia and Macaulay's father paused in mid-chew, letting the words sink in. Lavinia knitted her brow and smiled in a way that promised a gentle, though negative reaction while Macaulay's father screwed his eyes shut and swallowed hard.
"Absolutely not." His father's voice was thick with finality. When Lavinia chimed in, it began a simultaneous, rolling tirade the likes of which Macaulay had not heard from the pair of them in a very long time.
"You're barely out of lower school."
"Far too young to even consider--"
"I can't believe we're even having this discussion."
"And another boy, Cull?" After having said this, Macaulay's father turned around sharply face to Laurie as though something had just occurred to him. "Does anyone else know that this is going on? Does your father know about this?" Poor Laurie had gone a deep shade of scarlet. His eyes were wider than Macaulay could ever remember seeing them and his mouth was full enough to indicate that he had forgotten how to chew. He shook his head. Macaulay's father turned to Lavinia.
"Do you know who his father is? His father is the District Judge for Rawling Hills-- Terrance Torrence's son." Lavinia laughed, understanding the unlikelihood of the situation.
"Oh you're kidding! Isn't he half Townsman? And a Torrence too! Well in that case, I take it all back. You two are made for each other. I'll walk you down the aisle myself." Macaulay's father wiped his mouth with his napkin. A sudden fiendish glint in his eye told Macaulay that he found this as absurd as Lavinia did.
"They're cousins," Macaulay's father scoffed. Laurie choked, having taken far too ambitious of a swallow before hastening,
"Removed!" As though his entire well-being hinged on that one word. Lavinia and Macaulay's father locked eyes. Then instantly, they fell into hysterics. Lavinia doubled over, grabbing his father's wrist for stability. Macaulay had mixed feelings about this reaction. On the one hand, to see them laughing together was more than he could have dared to hoped for. To see his father laughing at all was a rarity. But the circumstances...
"May I speak?" Laurie ventured.
"No!" The adults commanded him in unison before resuming their fit of giggling. Lavinia patted Laurie gently on the elbow.
"Don't worry. This isn't about you. I'm sure that you're a good kid--"
"He is. A great kid," Macaulay's father interrupted.
"But Cully has a tendency to get pretty attached to the people that he cares about, and with your ages, it's just really not a good idea. He's only going to get hurt." Macaulay's father nodded in agreement.
"He isn't cut-out for casual dating. And believe me, even if it doesn't seem casual to you right at this moment, it is. I mean, you're how old? Fourteen? Fifteen? Kids your age change partners like they change socks."
"And what are you going to do when he goes to Veronaville? What are either of you going to do?"
"Wait," Laurie replied. "I'll wait if he wants me to, for however long he wants me to."
"Laurie!" Macaulay's cheeks warmed. They had been avoiding the subject for days, each too scared to ask the other just what would happen the following month. Laurie grinned at him, his funny little bangs falling into his eyes. He placed his hand on top of Macaulay's tentatively. Macaulay's father cleared his throat.
"I'd give them six weeks," he said sarcastically.
"Well aren't you just Mr. Ambition? I'd give them three," Lavinia countered. Macaulay dismissed them both, knowing that the argument had reached a stalemate. He stroked Laurie's fingers with his thumb. Let them joke if that was what made them feel comfortable. He wasn't asking permission. He was in love.
Weds, December 2, 2074 8:04 pm: Caliente Manor- Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Laurie slid the shower door closed behind him, humming and nodding in time with a strain of music that only he could hear. It had been a good day but when he tried to pin down the source of his cheerfulness, he came up with little. Enoch and Cully dropped by earlier without incident, which was a continuing source of relief. Not that Laurie thought Enoch would ever intentionally jeopardize his friendship with Cully by blurting out, "Dude, Cull, Laur is totally scoping your nutsack!" but Enoch did have the unfortunate habit of being... Enoch. Laurie twisted the corner of his towel into a point and used it to dry his ears, singing aloud with his internal concert.
"I'm an alligator! I'm a momma-poppa come'n for you! I'm a space invader! I'll be a rock 'n roll'n bitch for yooouuu!" The floor was slippery with condensation. Laurie propelled himself towards the sink, pushing off with his right foot and steering with his left. "Keep your electric eye on me, baby! Put your ray gun to my head! Press your space-face close to miiine, love. Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah! Thank you, Strangetown! You've been an amazing audience. Goodnight and God bless!"
Laurie cupped his hands against his mouth, mimicking the roar of an appreciative crowd. The bathroom walls collapsed around him, revealing a brightly lit stage in the middle of the desert. The world was a vast, uninterrupted stretch of midnight. Laurie scrubbed the towel against his dripping head. Yeah, he was definitely moving to Strangetown when he grew up. Maybe he would study reptiles if the whole bug thing didn’t work out. Reptiles were cool. Laurie pulled on the boxer shorts that sat neatly folded by the toilet. He twirled a random lock of hair, observing his reflection in the mirror. Maybe he should get dreadlocks. His father would hit the roof if he got dreadlocks.
Hurricane Lawrence left the bathroom a slight wreck—All steam-fogged glass, clogged drains and standing water. As he headed down the corridor, he pondered his own propensity towards moisture and concluded that without Elmira, he might have died of trench foot ages ago. Note to Self: Thank Elmira for drastically reduced occurrences of tench foot in the Tellerman-Caliente household. Elmira would think that was funny. He did like making Elmira laugh, particularly when she was working and right before she whacked him with a dishcloth. Elmira was a doll. Too bad Laurie didn't swing that way.
Around the corner, Laurie took hold of a cold, brushed metal doorknob and flung open his bedroom door. What waited for him on the other side gave him a horror-movie-esque jolt of "the phone call is coming from inside the house" proportions.
Cully slouched in the corner of Laurie's room, eying him apologetically. Laurie closed the door behind him, horrified by his half-naked body.
"Shit Cull, I thought Dad drove you home!" Laurie yanked open his dresser drawer and began to rummage, unearthing a green thing. What was this? Pants? Were these even his? He didn't know he owned these. Laurie dug deeper to find an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
"We made it all the way to the garage when Enoch, in his infinite wisdom, challenged your dad to a game of pool. Winner gets 55 million simoleons, payable in bottle caps." Laurie snorted, pulling the shirt over his head.
"Sounds like high stakes," he said.
"Yeah and no matter who wins, you'll be the one to drink enough soda to produce the needed coinage." Laurie snickered, smacking his forehead in mock-realization.
"You're right! Gee, I had better start drinking. You want something from downstairs?" Laurie made for the door, partly to prolong the joke, partly to distance himself from the embarrassment of a few moments prior.
"Wait! Laur, I wanted to talk to you for a sec. If that's okay." Macaulay's voice trailed off as he spoke and Laurie thought that he detected a hint of nervousness laced into his run-of-the-mill soft-spokenness. Laurie's hand fell away from the door, his escape plan shattered.
"Sure thing, pal." Pal? Did he really just say that? Laurie slunk over to the edge of his bed, mentally berating himself the entire way. It was a wonder that he didn't trip over his own feet.
Once he was settled, Laurie drummed his palms upon his lap, hoping to look casual.
"Sooo, what's up Doc?" Laurie smiled weakly at his friend, remembering too late that Macaulay didn't own a television, had probably never seen a cartoon in his life and might not have gotten the reference.
Cully opened his mouth and closed it, knitting his brow. After a few such false starts, he made his way over to the bed and sat down next to his friend. They were so close that Laurie could feel the warmth of Cully's body emanating through his clothing. Laurie prayed that he wasn't blushing. Ba reginam, don't let him be blushing.
"Do you remember the first time I came here-- That conversation we had about how long I had been in the pond?" That topic was light years away from what Laurie had been expecting. His eyebrows rose involuntarily as his shoulders relaxed. Sure he remembered. How could he forget anything pertaining to that episode of his life? He still had nightmares. Laurie nodded, urging Cully on. "Well, the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe what kept me from drowning before you got there and how you heard the splash and how you managed to find me and everything... I think it was magic. I think I might have used magic."
Laurie wanted to wrap his arm around Cully's waist, run his fingers through Cully's hair and give him a reassuring grin but the best that Laurie could manage was a confused grimace coupled with a shoulder-to-shoulder nudge.
"Cully, no one uses magic by mistake, especially not a pair of watered-down partlings like us. We misjudged the time is all. And those woods echo. There are plenty of non-supernatural explanations for what happened out there." Macaulay bit his lower lip, clearly struggling with what he was trying to say. When his eyes met Laurie's once more, they were a little sad.
"Have you ever felt sort of contained? Like everything you are is just stuck behind your ribcage and no matter what you do, no matter how loud you scream, the pressure just doesn't go away?"
"Er-- Not sure I follow you there," Laurie said softly. Macaulay picked at a loose thread on Laurie's comforter, gazing downwards as he did. Laurie was struck with the urge to kiss Cully's half-closed eyelids, his thick dark lashes. Laurie never saw himself in a romantic light but maybe he could. For this boy, he could. It wasn't just because Macaulay was handsome or kind or witty. It was for his depth of feeling that Laurie wanted to be near him, listening to him talk even and especially when Cully's sentiments confused him. He and Cully fit. Laurie needed the wellspring of Cully's emotions, just as Cully needed the levity of Laurie's shallowness. Damn, was that really all that Laurie had to offer? Cully peered upwards at Laurie, still twining the thread between his fingers.
"I feel like that all the time. Sometimes its so bad, I can't breathe."
"Maybe you have asthma." Cully laughed and placed his hand over Laurie's mouth. It took every ounce of willpower that Laurie possessed not to purse his lips against Cully's palm.
"Okay asshole, this is serious. I am trying to tell you a serious thing. Laurie, I am going to Ethelden to study."
"Macaulay!" Laurie rarely used Cully's full name, at least not out loud but he felt as though the ground had opened up beneath him. Macaulay's name was the sound of Laurie's breath leaving his body. Cully took his hand away from Laurie's mouth.
"I didn't use magic by accident, Laur. I willed you there. I wanted to belong to someone and then there you were."
Laurie turned Cully's words over and over looking for any interpretation other than the one that made him nervous enough to shake and yet happy enough to know that he had heard incorrectly. Laurie picked up his head, not knowing what to say but determined to say something, just as Cully solved the dilemma for him.
This was not the way that Laurie had fantasized about this happening, with his heart still sinking painfully low in his stomach from the news that Cully was leaving. The thought of it made Laurie cling tighter. His hands dug into Cully's jacket, clasping so hard that it hurt. He rolled over, anchoring their bodies to the bed as though to prevent him from floating away.
Laurie had never kissed another person before and as far as he knew, neither had Cully. It probably wasn't normal for him to press his lips so tightly against Cully's that he could feel the teeth behind those lips. He thought about opening his mouth but that posed an entire minefield of unknowns. Cully wrapped his legs around Laurie's and Laurie let out a slight gasp as his groin brushed against Cully's. Maybe this wasn't Cully's first kiss. For a moment, Laurie burned with jealousy over a person that he didn't even know existed.
Cully slipped his hand beneath Laurie's undershirt, resting on Laurie's bare side. Laurie shifted his position as the toes of his sneakers slid across the rug and his erection became more difficult to ignore. It was then that he felt a jolt of electricity between Cully's hand and his side. The sensation spread throughout his torso, set his blood on fire. Laurie pulled away.
"Sorry." Cully winced. Laurie concentrated on the feeling. The same thing had happened the first time they shook hands and now, in this current context, he found that it made him slightly euphoric. Laurie shook his head.
"Do it again," he said. Cully smiled and as Laurie went in for another kiss, Enoch's voice drifted up from the stairwell, killing the moment dead.
"Yo, Mickey Lickey! Time to go!" Laurie groaned miserably. Macaulay kissed the tip of his nose and shouted towards the door.
"Tshin-tshin, villmen!" Laurie rolled pitifully onto his back and folded his hands on his chest. This was what being a beached whale must feel like. Cully pushed Laurie's hair away from his face and kissed him quickly, casually, as though this was how they always said goodbye. "You'll come see me? In Veronaville?"
"Of course," Laurie muttered, his brain still buzzing with joy and sadness and teenage boners that refused to go away. Laurie sat up on the bed as Cully left the room, neither one of them brave enough to admit to what went without saying.
