Lit eZine Vol 5 | p-24 | FICTION | Two Brothers

SHORT STORY

TWO BROTHERS
by Alan Swyer

It wasn’t until the summer after his freshman year of college that Marc Storm at last came up with the word he’d spent years searching for – one that seemed to express not merely his position within his family, but also how he felt about himself. Marc was far from home when the revelation materialized, doing something that he, unlike his older brother Julien, loved to do. He was spending a few weeks with relatives on his mother’s side, Parisians with a vacation home in a little village not far from Saint-Tropez.

A fondness for France was only one of the myriad differences between Marc, who was proud of being bilingual and loved spending time in France, and Julien, who insisted upon being – and being seen as – 100% American.

Not every minute of every day, nor every day, did Marc dwell on his brother, or on what the two of them did – or didn’t – have in common. But though such thoughts didn’t entirely haunt him, they were never far from his mind.

So it was hardly a great surprise that it was when Marc was speaking a language his brother largely rejected, and staying in a village called Ramatuelle – which Julien, who considered himself a New Yorker through and through, wanted no part of – that the revelation finally came. The word Marc felt described him, with or without disparaging connotations and/or pejorative associations, was afterthought.

From the moment his older brother emerged from the womb, anointing everyone within striking distance with pee, Julien had been the center not merely of attention, but in many ways of the entire world. Julien, a charismatic and demanding individual, always stood out and captivated everyone’s attention. As a tiny tot, as a toddler, and even as an adolescent, he was a terror who, with one heartwarming smile, could generate forgiveness and affection.

Marc, in contrast, from birth on proved to be calm, undemanding, as well as the perfect audience for the big brother he idolized. Depending upon his behavior, rambunctious Julien quickly was labeled an imp, a whirling dervish, but most importantly a charmer. Low-maintenance Marc, in contrast, was viewed as easygoing, accommodating, and above all solid, a term treacherously close to stolid. He was no trouble at all; he could almost be taken for granted.

As proof of an adage that instead of changing as they age, most people become more so, the traits that defined and distinguished the two brothers as youngsters increased exponentially during their school years. Julien’s need for constant activity – and attention – became even more pronounced as his impishness evolved into unbridled mischievousness. For Marc, moving from preschool on through elementary, then middle school, meant becoming even more self-sufficient and self-contained. For him, a 600-page fantasy book, a science-based computer game, or a documentary about geography or undersea life was a perfect way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon, a quiet evening, or a day without school.

As their sons continued to advance in years, the joke between Paris-born Natalie and her quintessentially New York husband Matthew was that their boys were not simply different from each other, they were members of different species. Still, there was no mistaking the affection or the mutual respect between the brothers. 

Even more surprising was that despite being different from each other in countless ways, the two shared an almost identical sense of humor. The powerful bond between them became even more important when, as Julien was about to enter his junior year of high school, coinciding with their father leaving his job at a romance novel publishing house.

Matthew’s plan, devised with Natalie’s blessing, was inspired by an autobiographical tale about growing up as the son of a traveling magician – the Sensational Sy Storm, born Seymour Rabinowitz. Matthew’s goal was to use the tale, which was published just days before Julien’s birth, as a springboard for a full-length novel. He would spend two or three months writing the first four chapters and an outline, which his agent could then submit to publishers. Next, he would start looking for work to help with the bills, while continuing to write at night and on weekends

But instead of an outpouring of pages, Matthew went into a funk that stretched first from days to weeks, then from weeks to months. Worried about her husband and about the example he was setting, Nathalie grew even more anxious when faced with an ever-growing stack of unpaid bills. When she voiced her fears, which Matthew interpreted as attacks. This led not to rational conversations, but to eruptions of ever-increasing frequency and intensity. The battles unsettled their sons to the point where Julien begged for them to stop, while Marc made attempt after attempt to serve as peacemaker. Only when Natalie gave Matthew an ultimatum – to find work or get out – did the hysterics cease. Filled with false pride, Matthew packed his bags and departed.

Finding herself a single mom, Natalie had no choice but to give up the Upper West Side apartment she could no longer afford. In what she hoped would be a short-term solution, she and the kids moved into a funky place in Washington Heights that belonged to a woman she’d known in France – an apartment that had been falsely advertised as a “three bedroom.” With her friend Marie-Christine in the less-than-masterful master suite, Natalie installed her sons in the second true bedroom, while she took residence in what was nothing more than a reconfigured storage room.

Unable to make ends meet solely on her salary teaching French at a local prep school, Natalie took to supplementing her income by accepting private students, while also soliciting additional English-to-French translations from corporate clients. That left it to the boys to adjust to their new situation on their own. 

For Marc, that meant establishing himself in a new school, as well as assuming many of the tasks previously handled by one of his parents. On his own, he started packing lunches for himself and his brother, shopping for dinner on the way home from school, and throwing dirty clothes into the washing machine. For Julien, however, adapting to the new environment was neither as comfortable nor anywhere near as positive.

With his mother often unavailable and his father out of the picture except for an occasional Saturday or Sunday, instead of fitting in at his new school, Julien merely stopped attending. At first, he skipped a day here, a day there. Soon it was more days off than on, until finally he didn’t bother going at all. He would occasionally pretend to go to school, only to come back home once his mother and Marie-Christine had left. Other days were spent elsewhere – out on the street, at the movies, or just hanging out with friends. Though Julien never willfully searched for trouble, it didn’t take long for it to find him. Gradually he eased into a group of drifters and runaways, which led to a world of grifters, hustlers, small-time crooks, pimps, hustlers, and dealers.

Marc inevitably became an accomplice of sorts, first in a passive way by never telling either parent what he knew about Julien’s activities, then by fielding phone calls from the school and forging Natalie’s signature on notes that were sent home.

“You’re probably worried about me,” Julien said to his brother one evening when Nathalie was out giving a private French lesson and Marie-Christine was singing in a club downtown.

“Shouldn’t I be?” replied Marc.

“Don’t you think I can handle myself?”

“Even if you can, that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” asked Julien.

“You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re great in a million ways.”

“And?”

“You can make something of yourself.”

Julien studied his brother, then shook his head. “You’re the one who’s gonna make something of himself.”

“What about you?” wondered Marc.

Julien shrugged. “C’mon –”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m me.”

Marc spent half that night wondering what that meant, and the other half worrying about the brother he had always looked up to.

After midnight one Friday, Nathalie and Matthew were both awakened by urgent calls from the police. Julien, they learned, had been arrested along with several older kids for breaking into a warehouse.

Upon arriving at the police station, Matthew immediately lashed out. “Are you charging him?” he demanded of the officer who spoke with them, which infuriated Nathalie.

“Matthew,” she implored, “that is not the issue.”

“To me, it is!” he insisted.

“One more word, and I will charge him, as an adult,” countered the cop, named Santiago. Ignoring Matthew, Santiago explained to Nathalie that the experience should serve as a wake-up call, both about the company Julien was keeping, and the path he was on. 

Silence reigned as husband, wife, and unhappy son left the police station. It wasn’t until they had walked down the steps that Matthew turned on Nathalie. 

“This is how you look after him?” he bellowed.

“Don’t yell at her!” snarled Julien, getting in his father’s face. “All you care about is getting laid.”

“What in hell is that supposed to mean?” growled Matthew.

Julien stood his ground and didn’t give in.

“You don’t think I know you moved in with some rich thing?”

Matthew turned on Nathalie. “That’s what you tell him?”

“Are you kidding?” yelled Julien. “It’s on the internet that you’re banging one of those Romance novelists you used to make fun of.”

Before Matthew could speak again, Nathalie glared at her husband. “None of this is helping,” she insisted.

“So what do we do?” asked Matthew.

“Instead of hollering in the middle of the night, we get together tomorrow and talk,” said Nathalie.

“Unless you’re too busy not writing,” Julien said to his father with a sneer.

Matthew started to say something, then sighed. “I deserved that,” he murmured sadly.

In the days that followed, Marc’s attempts to initiate a conversation with his brother went absolutely nowhere until one evening, when Nathalie was out giving a lesson and Marie-Christine was waitressing, he made dinner for the two of them.

“I know you’re wondering what’s what,” Julien began after downing a mouthful of spaghetti.

“Who, me?” teased Marc.

“They want me to start counseling, but I said no way.”

“Because?”

“It’s either at some freebie place filled with lowlifes, or with money from the rich lady he’s banging. And anyway, you know I won’t listen.”

“Because?”

“Do I ever?”

Three weeks later, over dinner, Julien surprised Nathalie and Marc by announcing he was moving in with Matthew and his new partner. Nathalie immediately made a concerted effort to engage Julien in conversation. When that failed, she begged for an explanation. None was forthcoming. 

That night, Marc was giving his brother the silent treatment when Julien got in his face. “I get that you’re pissed,” he stated.

“Can’t put anything past you,” was Marc’s retort.

“It’s for your benefit. No way having me around will do any good.”

When Marc made no effort to reply, Matthew shook his head. “Say something, goddammit!”

“Something,” said Marc, eliciting a chuckle.

Julien explained that while nothing positive could come from his presence, there was far much that was negative. Most importantly, Julien asserted, he didn’t want his kid brother to lose opportunities because of him. Or to follow in his footsteps.

Marc responded by storming into the bathroom and locking the door.

“Do you believe in God?” Julien asked an hour later when the cold war subsided.

“I know we’re supposed to,” Marc replied, “but I’m not sure. You?”

“I tried. Then I wondered how a God could allow all the pain and suffering, people starving and freezing to death. And how could a supreme being create someone as fucked up as me.”

“You’re not fucked up.”

“No, I’m perfect in every way,” joked Julien. “Now you can tell one.”

Once his brother moved out of the apartment, Marc became increasingly immersed in classes and extra-curricular activities. He took both Spanish and Mandarin, while becoming president of the Model UN team. And though nowhere near as athletic as his brother, he practiced hard enough to earn a spot on the swim team as a backstroker.

It was mainly through Nathalie that he was kept informed of his brother’s menial jobs: busboy, ticket-taker at a revival cinema, janitor at a senior citizen facility, bike messenger. Because of an interest in music, the only position in which Julien lasted for more than a few weeks was as a go-fer at a recording studio. That, too, ended when he showed up high two days in a row.

Then came total silence. Though Matthew, Nathalie, and Marc tried in every way imaginable to find Julien, or at least learn about his whereabouts – sometimes individually, occasionally as a team – the absence of any trace suggested that Julien either didn’t want to be found, or had disappeared.

After a year as a scholarship student at Brown, Marc having returned from his trip to Ramatuelle, was struggling together with a roommate to get a sofa down from a U-Haul. The goal, which seemed unattainable, was to lug it to their off-campus apartment.

As the two guys huffed and puffed, they heard a voice saying: “Let me help!”

Turning, Marc was stunned to find himself face-to-face with his brother. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

“Nice to see you, too,” answered Julien with a smile.

At a coffee house next to the campus, Marc listened with amazement as his brother recounted his “lost years.” There were Julien’s adventures crisscrossing the county as a roadie for a metal band. His stint in Omaha selling RV’s. His dark days strung out on meth in Wichita. Plus, his time in rehab out in Phoenix.

“But I’m 100% clean now,” Julien assured his brother. “And even though it sounds like a cliché, I’ve been playing the guitar and writing songs.”

“No way.”

“No way what?” asked Julien.

“Nothing about you could ever be a cliché.”

“You were my hero when we were kids,” Marc told Julien three days later, after learning that his brother was ready to hit the road. “And you still are. I can’t tell you how happy I am – and proud – that you’ve got your life together.”

“You’re the hero,” countered Julien. “I told you a long time ago, you’re the one who’s gonna make something of himself.”

Marc shrugged. “Maybe it’ll be both of us.”

“To quote Buddy Holly,” said Julien with a shrug, “Maybe Baby.”

“So what now?” wondered Marc.

“Ready for this? Where do you think Sophie, who’s waiting for me in Sun Valley, hails from?”

“France?” asked Marc.

“Ramatuelle. And guess who started picking up the language again?”

“Mom’ll be thrilled.”

“And you’re the one who can tell her.”

“And,” said Marc, “after you pick Sophie up?”

“She and I are heading to L.A. Will you visit?”

“You couldn’t keep me away.”

“Promise?” asked Julien.

“Promise.”

The joy derived from seeing his brother at peace buoyed Marc’s spirits in ways he never dreamed possible. It was as though a lifelong fog had lifted, one that allowed Julien at last to fight for something, instead of fighting against virtually everything. That Julien had goals, plus a good woman, and was even speaking French, was far more than Marc would have ever dared hope for. It meant that the day after his brother’s departure, and the next day, and the day after that, Marc woke up with a smile rather than his customary feeling of dread.

Sadly, that glow ended two days later when Marc was woken up by a phone call. While leaving Las Vegas, where Julien and Sophie had stopped for a night to break up their trip west, their Toyota, Marc learned, was broadsided by a tanker truck, killing both of them instantly.

Taking a leave from school to be with his nearly inconsolable mother, Marc used whatever time was not spent looking after her, reflecting as never before. He thought about his mother; he thought about his future. But most of all, he thought about Julien, whom he first worshiped, then adored, then ultimately worried about for so many years. Marc recognized that it was time for him to consider differently who he was, who he wanted to be, and above all what he was meant to do with his remaining time on earth.

It was on a Thursday afternoon, while Nathalie who had spent the morning in tears was napping, that Marc finally realized what he wanted — and needed — to do. As a lifelong lover of reading, he had long dreamed of becoming a writer. But the disheartening sense that he had nothing whatsoever to write about thwarted that dream.

That, Marc now understood, was no longer the case. The novel he was meant to write would be autobiographical. Told by a kid brother who long considered himself an afterthought. It would draw not just on his own memories but also on his hopes, his dreams, and the myriad feelings he had experienced over the years.

If he was lucky, it might also enable him to gain an understanding at long last of the enigma that was his brother Julien. And unlike their father, whose long-promised opus was still unfinished — and would likely always remain that way — Marc vowed to himself and his now departed brother that he would finish the book inspired by their lives.