Page 1 of Romeo vs Romeo

CHAPTER 1

Nothing Alike

Everett

Bright,early morning light slanted through the tall, narrow windows of St. Augustine’s Cathedral on Park Avenue, the second largest Catholic holding of the Upper East Side. The droning of the liturgy assumed a lifeless monotone and struck this odd quality of vibration that tickled something deep inside my chest.

My eyes burned when I blinked. Another sleepless night left them grainy. They had been more common lately, adding a bit of sand under my eyelids with every fresh day.

How was it that I only felt sleepy when the rest of the decent world prepared to meet the waking world?

I closed my right fist and pressed it against my lips, stifling a yawn. This was my third in just as many minutes. And this was the one that earned me a reproachful look from my father, standing on the left side of my mother, who remained between us but was short enough to allow Harold Langley a clear view of his son.

I rolled my shoulders innocently, the white shirt hugging them and my upper back tightly.

At the end of the string of words that had been nothing more than a flat sound on this particular Sunday morning, we all sat down.

Monsignor O’Connor stood before the congregation, his voice projecting with gentle authority through the grand cathedral. After a moment of silent prayer, he began. “Let us now listen attentively to the Word of God. Today, we will reflect upon the Scriptures. Our first reading will be from the Book of Isaiah, chapter 55, verses 1-3. Following that, we will hear from the Psalms, Psalm 65.”

I bit my tongue as hard as my body allowed before a reflex yanked it back from between my teeth. Sitting down only made things worse.

My father cleared his throat and wore his listening face, which often resulted in a sullen look he wasn’t aware of.

Father O’Connor spoke of the thirsty being invited to the waters for a drink, but I looked at his white alb, and the words faded to the background. It fit him nicely enough. The stole came over his shoulders, and a sleeveless chasuble was again white, purely decorative. I preferred him in his black cassock with a white collar. It made his brown eyes appear brighter and his cheekbones more pronounced.

Something about a man in all black makes my eyes linger, my thoughts wandered before I reined them in. It filled me with this tightening, uncomfortable feeling. It made my lungs feel like I had dived ten feet under the sea before inhaling enough air for the trip there and back.

In the first row, right in front of me, a family of four sat together. I had seen them here before, although I couldn’t remember if I’d ever spoken to any of them. That was the trouble with mixing insomnia and early morning Mass. The parents, middle-aged and dressed in formal attire without a hair standing out of place, sat on the left side, with their children on the right.The children weren’t children at all but young adults and twins. I had noticed their matching blue eyes and blond hair, their high cheekbones, and pointy chins that made their narrow faces look elven and ethereal.

The girl wore a light blue dress that left her arms bare. The guy wore a white shirt with a black tie and no jacket. His hair was combed to the right, textured with clay or something similar, and showed a bit of darkness underneath the sun-kissed streaks. Hers was woven into an intricate pattern down her slender neck and ended between her delicate shoulder blades.

I directed my attention to her while Monsignor O’Connor held up his forefinger in God’s general direction and added a bit of fire to his tone. His voice crackled occasionally, making me want to squirm.

The girl…

I looked at the girl.

At twenty-four and with a fairly sorrowful dating track record, the pressure was high enough that I often found myself measuring and weighing girls I encountered in our congregation. Too rich, too poor, too flirty, too innocent, too prudish…

This particular girl could be labeled as too beautiful and dismissed from my mind. It was a tendency of mine and part of the reason I couldn’t get a night of sleep. Except my gaze lingered on her. Her skin showed a nice summer tan, the highlights in her hair just as natural as her twin brother’s. Her head was turned ever so slightly to the left, so I could see the outline of her cheek.

My gaze darted to him; his head turned the same, and his face was identical, except it was just a little bigger and a little sharper.

Like picking up a clueless kitten that was stubbornly sauntering in the wrong direction, I forced my gaze back tothe girl. She really was pretty. A thin gold necklace against the tanned skin struck me as a perfect combination. She was meant for nothing less than gold.

Monsignor O’Connor moved on to the eucharistic prayer, turning bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ.

I wondered if I should introduce myself to her later.

In an instant, moments that had not yet happened played out before my eyes. I saw myself walking up to her in a moment when she stood alone after the Mass. I saw us sharing a laugh, although I hadn’t come up with a good joke yet. I saw us drinking wine with the view of the entire New York City skyline. I saw myself escorting her back home just a little before the hour that her father had given us. Our families would meet for a Sunday lunch, and it would be the first time her brother and I officially met. I would shake his hand firmly to show I was no wuss. We would look into each other’s eyes with a small amount of animosity that was attached to the unspoken knowledge of what his sister and I meant to do. Later, when she and I were alone, I would look at her under the soft light of the full moon, and she would look a little like him, only less. And I would tell myself she was almost perfect. And I would tell myself this was good. This was a good way to settle things. I would, for the most part, be happy, and I would, for all the parts, be relieved. Some temptations of the youth were unspoken of or merely hinted at; some troubles were simply a normal part of becoming a responsible grown-up. Conquering them was like a rite of passage into adulthood.

The bread and wine were offered to those in the first row, and I lost my breath. The twin brother’s lips parted, and the body of Christ rested on his tongue. The edge of the wine cup pressed against his lips made him tip his head back. He drank, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he pulled away from the cup. My gaze remained solidly on him as he allowed himself a small smile.Then, his head turned away, and my gaze lingered on his slender neck. I never remembered to look at her.

After, I told myself I would be more careful next Sunday. I told myself I would remember to look at her, catch her gaze, and strike up a conversation. It didn’t need to happen today. We had plenty of time to start this slow and steady thing others might call love.

Although I was aware, to some small degree in the back of my mind, that my hopes rose high because he would sometimes be around, I knew that a life with her was absolutely possible. I knew it would be good, too. It would be exactly what someone like me needed. A life of peace and quiet, a life of silence and privacy, a life without too much excitement and without unnecessary questions.

I could have that with her. Or some other nice girl from the church. Some hope in me lingered it would be her, but I knew it was much, much smarter for the ultimate pick to have no brothers whatsoever. Or cousins or dads or uncles.

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