Gay Twins

I was fascinated by the sounds my brother made when Lucas pushed a couple fingers inside his ass. He moaned in a way I had never heard.
*****
I stare at the wall, listening to the beat of my heart count off seconds, concentrating on keeping my breath slow and steady. I’m not twelve anymore. I’m twenty-six. I’m a successful accountant. I shouldn’t be this freaked out.
I close my eyes again. Take a few deep breaths. Open them.
The fresh paint of the wall stares back at me. Polished plastic tiles on the floor. It’s a mask, a sterile plastic mask of health and hygiene, to hide the sickness and the pain behind the mask, the rotting red stench of death. If you smile and put on sky-blue nighties, you can pretend you’re not dying.
I realize I’m shaking. I hate hospitals.
I draw my hand over my eyes. Look at my watch. Fidget. Will the door to open. Focus on breathing again. Don’t faint. Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t.
“Your name was on the contact card,” the voice on the phone said.
“My name?” I’d replied. I wondered if the person on the other line could hear my hysteria. “But how’d you get my number? I haven’t seen him in seven years.”
Seven years. It’s been seven years.
The door opens.
“Mr.,”—the nurse has to consult her chart—”Davies?”
I stand up a little too fast. “Yes.”
“His condition has stabilized. You can see him now.”
I’m through the door before she’s finished talking, bumping around another nurse in a bubble-pink uniform the color of medicine, headed straight for the figure on the bed. He’s connected to way too many cords, plugging him into machines like a saline-drip puppet. I stop, eyes tracing helplessly over the bandaged face. I know the features under the bandages. Long nose, hazel eyes, wide lips, brown hair hidden—I know...