she said.

"This other time? Ray punished us both by pouring rice out of the box and making us kneel on it. On the kitchen floor. I can't even remember what the 'crime' was. Just the punishment. . . . It seemed silly, you know? Kneeling on rice. Big deal. But after about five minutes, it wasn't so funny anymore. It hurt. hurt. I got to get up after about fifteen minutes because I hadn't cried, but Ray made Thomas stay down there on his knees because he was crying. Bawling his head off. That was the biggest sin you could commit, as far as Ray was concerned. Letting the enemy see you cry." I got to get up after about fifteen minutes because I hadn't cried, but Ray made Thomas stay down there on his knees because he was crying. Bawling his head off. That was the biggest sin you could commit, as far as Ray was concerned. Letting the enemy see you cry."

"And your mother used to just let him get away with it?"

"Ma? Ma was more scared of Ray than we were. More scared than I was, anyway. I was the only one of the three of us that would stand up to him. Stick my neck out. I guess, in a way, that was what saved me from the worst of it."

It felt strange, actually: having Joy's full attention like that.

Letting my guard down. It was like going over to that emergency I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM127 127.

room after all and pulling down my underwear and saying, "Here.

Look. Here's what that Nazi guard down there did to me. Take a look." . . . Robocop, Ray: I was forty years old and still still watching out for bullies. watching out for bullies.

I walked over to the window, looked out. There'd been a frost, first of the season. All the leaves were changing. "It's just not worth dredging up, Joy," I said. "It's all ancient history. . . . I better shut up or you're going to be late."

She got up and came up behind me. Put her arms around me and leaned her forehead against my shoulder. "Hey," she said.

"Hey, what?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"That Ray was so mean. That you have to go through all this with your brother."

I gave a little snort. "Don't feel sorry for me. Thomas Thomas is the one who's locked up down there. Not me." is the one who's locked up down there. Not me."

She kept holding me. Held on tighter, as a matter of fact. Held on for over a minute.

After she left, I poured myself more coffee. Leafed through the rest of the paper. Maybe I'd give up caffeine again, once this stuff with Thomas was settled. Once I had pain-in-the-ass Rood's house finished. Start jogging again, maybe. Take Joy on a trip. We could make it work, the two of us, if only we . . . if only . . .

I went back to the window. Watched all those dying leaves flapping outside in the wind. Came up with all kinds of arguments to give her-all kinds of reasons why I had had to keep running interference for Thomas. to keep running interference for Thomas.

I know know you need to be taken care of, Joy, but guys kill each other in places like Hatch. He never you need to be taken care of, Joy, but guys kill each other in places like Hatch. He never could could defend himself. It'd be like throwing a rabbit to the wolves. defend himself. It'd be like throwing a rabbit to the wolves.

It's different different when you're a twin, Joy. It's complicated. when you're a twin, Joy. It's complicated.

I promised Ma.

I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM128 8.196869 When my brother and I graduated from Three Rivers' John F.

Kennedy High School in June of 1968, we received a joint present from our mother. She had Scotch-taped a three-quarter-inch aluminum key to the inside of each of our graduation cards and written identical inscriptions. "Congratulations! Love, Ma and Ray. Proceed to the front hall closet."

Inside the closet, Thomas and I found a portable Royal typewriter in a dark blue carrying case, lockable and unlockable with either of our duplicate keys. We brought the typewriter into the living room, put it on the coffee table, and unlocked the case. Thomas, who had taken a typing class at JFK, rolled a piece of paper into the machine and tried a test sentence: Now is the time for all good men to Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country come to the aid of their country. I typed one, too: Thomas Birdsey is an Thomas Birdsey is an asshole asshole. Ma said, all right, all right, that was enough of that kind of stuff. She gave us each a kiss.

Ma hadn't bought the typewriter; she'd redeemed it. For years, she had been saving S&H green stamps in hopes of cashing them in 128 128 I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM129 129.

for a chiming grandfather clock, handcrafted in Germany and obtainable for 275 books. Ma had wanted that grandfather clock so badly that she visited it from time to time at the redemption store on Bath Avenue, just to hear its tone and stroke the polished wood.

She was more than halfway to her goal-had accumulated nearly 150 books of green stamps-when she revised her plan and got us the typewriter instead. Our success, she told us, was more important than some silly clock.

By "our success," I think Ma meant our safety. The year before, a neighbor of ours, Billy Covington, had been killed in Vietnam-shot down during a bombing raid near Haiphong. As a kid, Billy had walked to our house after school because his father had left the family and his mother worked downtown. Four years older than Thomas and me, he was unbeatable at tag and baseball and his favorite game, Superman. He owned Superman pajamas, I remember, and would pack them in his school bag and change into them before we played, completing his costume with one of our bath towels, which Ma would safety-pin around his neck. Billy would begin each episode of our play with an imitation of the TV show opening: "Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive!" But if Billy seemed invincible as the Man of Steel, he was pitiable afterwards. "Poor Billy," Ma would sometimes sigh as we watched him walk down our front steps, hand in hand with Mrs. Covington. "He doesn't But if Billy seemed invincible as the Man of Steel, he was pitiable afterwards. "Poor Billy," Ma would sometimes sigh as we watched him walk down our front steps, hand in hand with Mrs. Covington. "He doesn't have have a nice daddy like you boys do. a nice daddy like you boys do. His His father left Billy and his mother high and dry." father left Billy and his mother high and dry."

Years later, Billy Covington was our paperboy-a lanky near-man of fourteen or fifteen whose voice alternated between baritone and donkey's bray and who, from the street, could land a folded Daily Record Daily Record at the base of our cement flowerpot with deadly accu-racy. By the time Thomas and I entered high school ourselves, Billy had graduated and enlisted in the Air Force and become irrelevant. at the base of our cement flowerpot with deadly accu-racy. By the time Thomas and I entered high school ourselves, Billy had graduated and enlisted in the Air Force and become irrelevant.

At his military funeral, I thought nothing about the meaning of Billy Covington's life and death or the waste of the Vietnam War or even the implications for my brother and me. I focused, instead, on Billy's fiancee, whose breasts shook tantalizingly as she sobbed, and I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM130 130.

on his black GTO (386 cubes, 415 horses). Maybe his mother would want to sell his "goat" dirt cheap so she could forget about him and get on with her life, I remember calculating in the very presence of Billy's flag-draped silver casket.

Although Billy Covington's death failed to move me at age sixteen, it clobbered my mother. "Goddamn this war," she said in the car on the way back from the memorial service. "Goddamn this war to hell." In the backseat, Thomas and I looked at each other, jolted.

We had never before heard Ma use God's name in vain. More shocking, still, was the fact that she'd said it right in front of Ray, who had fought in both World War II and Korea and thought all antiwar protesters should be put against the wall and shot. Ma moped for days afterward. She found an old snapshot of Billy and bought a frame and put the picture on her chest of drawers along with the studio portraits of Thomas and me and her framed photos of her father and Ray. She said novenas on behalf of Billy's departed soul. Her eyes teared over whenever she saw Mrs. Covington walking zombielike past our house. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by what I perceived as Ma's mournful overreaction. It was only years later-well after the trouble with Thomas had begun-that I came to understand my mother's strong reaction to Billy Covington's death: four years our senior, Billy had been, all his life, a sort of living "preview of coming attractions" for her two boys. If Superman could be shot down from the sky, then so could his younger side-kicks. Vietnam could kill us. College would keep us safe.

Ray hadn't really signed our graduation cards with love and congratulations. Our stepfather had, in fact, opposed the idea of college educations for Thomas and me. For one thing, he said, he and Ma couldn't afford twin tuition bills. He should know, not her. He He was the one who paid the bills and managed their savings. She had no idea what they could or couldn't afford. For another thing, from what he read and heard down at the shipyard, half the teachers at those colleges were Communists. And half the kids were on drugs. was the one who paid the bills and managed their savings. She had no idea what they could or couldn't afford. For another thing, from what he read and heard down at the shipyard, half the teachers at those colleges were Communists. And half the kids were on drugs.

If he ever caught either of us messing with that kind of junk, he'd knock us into the day after tomorrow. He couldn't for the life of him I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM131 131.

see why two able-bodied young men out of high school couldn't work work for a living. Or enter the Navy the way he had done. There were worse things in life than a military career. It was the draftees they were sending to Vietnam; enlisted men had choices. Or, if we didn't want that, maybe he could get us in down at Electric Boat as apprentice pipe fitters or electricians or welders. Some of those jobs carried deferments. Building submarines might not be a fancy college-boy job, but it "backed the attack." It put meat and potatoes on the table, didn't it? for a living. Or enter the Navy the way he had done. There were worse things in life than a military career. It was the draftees they were sending to Vietnam; enlisted men had choices. Or, if we didn't want that, maybe he could get us in down at Electric Boat as apprentice pipe fitters or electricians or welders. Some of those jobs carried deferments. Building submarines might not be a fancy college-boy job, but it "backed the attack." It put meat and potatoes on the table, didn't it?

"But that's not the point, Ray," my mother said one night at supper.

"What do you mean it's not the point?" His fist banged against the tabletop hard enough to make the dishes jump. "I'll tell you what the point is. The point is, Tweedledum and Tweedledee here have been living high off the hog all their lives. The two of them know nothing but take, take, take, and I'm getting goddamned fed up with it." He got up and slammed out of the house. When he came back, he was speaking single syllables to Thomas and me but nothing at all to Ma. He gave her the silent treatment for days.

After that, there were arguments and tears behind my mother and Ray's bedroom door. Ma threatened to go to work if she had to in order to get us the money for school, and when Ray told her no one would hire her, she called his bluff and filled out an application for a maid's job down at Howard Johnson's. She was petrified at the thought of working outside the home-afraid of taking orders from a boss and making mistakes, scared that she might have to make small talk with strangers who would look at her funny because of her cleft lip. Howard Johnson's called her for an interview and offered her the job that same afternoon. She was to start the following Monday.

On the morning of her first day of work, Ma stood at the stove cooking breakfast in her uniform, distracted, her hands shaking visibly. From his seat at the table, Ray taunted and bullied her. People were pigs. There was no telling what what they'd leave behind for her to clean up. A while back, he'd read a story in the they'd leave behind for her to clean up. A while back, he'd read a story in the Bridgeport Herald Bridgeport Herald about a maid who'd found an aborted baby wrapped up in bloody I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM132 about a maid who'd found an aborted baby wrapped up in bloody I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM132 132.

sheets. Ma clunked his dish of eggs down in front of him. "All right, Ray. That's enough," she said. "I'll clean up whatever I have to.

These boys are going to school and that's that." Only then-when the threat of a working wife stood before him in a yellow acetate uniform-did my stepfather agree to cough up four thousand dollars for Thomas's and my college educations and allow my mother to stay home. No wife of his his was going to clean toilets for strangers. was going to clean toilets for strangers.

No wife of his his was going to do nigger work. was going to do nigger work.

Relieved to be spared the outside world, Ma was nevertheless ashamed not to show up at her new job. She made me me drive down to Howard Johnson's and surrender her uniform on a wire hanger. The man at the desk made a joke about it. Holding up the uniform, he called into the empty collar. "Hello, Connie? Yoo-hoo? Anybody home?" I made no objection on my mother's behalf. I might have even smiled at the joke. But I was so pissed off that when I got outside, I kicked the tire of Ray's Fairlane, hard enough to break my toe. It was Ray I was kicking, not the tire or the stupid fuck of a desk clerk. With Ray's four thousand dollars and our student loans and the money we made from our part-time jobs, Thomas and I now had the funds to go to school. But he had made Ma beg for that money-had taken his usual pound of flesh and then some. Over the years, he had taken so much of her that it was a wonder she drive down to Howard Johnson's and surrender her uniform on a wire hanger. The man at the desk made a joke about it. Holding up the uniform, he called into the empty collar. "Hello, Connie? Yoo-hoo? Anybody home?" I made no objection on my mother's behalf. I might have even smiled at the joke. But I was so pissed off that when I got outside, I kicked the tire of Ray's Fairlane, hard enough to break my toe. It was Ray I was kicking, not the tire or the stupid fuck of a desk clerk. With Ray's four thousand dollars and our student loans and the money we made from our part-time jobs, Thomas and I now had the funds to go to school. But he had made Ma beg for that money-had taken his usual pound of flesh and then some. Over the years, he had taken so much of her that it was a wonder she wasn't wasn't an empty uniform. an empty uniform.

As a high school senior, I had hungered for a clean break from my entire family-a reprieve from Ray's bullying and Ma's overindulgence and from the lifelong game of "me and my shadow"

I had played with Thomas. My grades and SATs were decent, and my guidance counselor had helped me envision how I might turn my work as a YMCA swimming instructor-a job I loved and was good at-into a career in teaching. Duke University had rejected me, but I'd been accepted at New York University and the University of Connecticut. Thomas had applied only to UConn and been accepted. At first, he didn't know what he wanted to be, but then he said he wanted to be a teacher, too.

When cost made it impossible for me to distance myself from my brother, I lobbied hard for separate dorms, separate roommates I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM133 133.

at UConn. It was time for each of us to become our own person, I told Thomas. It was the perfect opportunity for both of us to make the break. But Thomas resisted the idea of my cutting free, offering a number of reasons why separation was a big mistake. By summer-time, his main argument centered on our joint ownership of that typewriter. "But it's portable portable!" I kept screaming in exasperation. "I'll deliver deliver it to you when you need it." it to you when you need it."

"It's just as much mine as it is yours," he shot back. "Why should I have to wait around for someone to deliver a typewriter I already half-own?"

"Keep it in your your room then!" room then!"

Sensing Thomas's gathering panic about our separation, Ma appeared out of the blue one afternoon at the YMCA pool while I was working. At the time, I had a crush on the head pool instructor, a woman in her twenties named Anne Generous who was married to a sailor. At night, in the dark, I'd sometimes lie in my top bunk and pull down my underpants, pretending to pull down Anne Generous's black one-piece bathing suit with its YMCA insignia. I'd imagine her swimsuit-trapped breasts popping free, Anne Generous fondling one in each hand like a woman in a dirty magazine. I'd stroke those long, wet legs of hers as I lay there stroking my own boner and let go inside of Anne Generous the stuff that spilled onto my chest and belly. Below, in the bottom bunk, my brother slept unstained.

Innocent of our nighttime flings, Anne Generous told me one afternoon at the pool that I was a sweetie pie but too shy for my own good. She kept goading me to ask out a fellow instructor named Patty Katz. Patty was a junior at our school. She was cheerful and patient with kids and had purple acne on her back and a swimsuit that was always getting stuck in the crack of her ass. "Patty's crazy crazy about you, Dominick," Anne confided. "She thinks you're the greatest." about you, Dominick," Anne confided. "She thinks you're the greatest."

When Ma showed up that day at the Y pool, Anne Generous and Patty both shook her hand and said they were pleased to meet her. They directed the kids to the other side of the pool so that my mother and I could have some privacy. Ma told me that she was sorry to bother me at work but that she really needed to speak to me I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM134 134.

about Thomas when Thomas wasn't around. The two of them had had a little talk, she said. He was nervous about being away from home; living with me would make him feel more secure. And he was upset about the typewriter. She told me she just wanted everything to go right. It would would be easier if the typewriter stayed put in one room, wouldn't it? be easier if the typewriter stayed put in one room, wouldn't it?

I stood there, saying nothing, watching the tears in her eyes.

"I know he gets under your skin sometimes. But could you just do me me a favor and be his roommate? He's just feeling a little unsure of himself, that's all. He's never had your self-confidence, Dominick. a favor and be his roommate? He's just feeling a little unsure of himself, that's all. He's never had your self-confidence, Dominick.

Things have always been harder for him than they've been for you.

You know that."

"Things have been plenty plenty hard for me," I said. "Growing up in hard for me," I said. "Growing up in our our house." house."

Ma looked away. She said she knew one thing: that deep down, no matter how it seemed, our stepfather loved us very, very much. Ignoring my snort, she said that all Thomas needed was a little boost.

"And what about what I I need, Ma?" I said. "What about need, Ma?" I said. "What about that that?"

She had interrupted a game of water tag when she'd arrived, and now several kids drifted back to our side of the pool and began calling my name. One of the boys cannonballed into the water and accidentally splashed my mother. I swore out loud at him, I remember, and everyone just stopped-treaded water and stared. From the middle of the pool, Anne Generous looked at me with a mixture of pity and disapproval.

"All right, fine," I told Ma. "You win. I'll room with him. Now would you please get out of here, for cripe's sakes, before you get me fired? Your skirt's sopping wet. You're embarrassing me."

After work that day, I stayed in the pool, swimming laps and sputtering curses and arguments into the chlorine. I hated my brother almost as much as I hated Ray. If I gave in, I'd never get free of him. Never. Never. I swam until my eyes burned and my head ached-until my arms and legs were leaden. I swam until my eyes burned and my head ached-until my arms and legs were leaden.

When I got out of the Y, Patty Katz beeped at me from the front seat of her parents' station wagon. She knew I was upset, she said.

I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM135 135.

She was a good listener. Her Her mother drove mother drove her her crazy, too. Why didn't I let her buy me an ice cream? crazy, too. Why didn't I let her buy me an ice cream?

When we got to the Dairy Queen, Patty got out of the car and got my cone so that I could sit and sulk. I studied her as she waited in line. With her hair dry and her clothes on, she wasn't that bad.

She was passable. She got back in the car and handed me my ice cream and an inch-thick stack of napkins. "What am I, a slob or something?" I said, and she blushed and apologized and said she she was the slob-she was a klutz and a half. was the slob-she was a klutz and a half.

On the long drive we took, Patty told me she thought that I was right to insist on a new roommate and that I should stick to my guns. She said she knew who Thomas was but didn't really know him; they'd been in a study hall together, that was all. She said she could tell us apart with absolutely no problem: I was cool and my brother was a little on the finky side, no offense. A lot of people at school thought that about us. I'd be surprised.

We ended up on a dirt road out by the Falls, with the station wagon's backseat flopped down and my tongue down Patty's throat and her hand on my crank. She was eager to please but inexperienced, yanking away as if she'd gotten hold of a cow's udder. "Faster, faster, faster, " I whispered, and guided her, my hand over her hand. When she got it about right, I closed my eyes and came to the wet inside of Anne Generous's mouth, to my hands on Anne Generous's breasts, to Anne Generous's hurried stroking. " I whispered, and guided her, my hand over her hand. When she got it about right, I closed my eyes and came to the wet inside of Anne Generous's mouth, to my hands on Anne Generous's breasts, to Anne Generous's hurried stroking.

I cleaned myself off with the Dairy Queen napkins. Patty Katz said she had never done anything like this before. It wasn't that she regretted it. She wasn't sure how she felt. Her voice, her crying, were like the sounds of a girl in some other car. I got up, got zipped, got out of the car for a walk.

When Patty dropped me off at my house, she said she thought she loved me. I thanked her for the ice cream and told her I'd call her the next day-a promise I doubted I'd deliver on, even as I was making it. After she drove away, I stood there in the front yard, looking up at the light behind the shade in Ma and Ray's bedroom.

It was after midnight: Ma was up there worrying. It wasn't as if she I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM136 136.

ever asked for much, I reminded myself. Or got got much, either, for that matter-from Ray or from my brother and me. I had put up with Thomas for seventeen years at that point. What was one more friggin' year? much, either, for that matter-from Ray or from my brother and me. I had put up with Thomas for seventeen years at that point. What was one more friggin' year?

I didn't didn't call Patty Katz that next day. And the following week, when I suggested that she and I go for another drive out by the Falls, she told me she'd rather go to a movie or go bowling or do something with other people. Did I know Ronnie Strong from school? He and her girlfriend Margie were going out. Maybe we could double. Yeah, maybe, I told her. But I didn't want to date Patty; I only wanted to screw her. So I was cool to her for the rest of the week and got a little chillier each week after that. Anne Generous, too, had lost some of her allure. She had large feet for a woman her size. She could be bossy. By the middle of August, I was hardly speaking to either of them. call Patty Katz that next day. And the following week, when I suggested that she and I go for another drive out by the Falls, she told me she'd rather go to a movie or go bowling or do something with other people. Did I know Ronnie Strong from school? He and her girlfriend Margie were going out. Maybe we could double. Yeah, maybe, I told her. But I didn't want to date Patty; I only wanted to screw her. So I was cool to her for the rest of the week and got a little chillier each week after that. Anne Generous, too, had lost some of her allure. She had large feet for a woman her size. She could be bossy. By the middle of August, I was hardly speaking to either of them.

But here's the funny thing: after the big stink Thomas had made about that typewriter, he hardly touched the damn thing all during our freshman year. Hardly ever cracked the books, either. He'd been a pretty conscientious student in high school-had worked harder for his B's and B-minuses than I'd worked for my A's. But at UConn, Thomas couldn't sit still long enough to study. He claimed he was too distracted. The dorm was too noisy. His professors were impersonal.

Our room was too hot; it bothered his sinuses and made him sleepy whenever he tried to read. He was always walking out to the fire escape for gulps of air, or squirting Super Anahist up his nose, or talking about how miserable he was-how much he hated all the jerks and losers and skanky girls who went to our stupid school. Instead of studying, he watched TV in the lounge, drank instant coffee all day long (we had an illegal hot plate), then stayed up half the night and slept through his morning classes. He resisted making friends and resented the friendships I made with some of the other guys on our floor-Mitch O'Brien and Bill Moynihan and this senior named Al Menza who was always looking for a game of pinochle or pitch.

Thomas would get a bug up his ass if someone just knocked on the door or asked to borrow something of mine or wanted me to play some pickup basketball. "Am I invisible invisible or something?" he'd huff. Or mimic. or something?" he'd huff. Or mimic.

I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM137 137.

"Is Dominick here? Where's Dominick? Everyone Everyone loves Dominick the Wonder Boy!" loves Dominick the Wonder Boy!"

"Hey, if you want to play some hoops, then just come out on the court and start playing, playing, " I told him. "What do you expect, an engraved invitation?" " I told him. "What do you expect, an engraved invitation?"

"No, I don't, don't, Dominick. All I expect is that my own brother isn't going to stab me in the back." Dominick. All I expect is that my own brother isn't going to stab me in the back."

"How's my playing a game of basketball stabbing you in the back?" I asked, exasperated.

He sighed and flopped facedown on his bed. "If you don't know, Dominick, then just forget it."

One afternoon, Menza asked me in the middle of a pitch game what was "with" my brother. Instantly, I felt the cards bend in my hand. Felt my face get hot. "What do you mean, what's 'with' him?"

I said.

"I don't know. He's a little off kilter or something, isn't he? You don't see him all day long and then you get up in the middle of the night to take a leak and there he is, wandering around the halls like Lurch from The Addams Family. The Addams Family. " "

The other guys laughed. O'Brien was one of them. I forget who else was playing with us. O'Brien said he'd gotten up one night and seen Thomas running laps around our dorm. After midnight, this was. The middle of the frickin' night. night. I said nothing, stared hard at my cards, and when I finally looked up, all three guys were looking at me. "Jesus Christ, Birdsey, you're blushing like a virgin on her wedding night," Menza said. "Someone pop your cherry or something?" I said nothing, stared hard at my cards, and when I finally looked up, all three guys were looking at me. "Jesus Christ, Birdsey, you're blushing like a virgin on her wedding night," Menza said. "Someone pop your cherry or something?"

I threw my cards down on the bed and got up, walked toward the door. "Hey, where you going?" Menza protested. "We're in the middle of a game?"

"You win," I said. "All of you. I fucking forfeit."

For the rest of that afternoon, those guys blasted "The Monster Mash" nonstop on Moynihan's stereo. Put the speaker in the doorway and filled up the hallway with the sound of that friggin' song. Sang the Addams Family Addams Family theme when Thomas and I went downstairs to supper, I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM138 theme when Thomas and I went downstairs to supper, I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM138 138.

complete with finger-snapping. It passed; that kind of ball-busting usually does. But the nickname they'd given Thomas stuck. From that afternoon on, he was "Lurch" to all the guys in Crandall Hall.

When I wasn't arguing with Thomas or defending him in some half-assed way, I was spending my time with my face in the books or slumped in front of our Royal typewriter, hunting-and-pecking my way through some paper that was almost due. The noises I made while I was studying became an issue: the clacking of the typewriter keys, the squeak of the highlighter across the page, even the crinkling of cellophane if I got myself a snack from the machine in the basement. I began studying in the library as much as possible. I hated the sight of Thomas's scowling face, the squirt-squirt of his nose spray, and those faraway sighs of his in the dark in the middle of the night. He was going to flunk out if he didn't wake up-break Ma's heart and make Ray hit the roof. He could end up getting his head blown off in Nam. But I was goddamned if I was going to make make him study-if I was going to throw him over my shoulder and him study-if I was going to throw him over my shoulder and carry carry him to his classes. him to his classes.

Somewhere near the end of second semester, Thomas got notifi-cation from the freshman dean about his academics. The letter advised my brother to make an appointment with his office as soon as possible. Instead, Thomas began a frenzy of makeup work. "I can pull this off, Dominick," he told me. "What are you looking at me like that for? I can. can. " He went to professors' offices and pleaded for extensions and incompletes. He kept our hot-plate coils glowing orange and threw cup after cup of coffee down his throat. A kid on the second floor sold him some speed so that he could cram night and day for his upcoming exams. He was popping No-Doz like they were M&Ms. Thomas put so much shit into his system that he burst blood vessels in both his eyes. " He went to professors' offices and pleaded for extensions and incompletes. He kept our hot-plate coils glowing orange and threw cup after cup of coffee down his throat. A kid on the second floor sold him some speed so that he could cram night and day for his upcoming exams. He was popping No-Doz like they were M&Ms. Thomas put so much shit into his system that he burst blood vessels in both his eyes.

One afternoon I came back to our room and found him sobbing on my bed. "Don't be mad at me, Dominick," he kept repeating.

"Just don't be mad. Please." It was the way Thomas had begged Ray when we were kids-when Thomas had triggered one of Ray's ram-pages.

I Know[116-168] 7/24/02 12:30 PM139 139.

Our whole room was pulled apart; there were papers and shit all over the floor. Over on my desk was a screwdriver and a rock and a hammer and our typewriter. The case had been cracked up the middle, a six-inch piece broken right off.

I told him he'd better fucking explain what was going on.