Finally, we pulled up in our driveway. I opened the door. The storm was going as hard as ever. The droplets were already stinging my thigh. I reached for my umbrella and clicked it open. Only, it didn’t. I examined it, like I was going to understand it even a little bit. The mechanism had frozen. I didn’t know why, and I couldn’t fix it.
Nor could I simply pull into the garage. Because that’s where Kevin’s broken-down car (the impetus for this ill-fated adventure) was sitting. I was stuck in the rainstorm of the century without a shred of cover.
I threw the umbrella to the backseat in disgust. Kevin eyed me.
“I’ll go with you,” I told him.
“I don’t have an umbrella either,” Kevin said, “I was sharing yours, remember?”
I kept the curse word in my mouth, mulling on it like a piece of hard, sour jerky.
“Fine,” I said, “We’ll make a run for it.”
We leapt out of the car and scrambled for the front door. The water was cold, and I screamed, despite myself. I got to the door, fumbled with the keys, and finally tumbled into the foyer. We’d been out for less than five minutes. Both of us were soaked.
“Oh my God!” I shrieked.
My clothing clung to me. I took my hair out of the clip and shook it out. I was dripping puddles on the floor. I needed to change, then take a hot shower, before I could head back to my room and start my bacchanalia of bookwork.
“Um, Jacey?” My younger brother stood next to me, similarly soaked. His clothing clung to his body in a way that, if I wasn’t his sister, I would find very alluring.
Kevin, apparently, at some point, had gone and gotten himself what I could only describe as a man-bod. He was tall, but I already knew that. And broad shouldered. Which I’d seen for myself. But now, as his clothing stuck to him like it had been painted on, I realized my little brother was ripped. Bulging biceps. Prominent pecs. What was surely a washboard stomach. Holy crap my brother was…
“Sorry,” Kevin said. He’d clearly caught me leering but misread it as contempt. He looked down at the ground, sheepishly. “It’s just, um, I need your help.”
That snapped me out of my reverie. All I wanted to do was get out of my soaking clothes, warm up, and finally have the day I’d planned for. Kevin already had my help. My help had been given and received. No more help was to be afforded; my coffers were all cleaned out.
Kevin continued, looking anxious while acting unfazed. “My car’s hood won’t hold up by itself. I lost the stand a long time ago. And I need to get in there but there’s nothing I can use and so I was hoping that you could hold it for me. The hood, I mean.”
I glared at my brother. I was going to say no. I had to shut this down. Half my day was already wasted and one more thing was never just one more thing.
“Can’t I at least get changed first?” I asked, gesturing to the tiny lake we were making on our parents’ white-tiled floor.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Kevin said, “It’s messy work. And so, I’m thinking that, actually, this is the perfect time to do it. You know, before we get clean again.”
I let out a long sigh. I felt disgusting and gross. All I wanted to do was dry off. I could practically hear my books calling my name. And yet, my brother was being logical. For once.
I stripped off my sweater, leaving it on the ground in a wet heap, like the corpse of some strange sea animal. It left me in only a plain, white t-shirt. But at least that was mostly dry.
“Twenty minutes,” Kevin said, smiling. “That’s all it’ll take, I swear. If it goes one second over, you can stab me in the chest with the oil dipstick.”
“I’m going to do that either way,” I said, following my brother into the garage.
*
A? A stands for Angry.
Mad was in the rearview mirror. I was absolutely livid.
But I knew what was going to happen if I didn’t agree. I’d waste another three hours being bothered by my younger brother. He’d ask and ask and ask and at that point, all my time would be wasted anyway. And he was right about the whole ‘why get clean just to get dirty’ thing. But that didn’t make me any happier about what I was being forced to do.
Kevin made all the appropriate appreciations of my effort, but I didn’t care. I was going to help him fix his car, then run him over with the damned thing. Picturing it in my mind was the only way I was able to stop myself from strangling him.
We went into the garage and Kevin lifted the hood of his sad little sedan. For all that Kevin doted on the little machine, I didn’t see it. He had a beat up 1992 Volkswagon GTI (a Mk2, Kevin had once told me, proudly. Like that meant anything). It had been red at one point but had settled into a rust color. His friends all acted like Kevin had the holy grail, but as far as I could tell it was just another dirty cup.
Kevin showed me what he wanted me to do. I reached up, human prop that I was, and held the hood in place. Then my younger brother got right to work. He dove forward so deep, it looked like the engine was about to eat him.
I stared off into the distance while my brother wrenched around under the hood. I tried to focus on what I’d be studying, but all I could picture was more creative ways to murder my sibling. I knew the anger wasn’t productive, but I didn’t care.
“That should do it,” Kevin announced. He twisted the wrench one last time, then stood up. He slapped his hands, signifying he was finished. “Honestly, Jacey. I can’t thank you enough. I’ve spent my whole life trying to… To hold up your standard. I know that I can’t. But whatever little successes I’ve had — they’re because of you. It’s all for you. I hope you know how much that means to me.”
I looked at my brother, confused. Where had all that come from? What did all of it mean? I didn’t know how to react, so I stood there, holding the hood.
Out of nowhere, a gout of dark oil spurted out of the engine. I can’t even explain it. Suddenly this massive burst of (thankfully) lukewarm liquid fountained onto me. It got my face, my shirt, everything. I was covered in black awfulness.
“Oh shit!” Kevin cried out.
He wrenched whatever it was closed, but the damage was done. His car had covered me. Now I was soaked in two different ways. Dirty and gross and already upset beyond sense. Kevin raced over to me. The look on his face — a mix of horror and panic — told me that my brother knew I was about to experience my own explosion.
But I had the strangest reaction. I should have gotten madder, but I guess there was no place else to go. I could have been upset, distraught, even devastated (Did I score an 800 in the language portion of the SAT? You know I did).
But instead, as everything that happened reached my rational mind, I reacted in the strangest way: I started to giggle hysterically.
It was an almost insane cackle. A burst of uncontrolled laughter that hit me so hard, I tumbled to the floor of the garage. Kevin, unsure of how to react, started to chuckle with me. Then I started to sob.
Kevin tumbled to the ground. He wrapped his arms around me.
“I’m so sorry, Jacey,” he said, squeezing me tight.
“I hate you,” I said through the tears, “I hate you so much.”
*
Everything after that was a blur.
I remember him carrying me up the stairs, like a fireman rescuing a child. He was talking to me, but I couldn’t make out the words.
He lowered me to the bathroom floor and turned on the shower. I looked up and saw my brother was also covered in oil. I couldn’t put the pieces together. Had he gotten spurted on too? Or was he messy from carrying me?
I lifted my arms and let my little brother strip me. T-shirt and bra. He struggled with my soaking jeans, but finally managed to get them off. Underwear and all. Naked on the floor, I should have felt shame or something worse. But I was oddly numb. Distant. Like watching this happen to someone else.
Next thing I knew, I was in the shower. The warm water felt so good. I was having trouble standing for some reason and I reached back to hold myself up. Suddenly a pair of warm hands were holding my flanks. Helping me.
I looked up and saw my younger brother. Kevin was in the shower with me. He was naked too. The water poured off his perfect body. His deep brown eyes full of care. Mop of curly hair drooping with wet. He looked so good.
The logic (or the illogic really) didn’t hit me. Of course, my brother was in the shower with me. How else was he going to help me get clean? And he had to be naked. Who wears clothing in a shower? Crazy people, that’s who.
It was totally normal for me to be completely nude in the shower with my sibling. Held in his warm hands. His body so strong around me. Yet welcoming and soft, as well. I was dizzy with it.
I felt something slippery and realized my brother was soaping me down. He did it reverently, rubbing the bar of soap over my shoulders. Down my arms. Up my sides and around my legs. His face near my… Well, you know.
It should have been uncomfortable but when I felt my brother drag the soap down my back I felt my body only pleading for him to go lower.
“Is this OK?” he asked and I could only nod my head.
His hands gripped at my little butt cheeks and damned if I didn’t sigh in blissful release. I felt something rigid brush my thigh and I realized it was my brother’s dick. I should have been repulsed but I felt something far more enthralling. Something about my strong brother cupping my ass, his shaft on my leg, sent me to this other place. Where only sensations mattered.
I’m not sure who kissed who. I think it might have been me. I have this flash of reaching my lips to his and feeling so weirdly happy when they met. Like some part of me had been aching for it.
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