Filter - Chapter 1

    There was something about the orange crayons. They were always the first to go, like the front line of soldiers in a bloody battle. They didn’t stand a chance against Bill. Tom watched as Bill whittled away another one of the wax sticks with enthusiasm, filling up yet another orange dinosaur. It was big, with elephant feet and vines hanging out of it’s mouth. A long-neck-asaurus or something. Simone had bought them both coloring books at the grocery store, but Bill had already scribbled over his own pages and was now making quick work of Tom’s dinosaur book. Tom didn’t mind. Whatever it took to keep Bill in good spirits was usually worth the cost, and today it was a newsprint coloring book. Today was cheap.

    There were days when the price ran high, and some days Tom couldn’t afford it at all. Last Thursday he’d gotten into a fight with a kid down the street over something he couldn’t even place, and there was absolutely no consoling his twin afterwards. Even though Tom hadn’t won the fight, he’d done his best. He’d gotten a few good hits in, and still felt proud he’d tried to beat someone up who was three years and six inches bigger than he was. Tom knew he probably would have done the same again if he were sent back in time to fix it.

    The boy had said something about Bill, though he didn’t remember what it was, and Bill said he didn’t remember him saying anything either. Bill’s hurt was always worse than Tom could describe, even to himself; especially to himself. The feeling was overwhelming; it ate at him until he felt physically sick. Worse than when the third grader had punched him in the stomach. Worse than when he’d fallen off the monkey bars and knocked out a tooth. Tom learned early on that it was just best to avoid Bill’s hurt. So, he gladly paid the price to keep Bill happy as much as a seven year old could afford.

    Tom kicked the rubbermaid tub full of crayons towards Bill, sending the small plastic container sliding across the floor. It nudged up against Bill’s leg, and Bill deposited the stubby orange crayon remains inside. He’d finished his long-neck-asaurus coloring, even though it was more like a big orange, red and yellow blob with something that happened to be printed underneath. As soon as Bill was finished, he flipped the book closed and tossed it aside so it could lay in the pile of coloring books that would never again be looked at.  Simone didn’t even try to fawn over the drawings anymore. Whenever she did she was only met with a pair of strange looks.

    “D’you think mom’ll let us order pizza for dinner?”
   
    Bill got up from his place on the living room floor and flopped down next to Tom on the sofa facing the television. The remote was in Tom’s hand even though the TV was off. He didn’t like watching TV unless he was watching it with Bill, and Bill had been coloring, which meant Tom had been waiting.

    “Nah, she’s making that bean thing.”
   
    Tom didn’t even have to look to know exactly which disgusted face Bill was making. The dreaded ‘bean thing’ was one of Bill’s least favorite dinners, and while Tom was more revolted by the ‘squash thing’, he shared his twin’s sentiment about the 'bean thing' as well.

    “Well maybe dad will let us stay up and watch the Horror Movie Marathon on channel twenty three.”
   
    Tom wrinkled his nose in thought. The chances of being able to stay up late were better than usual, considering it was a Friday and they didn’t have school, but Jorg was always saying they weren’t old enough to be ‘running amok at all hours of the night’. Though, Tom didn’t know what running amok was, he was pretty sure that staying up late watching TV didn’t involve any running. They could ask him when he got home from work.
   
    “I think we’d have to eat all of the bean thing for that,” Tom observed.

    “Yeah...” Bill mumbled morosely.

    Bill glanced at the remote in Tom’s hand. Tom pressed the power button, listening to the soft hiss as the TV turned on. It filled the room with a tinny sort of noise as he flipped through the channels, going past advertisements, cartoons and afternoon news stations. The couch shifted as Bill turned to look at him, and Tom already knew just what Bill wanted. The big, dumb smile plastered over his twin’s face was more obvious than any neon sign.

    “D’you want to-”

    Tom let go of the remote and turned to lean against the arm of the couch, a knowing smile playing over his face. Bill made a happy sound and assumed his position on the opposite arm of the couch, sitting exactly like Tom was.

    “What’s the prize?” Bill asked eagerly. Tom took a minute to determine what the winner would get. He’d won the game last time so he could have the last soda, so it was Bill’s turn to win the game. Which meant the prize had to be something that he didn’t particularly want.

    “The last chocolate pudding,” Tom replied. Bill lit up like christmas lights and wiggled in his seat at the end of the couch.

    “Okay, you go first.”

    “Chocolate pudding.”

    Bill gave a disappointed squeal and Tom just rolled his eyes.

    “That one didn’t count,” Bill insisted. Tom shrugged and unfolded his legs to sprawl out on the couch. Bill usually claimed his first guess didn’t count. He waited for Bill to fix something in his mind and get ready.
   
    “Alright. I’m ready. Go.” His twin stared at him intently, his eyes squinting in concentration. Tom stared at him, the television’s voice filling the room as both twins sat in silence. The room seemed to go dark, like the sun had set outside and the lights were dimmed. The only thing that seemed to stay in focus was Bill, as Tom stared at his twin, though without the use of concentration.
   
    “... says the epidemic of genetic mutation is on a startling rise from last year. With a 19% increase in just the last four months, and an estimated 35% actual rise with the unreported cases...”

    Tom smirked triumphantly, “You’re thinking about the gum you put on Mrs. Groeki’s chair on Monday.”

    Bill couldn’t help but giggle at the devious memory, even though he’d lost a point to Tom’s correct answer.

    “Yeah, she got that ugly dress stuck to it. I hope she never wears that thing again. Alright, my turn.”

    Tom let his mind fall silent. He focused hard on the thought of an apple. Nothing fancy, just a plain, red apple. It was always like this, staring at Bill trying to get his twin to know what he was thinking. He always tried his hardest, even on days he was discouraged or didn’t even want to play. Sometimes, Bill would get it right, and on those days, Tom felt like they’d won something, even if he lost the game.

    The game was a test of their ‘twin bond’, and it was a game that Bill loved to play. Tom didn’t mind it, but it was always a reminder that Bill couldn’t see his thoughts like he could see Bill’s. For Tom it came naturally, finishing his twin’s sentences, handing Bill what he wanted without being asked, knowing what Bill wanted to play next. But deep down he knew it was something more than that. Tom could pick out certain words at times, thoughts, even memories that Bill was thinking of whenever they played this guessing game. Bill was lucky if he managed to guess anything as simple as an apple.

    “You’re... thinking about the really gross pizza we had for lunch on Monday...?” Bill’s guess was more of a question than Tom’s self assured answer had been. Tom felt disappointment gnaw at his gut, but he forced a fluid smile over his face.

    “Yeah,” he lied easily. Bill smiled brightly and clapped his hands together, pleased with his ‘correct’ answer. Tom never let on just how much it hurt to know that his twin wasn’t as connected to him as Tom thought he should have been.

    They played the game until Tom announced their father was home. Bill had managed to get two answers actually right, the rest Tom lied through his teeth to let Bill have the pudding and the satisfaction of winning the game. Not long after Tom’s announcement, a car pulled into the driveway and the familiar sound of their father’s truck door slamming closed was heard. Bill leapt off the couch and circled around to greet him at the door, eager to ask about the Monster Movie Marathon on channel 23.

    Tom lazily pushed himself off the couch and followed after his twin. He felt lethargic after his defeat- he’d actually won the game, but he gave false answers of his own in order to give Bill more points, as well as lying to say Bill was right. Some days were better than others, some days he even felt they might be connected the way they should be. Today wasn’t one of those days.

    “Pleeeease Dad? We’ll eat all of the bean stuff- Well, most of it. You know, like a little more than normal. It’s not even scary ones!”

    Jorg sighed as Tom came around the corner. Their father seemed to be tired more often than not, and he didn’t act the way most fathers should around his sons. He regarded Bill as more of an annoyance than a joy that a child should be, or at least that was the way Tom saw it. He knew their parents argued, though he didn’t always know about what. He couldn’t hear the arguments, but sometimes there were snippets, words, loud and angry, that seemed to blare up through the floorboards. He was always surprised that Bill didn’t hear them. He’d wondered if his twin was half deaf, and maybe that was why they seemed so different with each passing year.

    “Bill, for the final time, no,” Jorg used ‘that tone’. Tom knew that tone meant Bill had better not ask again, or else they’d be going to bed even earlier than usual. Tom reached for his twin’s hand and tugged him out of the hallway before Bill thought twice about arguing with that tone. Bill argued too much for his own good, and Tom knew his twin didn’t handle being dismissed very well.

    Bill’s lower lip quivered, anger spurred in his eyes as Jorg walked past them towards the kitchen. As he opened his mouth, Tom covered it with a hand, shaking his head urgently at his twin. Bill stared at him for a second before relaxing, his thin shoulders slumping. Tom let him go and leaned in to his ear.

    “We’ll sneak down later,” Tom whispered. Bill smiled widely, appeased with the solution. Tom was always good at solutions to their problems.

    -----

    The Bean Thing stared up at him. Tom jabbed it vengefully with his fork, slowly spinning it around on the plate. Sadly, just stabbing it didn’t seem to make it go away, and they didn’t have a dog to give scraps under the table. Then again, if they had a dog Tom was pretty sure feeding it any of the bean thing would kill it.

    “... And he guessed at least half of mine, but I guessed more! Even the one about how he wants new rain boots because the color you got is gross.”

    Bill was talking about their game again, proudly boasting his win instead of eating his bean thing. Simone was listening with half an ear, giving a few ‘That’s nice honey’s and refilling their juice glasses as needed.

    ...little freak...

    Tom’s head snapped up. He stared at Jorg, his fork stilling on his plate. Had Jorg just called Bill a freak? Anger prickled at the back of his eyes, and Tom fixed their father in a firm glare. But he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Their father was staring at his plate, mechanically lifting his fork to his mouth, chewing and swallowing, and generally ignoring them as he did every night.

Tom’s brow furrowed, relaxing in his chair. Maybe he was imagining things. He looked back down at the bean thing. Maybe there was something extra disgusting in it today, like frog mold or something. He stabbed at it again and listened with half an ear as Bill talked about their day, which was rather unexciting, but Bill loved being the center of attention. At dinner Bill loved to talk, and talk he did. It wasn’t until he casually mentioned the Monster Movie Marathon that Tom tuned back into the conversation.

    “It’s really not even scary movies, I think they’re all in black and white, and that’s not even scary, the black and white ones. There’s not even any blood.” Bill stared imploringly at their mother, ignoring how Jorg threw his fork down onto his plate with disgust. Tom noticed.

    Fucking spoiled brat-
   
    Tom gripped his fork so hard it hurt, nostrils flaring as he stared at their father. Jorg was busy staring at Bill, and Bill was entirely oblivious, busy giving their mother his very best puppy-dog eyes.

    -can’t believe he goes right under me like that- 

    “I’ll tell you what. Since you two are so good at guessing, if you can guess a number between one and ten and get it right, I’ll let you stay up.”

    That damn woman lets them get away with murder.

    “But Mo-oom, it’s only for me and Tom-”

    “It’s seven.”

    The table fell silent, and even though he could feel Simone and his twin staring at him, all he could look at was Jorg. Their father’s eyes landed on him like a large building, but Tom stared back, unafraid. An eternity stretched out before them, and Tom was surprised that the bean thing didn’t grow legs and walk away.

    Simone laughed nervously, “What a lucky guess, Tom. I suppose you two will be enjoying that Monster whatever it was. Just not too late.”

    Jorg stared back at Tom, his eyes were hard and cold, but Tom could feel the disgust there, boiling beneath the surface. He didn’t understand it, or know why, but he felt it nevertheless. Bill’s fingers snaked out underneath the table and tangled with Tom’s, squeezing them with excitement. Bill thought he had won.

    Lucky guess my ass.

    Their father returned his attention to his food, but his gruff voice was quick to cut down their mother’s decision.

    “I already told Bill they couldn’t. He shouldn’t have asked you at all. Kids should know better,” Jorg stabbed into his food and ate another bite. Simone made a tittering sound, standing up to start clearing the plates away.

    “Well, it’s not a school night. How about this, boys; guess two more and you can stay up till one to watch your movies.”

    Bill nodded eagerly at the deal, but Tom kept his eyes pinned on their father, even though he was back to ignoring them. Tom knew now that he wasn’t saying the things, but Tom could hear him say them, even though his lips didn’t move. He didn’t understand it.

    “Alright, guess a number between... Ten and twent-”

    “Twelve.”

    Simone stopped piling the plates into the sink and turned to face the kitchen table. Another silence hung over the table, and Bill squeezed Tom’s hand again. Tom finally tore his eyes away from their father to look at their mother, who was staring at him. She was worried now, he could see it written plainly on her face.

    “Between one and fifty,” her voice wavered.

    Tom had the good sense to pause before his answer, “Three.”

    The plate Simone was clutching slipped from her hands and shattered on the linoleum floor.