Keating

The day I met the Keating twins was also the day I first went to their house. I Googled their address and discovered I had to take a bus to get there, so I called back and again spoke to Ghost.
“Yeah, definitely take the bus.”
“Should I bring my bike?”
“Nah. We live on a hill, so even though it’s a bit of a trek- it’s pretty windy- the bike would just complicate things. It’d be easier to just take the bus and walk up, I promise it's not that difficult.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll take the next bus then. See you soon.” I hung up, stuffed the bus schedule into my back pocket and ran to the bus stop. I boarded the bus and paid my fare, sitting towards the back, facing the driver. I sort of wished I had my iPod so I could drown out the world, but I didn’t so I looked at the other passengers: a kid with a bleached mohawk and grey lipstick, a little old lady whose feet barely touched the floor with her electric-flamingo pink purse clutched tightly to her chest, on her knees. I figured given that it was a clutch purse that that was an acceptable action. A blonde woman sat behind me wearing a pink blouse, white capris, and flats who yammered on her mobile the entire trip before getting off two stops before me. Fucking bitch. I do not care whether Angela cheated on Tommy with his best friend, halting their engagement. Furthermore, I do not care if crazy blonde bitch is being prevented from wearing “that pretty bridesmaid’s dress.” Selfish bitch makes me want to get a fucking cell phone jammer. My stop rested at the bottom of a hill, and I could just barely see an off-white house towards the top, partially obscured by some trees. Filled with trepidation, I ascended the winding path.
The first thing I noticed was that the front door was red. I knocked, and was answered with the drumming of feet, and Ghost yanked the door open.
“Hadyn, hi! How was the walk? Come in, come in, oh, but shoes off, please. We just had the carpets washed.” The floor was made of golden hardwood, as were all of the other visible floors in the rooms beyond. I kicked my shoes off anyway.
“The walk was fine. Mostly it was really windy.”
“Yeah, it’s quicker by car, but the turns are a bit trickier.” He’s got several piercings: two in his left lobe, two in his right cartilage, and an industrial bar in the right. He saw me looking, “I’ve got a Prince Albert, too,” he winked.
“Oh.” I hadn’t blushed that hard in a long time.
He padded over to the brushed-nickel refrigerator in the adjacent kitchen and gripped the handle, but did not open it. “You want something to drink? We have lemonade, orange juice, sparkling water, pomegranate juice, apple juice, mango-pineapple juice, water, milk, Coke, Pepsi, Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Dr. Pepper, and generic grape soda. We used to have orange soda, but I think Clutch drank it all.”
“D- I, uh, just- just water is fine, thanks.”
He grabbed a glass from the cupboard to the left of the fridge. “Ice? Crushed, cubed, in little star shapes?”
“Crushed, please. You have ice in little star shapes?”
“Yeah, Clutch got one of those ridiculously over-priced but completely endearing ice-trays when we went up to the city.”
“You let her get away with a lot.”
“She’s my little sister, of course I do. She hasn’t really had an easy time of it lately, either. I’m just trying to keep her happy.”
“Oh, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head, shutting off again, and handed me my glass. “This way.” He led my by the elbow through a maze of winding halls until we came upon a room with caution tape adhered to the door. Angry, painted bootprints glowed in the dim light. Orange, red, blue, green, pink, yellow, purple, gold. Ghost threw the door open. “Hi asshole, we have visitors.”
Clutch lay on a leather couch, staring at the ceiling. “Hayden, have you got MPD now? How terrible for you.” The bass of some song throbbed through the room.
“Seriously, turn it down, interact.”
She sat up and fiddled with a knob on the stereo, blue glowing LED screen. The bass lessened. It sounded normal now, jangling guitars and a man’s voice, sweet and mournful.
“I meant the whole song.”
Click, and then the hiss of speakers on, but not in use. “Hello, Hadyn. I’m sorry I can’t be more…normal right now. I was all set to be sweet and jovial and the like, but then it didn’t work out too well. Something came up.” She wasn’t looking at me, or Ghost, or the stereo, but away, across the room to the far wall. Her hands were shaking.
“It’s fine. I mean, I don’t think any of us are particularly normal right now, and it’s the thought that counts.” My voice was shaking, too. Ghost watched her intently. Clutch nodded. “What were you listening to?”
“Bauhaus, from the ‘80’s. They’re real goth, not like this Marilyn Manson shit. Not angry, sad. Bitter. Sweet, in a way.”
“I think I’ve heard of them.” I was lying, and she knew it. She gazed at me, impassive. “Why don’t you have any friends, Hadyn? Tell me the truth.”
“What, do you just expect me to spill my life story?”
She nodded. “Yes. If you share, I will.”
“Clutch.” Ghost was dubious.
“Why not? We know more about him now than he’ll ever learn in a lifetime. He’s totally safe.”
I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I’m pretty pissed that they’re talking about me like I’m not even there. “I’m still here, you know!”
She turned to me. Her eyes had lost that glazed, dazed look, and her voice had lost that frightened, little-girl tone. She stood up and walked between us, out the door. She touched Ghost’s hair on the way out, rubbed it against her fingers with her thumb. He relaxed immediately, so I guess it was a signal, some sign that the worst was over. We stared at each other in silence, with me sitting on the floor and him on a beanbag until she shuffled back in with a glass of orange juice in hand.
“Did you know you can sing almost all of Emily Dickinson’s poetry to the tune of ‘Amazing Grace’? But please don’t try it, that song is awful.”
I floundered. “Oh. Uhm, are you okay now?”
She nodded dreamily, “Mhm, mostly. I saw this really fantastic Chanel coat at a high-end thrift store the other day, but it’s probably gone now. Which is just as well given that it was still at least two hundred dollars. A silver Burberry top, too. Yeah, I really wanted them. I still do, really, but nobody has that kind of spending money. Nobody real anyway.” Clutch set her glass on the floor next to the couch and flopped down, facing us.
I looked around the room: red paper lanterns, black fishnet curtains, sheepskin rug, scribbles on the walls, posters on the ceiling. Multicolored throw pillows, rust throw, flat-screen TV, stack of DVDs. And then, of course, there’s us: sprawled along the floor. Ghost in grey jeans, olive tee, white shirt with the collar tucked under on one side, shark’s tooth necklace, white socks. Clutch, all in black, except for the socks: destroyed jeans held together with safety pins, loose black tee under a pleather jacket, white socks with grey at the toes. She’s got the whole “rebellious bad girl” thing going with the dog collar, leather cuff buckled around one wrist. fishnet gloves and the safety pin through her right earlobe, but she’s really quite shy, you can tell. Her clothes are a costume, like mine, screaming “stay away”. These kids probably crave friendship just as much as I do. And then, obviously, there was me: faded blue jeans, black “I AM ANNOYED” tee like the one Lisbeth Salander wore, and grey socks.
Clutch watched me like I’m a mildly interesting television program while Ghost pulled out a small makeup compact and began applying gold eye shadow. He caught me looking, “Yeah, I’m super gay. Bisexual, really, but girls don’t really do it for me. They’re very-“ he made an indistinct but frantic hand gesture. “I dunno. Girls are no good. Boys are easier, I like boys a lot. I tone it down in school so someone doesn’t decide to tie me to a fence in Laramie.” This last was spat with such vitriol that Clutch sat up and leaned over me to stroke his hair again, obviously concerned. She smelled like burning leaves.
“You like girls, Hadyn. You’re the only one.” Ghost did not seem bothered by this.
“Nuh –uh, he’s not. Rain likes girls- he’s the only one with a cool name, though, Rain is his real name. Rain Dawson. Anyway, Rain likes girls, and Mordecai likes girls. His real name is Allan Roth, and sometimes we call him Allan, but mostly we just call him Mordecai. Yeah. We have friends, but they don’t go to school with us. Rain and Mordecai are older than us, older than you, even. They’re nineteen. You’re only eighteen, right Hadyn?” Her voice had hopped back up into that disturbing little-girl intonation thing again.
“I- yeah. My birthday was last week.”
“Happy birthday. Ours was last month, we’re December babies. How do you get your breasts so flat? They’re invisible.”
“I bind them. I got a binder online, and it sort of” I gestured at my chest, “holds them in.”
She nods slowly. “That’s cool. I’ve always kind of wanted a dick, but just so I could piss my name in the snow and have boys suck it and such. Are you gonna take T or get surgery or anything?”
I stared at her. “How do you know all of this if you’re not trans. Or why?”
And then she turned back to the ceiling. “It matters, right? My brother is gay. LGBT shit is important. Where’d he go, anyway?” Ghost had apparently left the room. “I’munna go find him, feel free to wander around, but please don’t go in the room across the hall. It’s our bedroom.”
I think I nodded or something, because she got up and left. After a minute or two I followed her down the hall to find her murmuring “Ghost? Ghosty-ghost, where did you go? Was I weirding you out?” She stuck her head into what was probably a bathroom. “I’m sorry Ghost, please resurface.” She took a left before reaching the kitchen and padded down the stairs. They were carpeted.
Through a door at the bottom of the stairs was a complex maze of perfect cream carpeting and white walls. It reminded me of a mental hospital. I heard murmuring to my left, and continued on to find Clutch leaning against Ghost with her cheek on his shoulder, talking softly but frantically. She was turned to me and he was turned away, examining a drawing taped to the wall. She drew it, or he did, you could tell by the way he stroked it. She glanced at me and clearly gave me a look that said "not now." She gestured up, in the direction of the kitchen and mouthed the word "muffins".
Being the obedient son-of-a-bitch that I am, I turned around and walked back up the stairs, wondering what it all meant and why Clutch in particularly was so different, so quiet in school and so talkative at home.