The Art of Illusion

It had taken eight excruciating days for your body to be prepared for the funeral. Max had taken over the funeral arrangements because he soon discovered that most days, all I wanted to do was lie in bed, sleeping or day-dreaming… hearing your voice rattle around my head. I was too busy indulging myself in listening to all the 'I love you, Alan's that my mind threw at me. I was dead to the world, living in my own head, and someone had to take care of business. He just showed up, three days after I'd hung up on him that fateful morning. He figured since I hadn't even bothered to wish him goodbye, I was in trouble. He still knew me like the back of his own hand.

It was the day of the funeral, and it was the first day I'd gotten out of bed since I heard the news. The day's ritual started with shaving, because I had accumulated quite a lot of manfuzz. Max had then gone about putting a suit together for me, and he'd even had to lace up my tie because I was too inconsolable to do it. I kept getting it wrong, not being able to properly remember how to even fucking do it. I got so mad I pounded my knuckles into the wardrobe door, causing such a raucous noise, Maxy ran upstairs to the rescue, fixing my issue. As per usual. The hearse had brought us to the sorry service, and of course me, Max, and my parents were riding in it. There had been a thick, awkward yet solemn silence in the car. My parents were angry about me and Ryan growing so distant, as they had watched us grow up so close. The simple truth was they didn't understand, and I preferred it that way.

When Max had showed up, he told me much about what had become of you. You'd gotten a stable full time job as supervisor in a record store. You were favourite there, and were known for organizing it, cleaning it and in the long term giving the place a whole new look and sales slogan. I could have figured you’d have done something inventive and creative that involved music somehow. Your mind was always beautiful like that. You were infamous for flings with both sexes, yet you never settled down and often rang Max when you felt lonely in your apartment. As glad as I was that you hadn't fallen in love with anyone new, the news made me depressed, bitter, and filled me with a potent self-loathing. You may have been alive, but I'd taken your sunshine from you. Left you as alone as I was, and that was not what I wanted to hear. In fact, if you had fallen in love, at least you'd have been happy for the remainder of your life.

I skirted down the aisles and took a seat on the scratchy Hessian covered church pews. I toyed with my shiny, curbic zirconia encrusted cuff-links in a mad attempt to distract me from the expensive mahogany finished coffin, which stood a little way off behind the priest. I don't exactly know why my parents had insisted Max make this a religious thing. Ryan and I were far from religious, obviously. Done with my cuff-links I played with my sleeves, my head bent downwards. His name was set in pretty red and blue flowers. Red and blue were our favourite colours; they had been since we were little… He always had this stuffed rabbit as a kid. It was blue and funnily enough called Roo. I had a red rabbit, exactly the same called Fred, but I left him on a playpark somewhere. Since then Ryan cautiously shared his with me. It was a stupid kiddy memory but it led to more, and soon I couldn’t handle it. I gulped thick tears back as a memory from high school invaded my mind. I didn’t want to think about him, I didn’t want to keep imagining him or how beautiful he was or all the stupid little quirks that made him mine, but at the same time, when you try not to think about something… It always happens anyway.

The noises of the crappy carnival mainly consisted of screaming and whooping laughter emanating from the teenagers, the pre-teens and the adults that milled around each stall and ride. There was nothing extraordinary about it. There were same flashing lights that appeared each year, the same colour candyflosses hanging in bags from the stands. The same hook-a-duck stall and the same stale, greasy smells that radiated out from each of the hot food concession stands. I remember ditching mom and dad, ditching our friends and making a run for the most deserted ride in the whole fair. The ghost ride… and we both knew that wasn’t because it was scary… quite the opposite. It was the lamest ride there, and no one wanted to waste their tokens or money on it. However, that worked in our favour because I knew it would be empty, so did you, I could see it in your cheeky smile and bright eyes. I walked shoulder to shoulder with you, just close enough to be in your personal space, but not too close for people to deem it weird for two older teens.

Sprinting past the giggles, corny electronic music, laughter and yells of the Bumper Cars, we wandered over to the bored carnie controlling the ride. I nudged you in the ribs using two of my own tokens to get us on the ride. It was my own crappy attempt at being romantic, since I couldn’t hold your hand or kiss you outside of our room. We stepped over in to the cart, waiting a few moments in intrepid hopes that no one would jump in with us. After five minutes had slowly ebbed by, the bored acne infested carnie, flicked a switch before going back to his previous position; leaning on his hand, his elbow comfortably resting against the podium which brought the ride to life. As we heard the cogs start I laughed, turning to see your vibrant smile and prefect blue eyes light up.

“Did you pick this ride for the same reason I did…?” You asked a cunning edge to your voice. I smirked, keeping my arm invisible as I laced it around your waist.

“I sure fucking did.” I replied. I still remembered how the excitement and butterflies exploded in my stomach as we were encased in darkness… The slow trawl, click and shudder of the cart prompted me to pull you closer, so close your breathing mingled with my own. “We have lost time to make up for, haven't we beautiful…?” I spoke, trying my hardest not to smile at you. The only visible parts of your face were your cheeks, highlighted by the dim light in the tunnel, and the sparkle that never left your eyes around me. Your giggle echoed around my memory, haunting me, bouncing around my skull… You seemed so far away now, like my memories were the only medium I could use to talk to you again. ‘I love you’, would only be words I could playback, I could never experience them again. My bottom lip wobbled as I caught sight of the wreath in front of me, your name in our favourite colours… my eyes dared to stare at your coffin even though I willed them as hard as I could to look away. Softly I ignored what was going on around me, the words Max was saying as he shook hands with someone behind me, or the person touching my shoulder, giving me their hollow condolences. I didn’t want to be here, I wanted to be back with you… Closing my eyes, I isolated myself.

“But Alan, you can’t even see my face. How am I beautiful? I could be pulling a horrible face at you.” You giggled, a little more higher pitched than my own natural one. I smiled at you, burying my face in your neck, rubbing my nose against the soft, sweet smelling skin there, kissing it gently. As I kissed my way up to your ear I whispered “I’ll never forget your face Ry, I’ve been in love with it for too long. So trust me, I’ll remember every look. Your happy smile, your sarcastic smile, your pout, your puppy eyes, your ‘I’m trying to make myself look bad but it ends up cute’ face, the way your mouth curves as you laugh at my stupid jokes and the way your eyes look at me in disbelief because you can’t believe I just said that… Trust me; I know what you look like even in the dark. And, it’s beautiful to me… It’s always been beautiful to me…”

You took me by surprise when you pulled my face so it was in front of yours, kissing me softly, your lips moved gently, their soft moisture reminding me of how soft the dew on grass made the leaves in the early mornings. I wrapped my arms possessively around your neck, kissing you, needing you, in the cart of crappy ghost train at a stupid carnival. We stayed pressed together for the whole ride; our first serious make-out session since we’d told each other how we really felt. That was the real love we had, the purest time between us… when we were too immersed in the relief, in the freedom knowing that the unrequited was just a nightmare we could forget.

I was rudely snapped out of the nostalgia of your warmth, by Max. He told me I needed to stand because the eulogies were beginning. I watched as my parents went up, holding hands, my mother weeping, her hands shaking as used her hankie to wipe her tears, holding her cardigan around her; a feeble source of comfort. It was only then that I realised how old my parents were, and how awful it must be for them to bury their child before their health even started to become frail...

I choked up, having to lean on Max to keep me up, eagerly awaiting a time when I could sit down and zone into my own world. I was the only person who knew you for who you truly were… I was the only person who knew all your secret desires, your secret hopes, your great loves and even greater hatreds. Of which there were hardly any, because… you were just… so… loving. Tears sprang to my eyes as my father began. “We’ve always said twins are a double blessing, and as our boys grew up, we began to understand the full meaning of that…” the congregation sat, the umph of jacket hems and black slacks reverberated throughout the cold and eerie church. I shuddered blocking myself off from my father’s baritone heartbreak. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to my only love, and I certainly wasn’t ready to hear everyone else wish you farewell so soon. I’d never lost someone to death before…. Retreating into myself, I wandered into a happier time… A place in my memory I wish I could re-live every day of my life.

I’d had one of the worst dreams about losing you to date. I woke up in cold sweats, fearing for a moment that it had been a real experience, and for some reason I’d lost you in the stormy waves of a freezing, violent and hungry sea. Panic stricken, heart-beating rapidly, blood pumping full pelt through my system, I jerked my head over to the door and scrambled out of bed and across the landing. I rushed into your room, only dressed in my polar bear pyjama pants that were slung lowly against my hips, they moved up and down slightly over my hipbones, as I paced over to you, almost in tears. Shaking your quilted shoulders, I saw the gentle rise and fall of them halt as you shot up. Your hair cutely stuck up in all directions. “mmnff the hell…” You mumbled sleepily, realising my face was suddenly up close to yours. You bounced back down against the mattress rubbing your face tiredly. “Wassup Al?” You slurred wondrously. I sniffed, not being able to come to terms with what I was about to confess.

“Ry I had a nightmare, can I stay in with you tonight?” You turned to look at me, half asleep with the most innocent compassion glistening in your eyes.

“Sure.” You patted the mattress beside you, peeling back the quilt. We’d been at odd ends recently. Losing our virginity and becoming sexually active seemed to take its toll. The close bond we’d shared all throughout our childhood, the strong seams that kept our relationship so rock solid were coming undone, like a beautiful tapestry left to unravel with the sands of time. Wiggling in next to you, I decided to take the biggest leap of faith I’d ever taken. I could always say I didn’t mean it the way you’d taken it if you hated me for it… right? Play it off like I’d messed my words up wrong because I was tired and that I meant it in a brotherly way…? Right…? My anxiety riddled mind, groggy with sleep agreed, as I heard you ask, fully alert and awake “What was your bad dream about, Alan?”

“The ocean took you away from me, and I couldn’t stop you from being washed away by the sea.” I replied monotonously. I couldn’t help but draw parallels between the dreams I was having and to what was happening to our relationship… It was now or never…

“I have similar dreams Al, you’re in danger and I can’t save you…” you spoke, still lay next to me, even though it felt like you were a million miles away. My heart rate increased ten-fold as I panicked, the words rising from my throat like angry bile right before someone would puke…

“I’m in love with you, Ryan.” The words hit the atmosphere and sank like a lead a balloon. I was expecting… screaming, pushing, hitting, disgust… but in turn all I felt were a pair of feather-light elegant arms wrap themselves around my waist, your skin brushing up against my own, in a comforting way.

“But what about your girlfriend hm? And lovers… are you sure you don’t mean ‘I love you, Ryan.’” Your reply shocked me, was it a gentle reminder because you thought I was too tired? Or was it a genuine question? Either way the words fell from my lips before my sleepy mind could formulate a proper response.

“I’m in love with you, Ry.” I repeated like a parrot, I was waiting for the realisation to hit you, waiting for the disturbed and angry shove that left me on the ground of your bedroom floor. Instead you merely hummed, leaning down so you could use my chest as a pillow. Butterflies caused my stomach to flip as my heart beat against my ribs like an African drum.

“I’m in love with you too, Al.”

In that one moment my whole world was burnt down, and like a phoenix I felt it rise from the flames… If only I’d remembered how I’d felt when you were alive, if only I got over my stupid fucking pride and loved you the way you deserved. Somehow I had a feeling the ‘what ifs’ would be my only companion in this life…

Again my memories were ripped from me, left to echo back into the depths of my mind that they sprung from, as Max softly snuck an arm around my own pulling me up. My eyes flickered from my coal-shiny dress shoes I was gawping at whilst I lost myself in my thoughts, to the minister that now took the stand. “Are you not going to do your own eulogy?” He whispered confused, his voice thick from what I guessed was exhaustion due to crying. I turned to look at him for the first time properly that day. From that one moment of sombre eye contact he quickly knew that today was not a day where I was fond of sharing how I felt. Leaving me to my silence he tentatively petted my shoulder. I set my vision skyward, focusing on the ornately engraved and decorated church ceiling as the minister began to read from Psalm 23, The Lord Is My Shepard. It was my mom’s favourite psalm and one we’d used at her mother’s funeral… Tears began to leak mercilessly from the corners of my eyes as a curtain was drawn around Ryan’s coffin. I gritted my teeth and frowned angrily, suddenly seething that you were being officially taken from me, squeezing my fists together I tried my hardest to keep my pride and not break down. My mother and father did not need to see their only other son clinging to a coffin crying about how he wished he was dead too…

I had hidden myself throughout most of Ryan’s wake. I refused to be seen by anyone because the tears didn’t stop falling, and the memories of you didn’t stop jumping out from my mind. They played old songs that you liked, courtesy of our circle of friends. A slower more meaningful one had come on at the very beginning when I was going round with a small tray filled with wine flukes, offering everyone alcohol, even my parents. When the lyrics of the song floated through to the room I was in, and hit my ear drums I dropped the tray in shock, glass shattering, wine staining… and more tears pooling like lost souls in my vision…

We’d danced together to it, in my room on a stormy night. A secret rendezvous that no one was to ever know about… I was singing it to you, and you were humming the rhythm so you didn’t end up scared stiff from the thunder outside… It only strengthened the loneliness and emptiness I felt at never having the chance to be that close to you again. Ever since then I’d scrabbled upstairs and locked myself in my bathroom. Trust it to be my house that was closest to the church. Trust it to be my house that was picked for the venue of his wake. After several minuets slumped against the bathroom door I moved so I could lie, curled up in the bath tub, feeling disconnected from everything, even more disconnected than I had ever felt before… Until a sharp rap against the door made me cringe.

“Hey look Al, the guys are downstairs… we’ve decided that the recent… tragedy is a reason we shouldn’t take each other for granted, and that maybe we all just need some time together to rediscover our friendship…” I heard him sigh softly on the other side of the door. “We were all tighter than a nun’s vagina back in the day.” I couldn’t help it… Laughter ripped through my throat and I audibly sniggered. He heard, I think because he called through.

“We’re thinking of a holiday, to Rome... rest, relaxation and lots of distractions. When you’re ready you should come down and we’ll all talk about it over some cans… Ben told me he really wants you to consider it. He says it’s important we all stick together right now.” I simply replied with a feeble and somewhat broken,

“Ok.”

~

It had been some time since the last guests left. I sat, with all the guy’s empty beer cans around me. They were great company, and they’d even managed to score a few laughs out of me. But, I still didn’t feel right… I didn’t feel like me… I felt… incomplete. There were no lights on, just an empty blackness that darkened the entire room, stemming from the onset of the late summer’s evening.

I felt… numb. Numb to the core, frozen from reality and stuck in loops of endless memories. I reasoned that living in my bed for the next few days seemed like the logical and comfortable way to try and piece myself together somewhat… so I could try and think like another human being… if that was ever possible in the first place…

Leaving the messy room, I walked out into the hallway. My heart stung as I remembered how Ryan was always so clean, so obsessed with the neat and tidy. It made my knees weaken to think you’d never be around to clean up any of my messes now. With a heavy conscience and dead weight for a body I dragged myself towards the stairs, accidently catching my reflection in the hallway mirror. I paused, hollowly watching myself but becoming more and more aware of the person I was missing. My other half…

Frowning angrily I hitched it from the hook that held it securely on the wall and brought it closer to me, tracing the outline of the reflection’s sullen frown… Placing it down flat, reflective side facing the ground, I hauled myself up the stairs… All the mirrors in this house would be removed by sunset tomorrow. I couldn’t even look myself in the face. I was nothing but a gaunt and worthless reminder of all the failures I’d managed to commit… The biggest being a failure to protect you. The one thing that kept repeating, the one thought swarming me like an angry army of wasps right now, was, how can one twin live without the other? Especially with the way I loved you, the way I needed you, the way my life still revolved around you… Is life worth living without love? My heart knew the answer, but I didn’t blame it for secreting it away from my brain. I couldn’t fathom the outcome if I finally stopped lying to myself…

After all, I was a master in the art of illusion.