Running Somewhere New {Caspar}

[CURTIS CRANE]

He’d been in New York for how long? And he still hadn’t met the woman that gave birth to him and his brother. Needless to say, he was curious. Especially over the tid-bit that Caspar had given to him when they were locked in the museum. No—he and his brother hadn’t gone back to being buddy-buddy after that disaster, but they…weren’t quite so angry all the time. Though on the outside it probably didn’t look much different; but regardless, Curtis was curious as to the person his twin brother was staying with.

And the minute he walked in he wanted to turn heel and walk right back out. He had been stunned by the woman that answered the door—she was beautiful. The boys had their father’s light brown hair—unless the blonde was lying, and it came out of a bottle. He had always been able to stare at his own face—thanks twin, so he was able to see the familiarities in her face. The shape of their lips, the slight downwards tilts at the corners of their eyes. And then she called him Caspar.

Of course.

Reality shattered. She’d never seen him. Obviously she knew she squeezed twins out of her, but he couldn’t blame her for being unable to tell the difference. Dad made them wear bracelets when they were little to tell them apart, now he was flawless at it. But this woman, their mother—essentially a stranger couldn’t. Curtis was lead into the house, and his eyes tried to take everything in, trying to imagine what it would be like to grow up here. Unlike dad’s house, it was foreign. Cold. Unwelcoming somehow. He liked it in a strange way, but it didn’t seem right for Caspar. Maybe…maybe he could talk Dad into letting his pain in the ass brother come home.

The talk was awkward—she didn’t seem to be able to focus, which was somewhat annoying. He only felt relief when Caspar came through the door and they sat down for dinner. He glanced over the table—looking. Did she know that Caspar only took pure vegetable oil? That the milk had to be soy or almond? That eggs weren’t vegan? Perhaps it wasn’t just about him getting to know her, it was trying to see if she was suited to be a mom. Their mom. Caspar’s mom.

Curtis took a deep breath, and moved a biscuit onto his plate. This was already dreadfully awkward, and he was starting to miss dad’s lame jokes. He felt sick, and just wanted to go back to the safety of a familiar environment. What had he expected? Hugs? Kisses? Stories about how she hadn’t wanted to give them up? About how she dreamed of them all the time? Yeah…right. Curtis wasn’t an idiot, and he could tell that they were just dropped onto her life out of nowhere. This woman had no idea how to be a mother, so why was he trying to hope she would be one? Breaking the biscuit apart, he took a bite of it, and paused. “It’s got egg, Caspar.” He mumbled. There was a difference, he’d give vegans that much. He’d learned to tell by taste, plus—the yellow of the biscuits were a dead give-away.

Caspar was the only familiar thing to him here, and they were more likely to kill each other than hug each other. So…why was he even here again?

Outfit.

[CASPAR CRANE]

She wanted to meet Curtis.

After three months of Caspar, she’d somehow decided she wanted to meet that little secret brother of his. He’d been able to feel the impending awkwardness and discomfort the first time she’d mentioned it, and he’d tried everything he could to talk her out of it. God, pretending his twin didn’t exist had just been so damned easy until all these factors in the universe had suddenly started conspiring against him in that stupid regard.

”But where will he sleep?” ”Bruno’s away on a business meeting next weekend! I’ll borrow your bed for the night, and you two cutiepies can share mine!”

”But we’d have to buy him dinner. Wouldn’t you rather spend that money on like, a new blush brush or something?” ”Oh no, honey, Brenda and the girls just bought me a new set for my birthday. It’s the new line from Clinique.”

”But how’s he going to get here?” ”Y’see, honey, Dave just went through a totallyjuicy breakup with Katie, and basically, that means they’re not going to the Wanted concert next Friday, so he offered up the ticket and, well, I took a gamble. Now, why dontcha get back to washing the dishes and I’ll heat up the meatballs. Gosh, how do you turn on this damn thing again?”

Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying, at least. Curtis was in his house now, and the two of them were sitting at the table, eating some stupid biscuits Lara had somehow managed to cook up earlier in the day, waiting for the main course. That felt weird. For so long, he’d been remembering this kid’s face as like, a thing of the past, an old life type deal. But now he was here, in his current life. Huh.

Curtis really irritated Caspar. That was no secret. But if there was one person in the world who irritated him more than his pompous look-alike, that was his mother, Lara Norweg. And somehow, her disorganized and perpetually flustered mannerisms and general demeanor of disarray didn’t seem like something that would particularly appeal to Curtis either. For God’s sake, the kid freaked out when a pen was out of place in his room. So perhaps they’d be able to find a common enemy in her, and maybe said enemy would prompt Curtis to stop being such a stupid little prick for two seconds. That would be something new.

Wow, he was really hungry too. What was taking her so long in there? He could feel the silence stretching between himself and his brother. Jesus, he could totally be in his room right now, writing poetry or playing his ukulele, or at a protest somewhere, or literally doing anything but sitting here and staring intently at his plate, to avoid having to make eye contact with Fuckface here. Sighing, he reached for a biscuit. At least that would take his mind off the lack of dinner.

“It’s got egg, Caspar.”

Or…not. ”Thanks,” he muttered, placing the biscuit gingerly back on the serving plate. The first verbal exchange the two had had that night. Off to a great start already.

”CASPAR?”

[/i]

Caspar had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning aloud. ”Yeah, mom.” He spoke almost tiredly.

”Remember what I was telling you about this microwave being possessed?”

”It’s not possessed, Mom, remember? It’s just—“

”No, honey, it’s spooked, I swear it is. It’s out to get me, I can feel it. I betcha a million…look, see, I did everything you told me to last time. I put the plates in, I pressed defrost, I pressed five, but nothing’s happening, honey, I just don’t know how I can get it to understand that I want it to—“

”You don’t press the defrost button, Mom. You just put in the five.” Caspar squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his index fingers into his temples. Being at this woman’s house for dinner was like a fucking full-time job, except with even shittier pay than the underexploited underbellies of American society usually got.

”But…but I want it to defrost.”[/i]

”Yeah, but that’s…that’s not how you do it. If the thing says to put it in for five minutes, you just put it in for five minutes.”

”But…then why would it have a defrost button?”[/i]

Caspar shook his head, rolling his eyes behind closed lids. ”I…don’t know.”

”Well, I trust ya, hon. These machines, though. I swear to God, ya give ‘em an ounce of leeway, next thing ya know, they’re crawlin’ through ya windows…”[/i]

Right. Good. At least when Bruno was here, she tended to be too intoxicated to go off on her paranoid rampages. Though it had always been quite obvious to Caspar that these biweekly ‘business meetings’ of his weren’t exactly ‘business meetings’ in the sense that his mother was picturing. What with the lipstick stains that tended to appear on the clothing that Caspar usually had to wash because of evil spirits in the machines or whatever, it didn’t take Einstein to put two and two together.

At last she emerged from the kitchen, setting three plates of Lean Cuisine chemically processed garbage on the table. Ugh, Caspar could just feel the helpless animals and grossly underpaid worker-vibes seeping into his system as he began to pick away at the food, for lack of a better term.

Outfit[/blockquote][/blockquote][/center]

[CURTIS CRANE]

Needless to say, the entire dinner was awkward. He felt like a stranger, and the only sort of comfort he had was that sideways glances at Caspar made him feel like he was glancing in a mirror. A cold, hard reality. Curtis was doing his best to stare down at his plate. When was the last time they sat down and had dinner? He’d been away from his brother for quite some time, so this felt entirely weird. Strange. Off. Curtis picked the remainder of his biscuit apart. The silence ached, and twisted. And part of him wanted to get up and go make some biscuits that didn’t contain egg, that had soy milk inside of it. Obviously, their mother didn’t have a single clue.

He glanced sideways at his brother, and just nodded. Wouldn’t want Caspar to lose his Vegan Powers after all. The Vegan Academy would have his license. Curtis smiled slightly, before visibly jumping out of his chair when their mother called for his brother. Curtis glanced at his twin in surprise—he called her mom. Should he do that too? It didn’t feel right to call a stranger mom, it was the first time he met her. Listening to the exchange, Curtis pressed the back of his wrist against his lips. “She’s not…” Curtis’ voice dropped down to a whisper, glancing back to the kitchen.

Their mother was batshit insane. Well…at least that explained why the hell Caspar was off his rocker. They may be identical twins, but Curtis got Dad’s brains. The smell hit him like a bag of brick—he knew a microwaved meal when he saw one. Of course, he wasn’t about to complain about it, but glancing at his brother he frowned slightly. Would it be rude to ransack her kitchen to make some sort of vegetables? How could Caspar have been living here this long, and she didn’t realize that her son was a vegan?

“Thanks.” Curtis murmured quietly, glancing at his brother again. He had to get him out of here. Dad had to hear his plea, Curtis suffered enough. If this woman thought the microwave was possessed, Curtis could only imagine. He took a deep breath, and set his fork down for a minute. “Uh….Mm---“ Mom sounded foreign on his lips. “Lara…how uh. How long have you….why—“ What would he talk to this stranger about. Why didn’t you want us? was on the forefront of his mind. He glanced at his brother again…did he figure it out? “So, I made it uh…onto the Principal’s List…it’s looking like I’m gonna be able to get a full ride to Barrie.” Curtis defaulted, and he defaulted hard. He tried a small bite of his food, and managed to choke it down.

This was going to have to do until the morning when he headed home. Or maybe sneak out in the middle of the night to run to McDonald’s. What had he been expecting? A full course meal like Dad would have made? With a sigh, he turned towards Caspar, and pushed his play towards him a bit, “I’ll take the meat off your plate.” It was the best he could do at the moment. Maybe Caspar would be able to eat his meal, and forget that the meat was touching the rest of his meal. Maybe.

Glancing up at their mother again, he had a hard time smiling. God—it was weird looking at her face. Trying to figure out where she fit in the family. And why on God’s green earth Dad put his dick in crazy. Because that’s what this woman surely was.

Outfit.

[CASPAR CRANE]

The conversation started out about as well as he’d been expecting.

”So, Curtis! Caspar tells me you’re quite the student! What’s your favorite subject? By the way, Curtis, you should let your father know that I ran into one of his buddies the other…”

[/i]

Caspar’s mother’s eyes were aimed directly at him, and he allowed her to ramble on for a few seconds, hoping maybe she’d realize the error. Finally, when he could feel his left eyebrow starting to twitch with irritation, he corrected her. ”Are you talking to me?” he asked sharply. ”I’m Caspar. The one you already know.” It was a real struggle to avoid rolling his eyes.

”Oh! I’m so sorry, Caspar, dear.”[/i] She looked so genuinely abashed that Caspar almost felt bad.

This time, he did roll his eyes. ”It’s fine. It’s…similar. I forgive you.”

“Lara…how uh. How long have you….”

”…been with Bruno?” Caspar felt himself finish instinctively. He cursed inwardly. It was so annoying when he and his brother accidentally finished each other’s sentences. That was way more common than it should have been for two people who barely spoke to each other.

”Mmmf. Four years,”[/i] she replied, through a mouthful of food. ”Four beautiful years. We met at the Garden State festival, over in Newark. He was such a darling. Bought me cotton candy after I blew all my money at the midway. I was like a little girl on Christmas morning.”[/i]

Caspar could feel a comment rising in his chest about the undeserved exploitation of lower-class carnival workers with unjustly meager wages, but he shoveled another piece of green soggy whatever into his mouth to stifle it.

“So, I made it uh…onto the Principal’s List…it’s looking like I’m gonna be able to get a full ride to Barrie.”

”Principal’s list!” Her face lit up, as if he’d just told her he’d won an Academy Award. ”My my, but haven’t we got ourselves a little Einstein here? And to think that my DNA’s in you, hon. I’m so proud.”[/i] She reached over to ruffle Curtis’ hair affectionately. ”How about you, Caspy?”[/i]

Caspy. God, he could not stand that vile nickname. ”I’m, uh, passing music theory,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate. And I have a girlfriend. But that was a can of worms that didn’t need to be opened at this table.

Well, no affectionate ruffling was coming this way, that was for sure. His mother nodded distractedly at him, her eyes focused completely on his brother, as if mention of the stupid Principal’s List or whatever had placed some sort of Halo on his head. Caspar had never believed in the Principal’s List anyway. It was nothing but another societal construct, designed to place arbitrary labels on people and stifle their true potential. Lara Norweg clearly had no such qualms.

”So what else, Casp…urtis, my God, I should’ve picked names that weren’t so easy to mix up, huh? What else have you done this year, honey? Friends? Sports? Music? Grades?” God, she was like a little lapdog, yip-yip-yipping away. Caspar shoveled the meat from his plate to Curtis’ absentmindedly, feeling his heart harden as his mother’s attention swivelled away from him completely.

In his brother's shadow again. What else was new?[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[CURTIS CRANE]

Curtis had opened his mouth to respond to her, but confusion crossed his face when her eyes were turned onto his brother. He just waited, trying to be somewhat merciful. Their dad could tell them apart by their voices. The only time he really mixed the boys up was when he was a bit buzzed, or if he was really tired. This woman was just seeing them side by side for the first time…it would be fine. “If you’re looking at us, Lara. My hair goes to your left. His goes to the right.” Another old habit—when they had all the same classes in elementary and middle school, they kept their parts separated to give the teachers a fighting chance at telling them apart. Even when they cut their hair, the little flip of their bangs maintained the sway that they had grown accustomed to.

He began to let the frustration slide…of course then Caspar had to go and finish his sentence. Seriously…there was no hint that he was going to ask, and somehow that little face stealing thief had to go and use his freaky deaky twin powers and read his mind. Curtis gave him a mild look of annoyance—he did it too. It was just a sudden blurt out of words; like he knew what Curtis was going to say and when. There were times they’d even spoken full sentences at the same time. Sat in a chair in the same position, moved in tandem. It seemed like no matter how far apart the twins tried to pull themselves, certain other things would happen that just reminded them exactly how fucked their situation was.

Such a darling. Curtis hadn’t met his….step-dad? Would be step-dad? Who frick frackin knew, but the guy was MIA. And rather than call up the father of her children, she got with some dude that Curtis could only imagine was a ‘roid ripped orange body builder from jersey. After all—who the fuck else would be named Bruno? Curtis glanced at his brother, wishing that twin telepathy was a thing…because now curiosity was killing the cat, and he absolutely had to know what this wacko with the weird name. Bruno and Lara? Seriously? It sounded like something out of a B-Grade 80’s movie. Christmas morning? Curtis almost choked on his microwave mush, trying not to snort. Christmas Eve usually wasn’t too bad for having a birthday. Christmas Day sucked infinitely more, and he glanced at the twin that had that particular birthday, with laughter in his eyes.

But there was no way in hell this woman loaned him any brains, that all came from Dad. It was Casper who---what the fuck was she doing. Curtis instantly froze as the woman patronizingly ruffled his hair, his knuckles tightening on his fork for a moment. “Uh…right.” He mumbled, setting the fork down after taking a deep breath, trying to smooth out his hair. No. No one touched his hair. He wasn’t a primadonna, but he hated people touching his head. Ruffling his hair. Especially strangers. Mother or not, he didn’t know this woman, he already settled on calling her Lara, and she hadn’t corrected him. Dad was the only one that could ruffle his hair and only get a playfully annoyed swat; Casper would often be on the other end of a rough housing match. God….he hated it.

Once satisfied with his hair, he went back to his dinner, using the side of the fork to cut the pressed meat. His stomach wanted to up-heave. How did one make “fake meat” anyway, because as where Caspar would refuse to eat it…Curtis was sure there wasn’t a single dead animal in this product. Again, Curtis snorted into his fork, glancing at his brother and trying not to burst out in laugh. “That’s like…the only thing you’re passing.” A single brow twitched upwards as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth to keep him from laughing. “I’ve tried to offer you tutoring, but you just aren’t having it.” And a shoulder shrug. A sigh through the nose that was entirely exasperation, Curtis turned back to his plate.

He glanced sideways out of his eye as she started to say his name—the corrected drawing his eyes back to her. They could have nowhere near matching names, and he was sure that she would still manage to get them mixed up. It wasn’t the names that were the problem, it was the fact they had the same faces. “Oh, definitely. I get along with…” Another glance at Casper, “Mostly everyone in my classes. I’ve been offering tutoring to some of the underclassmen and people who need a bit of help.” Finally, he felt a bit more at ease. A bit more relaxed. They were getting to know each other, and not some awkward babble about a Guido that Curtis had never known, and personally, didn’t want to know. “I don’t do sports, because like my under achieving brother over here—I’m also musically inclined. Principal’s list just basically means I have one of the highest GPAs. 4.0, and it’s got me that full scholarship to Barrie. I eventually want to be a music teacher, or a producer. I’m not sure which way I’m going yet, but I’ll have my mind made up at the end of the year.” He smiled at her, a close-lipped, content smile. To anyone else, it was happy. But those who knew him---coughcoughCasparcough---knew that it was a smug smile.

If there was anything that Curtis was proud of, it was himself. Sure, he loved his brother. But he was the better brother. The one who cared about his grades more, achieved more, had more of his life figured out. Curtis was going to be all set in life, and his twin brothers was going to be floundering in God-Knows-Where. And that…that was what separated them: Curtis’ responsibility.

Outfit.

[CASPAR CRANE]

God, she was like a fucking child on Christmas Eve, overwhelmed with the sudden new commercial wealth his rich, white parents had bestowed upon him as a reward for being adequately entitled and privileged for a year. His mother’s face was lighting up as she leaned forward, as if being closer to Curtis would help her ingest more of his words more quickly. She had this enormous smile, as if her favorite celebrity were recounting his life to her, or the President, or like, Jesus or something. Why the fuck didn’t I get stuck with this one? her face was practically screaming. And the two were already on first-name terms. Caspar could feel himself sinking lower into his chair.

Wow, it really had been a long time since he’d seen Fuckface talk. He just had this…animation. Like, this stage presence, like he remembered really good actors having from his theater days. Curtis was charismatic. His gestures augmented his sentences perfectly. His sentences were clear and articulate, free of the ‘um’s and ‘uh’s that were so characteristic of Caspar’s phrases. Curtis’ speech was self-assured; anyone remotely in the vicinity could tell that he knew what he was talking about. He knew who he was and where he stood. He was probably the son his Mom had always dreamed of having, but never gotten. He could practically feel the pride emanating from her like body heat.

There was nothing about Caspar to be proud of. Caspar was angsty and brooding. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was to angrily criticize some social injustice. He didn’t know how to portray any other emotion. He rarely made eye contact, his sentences were broken, colloquial, constantly stumbling over and interrupting each other. He had no friends, no skills, and no achievements to his name. He had no idea who he was, no idea what he wanted, and no idea where he was going. There was only one thing in the world he was good at, and fuck if his Mom was ever going to care that he was capable of making pretty noises come out of a dusty brown box.

“That’s like…the only thing you’re passing.”

”And how would you know?” he snapped back, feeling his hand clench into a fist around his fork. ”And like I’ve said before, no. I don’t need you exploiting my scholastic ineptitude to propel yourself to the next level of good-boy humanitarian status. But thanks.” He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, unable to define the hurricane of emotions that was swirling around within him.

“I don’t do sports, because like my under achieving brother over here—I’m also musically inclined.”

Inclined, you fuck. Not gifted. ”You can slide a bow thing across some strings,” he felt himself mutter. ”Big deal.” Caspar felt a sudden flair of anger in his chest. He had very little to be proud of in his life. But if there was one thing he could take comfort in, it was the fact that if he wanted to, he could take Curtis’ violin between his two pinkies and compose a Baroque-style minuet on it with his eyes closed. His brother had every advantage over him but that. Surely Mom had to see that, at least.