The Theory of Big and Small VII: Bud

Bud stared at Sara for a moment.
“Plat!” he said, turned on his heel and disappeared into the bowels of the house. She heard a door slam.
Nate made as if to get up and then fell back, waving his hand dismissively.
Sara sat motionless, unsure what to do.
Or say.
“He’s having a bad day,” was Nate’s only comment before picking up his bottle again and sucking at it noisily.

“Don’t you have anything to offer me except beer?” Sara felt no desire to leave and the leather on the chair had warmed.
“Nope.”
He eyed her slowly. Now that she wasn’t running out the door he could take his time assessing her. She was wearing some old flannel shirt that looked like it had come from her dad’s closet and a pair of unattractive corduorys in some god-awful shade of puke green. Her hair would be quite nice in a thick, brown-y kind of way if she hadn’t put it into a ponytail and plastered it down with a sweaty wool tam. It lay on the floor next to the chair where she’d dropped it. He smiled. She must have ripped it off her head when Bud came in.

Like that would have made a difference.

She swiveled around, taking in the living room again. Nothing had changed, except the lumpy thing in the corner had been stripped of its canvas drape, revealing a drum set.

“You play?” She saw him drop his gaze out of the corner of her eye.
“Naw, that’s my brother’s stuff.” She exhaled. Of course he would be a musician. Moondoggy?
Why do you call him…..
“He thinks he’s a surfer and for some stupid reason he goes out to the lake every day in the summer looking for a good ride”. Nate laughed derisively and foam in the beer bottle volcanoed out and sprayed along the sofa in a delicate imitation of a cresting wave.
‘But….”
Nate laughed, then glared at her.
“He’s nuts, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Sara looked wildly back into the murky depths of the house.
“But…”
“Yeah, he’s cute isn’t he?” He was snarling. Or laughing, she couldn’t tell which.
“No, I mean….”
“Oh, you mean the waves? Or the lack thereof on Lake Ontario?”
She was getting frustrated.
“You said….!” Nate stopped whatever he was about to say. “You said he was going to school!” She was shouting now and there was the echo of a crashing sound in the back of the house.
For a moment Nate looked reflective. He swirled the contents of the amber bottle and watched the bubbles dance around the lip.
“He is in school. And he works part-time to pay for this palatial residence in which we both reside…..”
He catapulted up off the couch so suddenly Sara fell back into the Barkerlounger. She put her hands up over her face.
Nate lumbered to the kitchen and went straight through pushing the door in front of him with a loud bang. It swung back with equal force and cut her off into silence.

Where was her hat?
She stretched sideways over the side looking for it and was planning to make a run for it when Nate returned. He was carrying a wooden tray with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits visible above the curved edges.
Sara tried to hide the tam, her hands were every which way. She ended up shoving it under her behind.
“’S okay,” he remarked without meeting her gaze. With the tray balanced deftly in one hand he pulled a small table over to her chair with the other and then set the tray down. Next to the delft-blue teapot, a delicate cup and saucer in a thorny rose pattern. The biscuits were dipped in chocolate. How had he put this together so quickly? The fluted china and teapot were another mystery.

“I have hot chocolate if you’d prefer,” he said in a fake English accent.
“This is nice, thanks,” she said a littled dazedly. It was then Sara noticed he’d included a large cotton napkin, neatly folded into a silver ring. She reached for it.
“Just don’t put it under your chin,” he said, wiggling his ringed fingers at her like it was a royal command.

The tea was steeped to a dark peaty color when she poured it into the cup. The aroma of caramel steamed up toward her and curled around her face and hair. Not knowing where else to put it, she took a biscuit and put it on the rim of her saucer. It was all a bit awkward, maneuvering over the chunky contours of the lounger and she remained perched on the edges, trying balance everything. It took her mind off the situation at hand, at least momentarily. The two of them passed a few minutes in complete silence. She sipped.

Then,
“Your brother.” Sara started again with more authority. "Is there something wrong with him?” She’d only heard barely two words out of him anyway, and he’d started out on the right foot.

“Nothing a little medication wouldn’t cure,” came the reply. She looked for signs of sarcasm on the face visible over the rim of her cup but found none. She took a sip and thought some more.
“I’ve seen that look,” said Nate.
“I’m just confused.” About Bud, and about the tea and biscuits suddenly appearing by her side.
“He’s really not nuts.” Nate sighed. Every bit of air came out of him like a deflated balloon. “He just likes to fake people out.” Nate shoved the empty bottle under the couch with one huge, bare heel. Somewhere along the line he’d shed his flip-flops which were askew like two bunny ears next to the couch.
He leaned forward.
“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up with a twin brother who looks like an underwear model.” He was expressionless. “I kind of went a different way with my look.”
“And yes…..we are identical twins if that’s your next question.” To her silence he added, “Hence the oddness of it all, wouldn’t you agree?”
That being the obvious elephant in the room (she forgave herself the pun), Sara tried to stick to the point.
“He seemed….well, a little strange at the end there,” She wasn’t sure how else to put it. He’d spat.
“It’s my brother’s way of evening out the playing field.”
“That’s insulting!” she managed before realizing what she’d said.
Nate lifted his hand and slapped the wattled flesh around his thighs. “I’ve been this way since second grade. It is an old habit, my brother’s lame way of protecting me.”
Sara took a bite of the biscuit. It was homemade, delicate and flaky. Buttery. She held it aloft.
“Did you?”
“Yes. One of my hobbies”
“And the tea?”
“My brother put the tray together for you. There’s another door to the kitchen from the back.”
She turned at that moment to see Bud re-entering the room. He was wearing a valet’s uniform with a red vest and little black bow tie. From the neck down he looked ridiculous. From the neck up……Sara realized then why it had been so hard for Nate to exist in the same space as his twin. Bud couldn’t help sucking the life out of everything around him, and time stopped. He was truly beautiful.
She turned wildly seeking the reflection of something in Nate’s face. It was a reflex, as primal as a wary animal looking for patterns in the shifting shadows of the brush, listening for something new, something foreign. Everything had to make sense, to fit together or there would be danger.

Nate sat impassively, waiting for the moment to pass. He had long ago stopped trying to help, to suck in his gut or turn his face to match that of his brother, to show off the angular line of their cheeks, the square jaw, the vibrant, alive eyes. He was beyond truculent (another phase), beyond defensive. He let her scan his features, the pouchy flesh under his eyes, the pinky stretched bum-cheeks, the jowls falling away into his neck. He sat and waited.

Bud barely slowed down.
“Bye.” It came out mumbled. Strangled.
Nate's brother totally avoided her, she was a leper to him and he got out of the door as fast as he could, the metal screen door banging open and snapping back on his shins as he fled.

She heard the truck start up and drive away. Nate hadn’t moved.
The cookie was still in her hand, the chocolate warmed and coating her fingers. She put it down.

“You’re sitting on your hat,” said Nate.