Henriad (History Plays, Book 5)

2: we are imprisoned and engaged to fight

Thomas

Going to school is embarrassing,     I like to think for most everyone. At one point or another anyway. For a long time, it was because of our mother. That sounds awful. And it is not, clearly, the worst part of her being dead. But it certainly didn't help that for years we were the kids whose mother died having a sixth one of them when there were already five. That was what they said. Asked why there were so many of us. The word 'catholic', which Harry supplied me with, did not satiate elementary schoolers.
But that was eight years ago. Eight years she's been gone. Harry and I and our dad are the only ones who really remember her well at all. And when she died, I thought the worst thing was that she was gone. But it wasn't. It was that Harry and Dad left me too.  Something snapped in Harry that day. He sobbed, and screamed. And then he grew so so quiet. Quieter than he's ever been. And he promised her, lying there, he promised her he'd take care of us. And suddenly he wasn't my big brother anymore. He was doing his duty to her.
Our dad called us Irish twins. We're ten months apart, and for a while people thought we were twins. I was the quiet one. He was the noisy adventurous one. And we did everything together. Our dad likes me better, which does nothing good at all for any of us, but there it is. I'm like him. Physically, mentally, everything, I'm just like him. So he understands me and he prefers me and that makes everything hard.
But when our mother was alive it was fine. Her love was overflowing. None of us greater than the other, we were all her treasures, she said.  And days were filled with laughter and happiness.
Then she died. And our dad wasn't even there. And Harry suddenly decided in his brain that he was in charge of all of us. He woke up when Pippa cried and supervised the servants minding her (they loved this) he followed our dad around making sure he ate (he loved this) he started dividing his time disgustingly equally between all of us (we loved this). I wasn't his twin anymore. I was another sibling on his insulting 'sibling attention' chart to be factored in. And it drives me mad.
So, to cut to the chase. School was never really awesome for me. I'm not clever (like someone I could mention). I'm not Harry (thank god, my father says). I'm not the best at anything and I don't like excess attention. Harry is basically all those things. We're night and day. Our dad and I, we look like pitbull dogs that got turned into people and that's about intelligence level and impulse control we've got as well. We have little eyes and glare a lot and we look like we're thinking about eating you. And we're smart enough to get ourselves into trouble but not out.
Harry? He's too clever by half our mother always said. He's into everything, constantly. And since this past year when he turned sixteen he's been The Tallest Person Alive© , he's got darker hair and big hazel eyes like our mother. Like our mother he's perpetually smiling, and while he's not handsome (thank god, he'd be insufferable) he has the start of heavy features that make him look twice his age, and when he talks you automatically want to trust everything he says. Adults love him because he can charm them and he's so well spoken and clever. He's unbearable all the time and to top it all off he's completely exhausting he sleeps like ten minutes a day and talks twenty three hours a day.  When he was little, our dad thought he was possessed, but no he just talks to himself while he's thinking in the middle of the night.
Anyway, since we are the same basic age we have tons of classes together. That's annoying in and of itself cause I have to like, be around him, but on principal it's annoying because the teachers absolutely love him.
And now. Now. To add insult to injury. I have to do the bloody walk of shame into every one of his classes and collect homework for him and explain whatever reason he absolutely made up and didn't tell me about.
"I didn't know people still got malaria."
"Neither did I, here's last week's stuff Ms. Miller," I say.
"How's your dad doing?"
And then there's that. Because clearly I want every single teacher at Globe Prep to, daily, ask me how my father is. Two years ago, our dad got cancer. Skin cancer. The sort that they cut off and hope it goes away. It has not gone away. He's had skin removed from his back, face, and hands, and it just keeps coming. And spreading. This latest visit to the city is to remove lymph nodes it spread to. It's bad. It's really bad. He's been on chemo, everything. It's not working. And there is the possibility he'll die. And yes, it's great that daily everyone asks me how he is. "Still dying" is all I feel like saying but that would be cruel. But I can't always be kind when the world isn't being kind to me.  I know it's not their fault. But it's not my fault either.
And my dad gets me. I want to keep having a dad. I still need him. I'm not done yet. We weren't ready for our mother to leave we're not at all ready to lose him.
"He's sick, yeah, bye now," I walk out.
"Oh I'm sorry---I hope Harry gets to feeling better—"
"I hope he gets better too," that's true. He's not sick, but he should get better. I make my way into the crowded hall. So I should be clear, we Lancaster children are collectively referred to as 'the monsters'. Harry has set a nice little reputation for us and so usually we're left largely alone though now and again people will test the waters.
"You flying solo today, Tom?"
I turn my eyes towards the speaker. Richard Canterbury, called 'Ned' by literally everyone because of reasons I don't care about so I don't know them. Ned is, I've determined, the most beautiful person on the planet, and I say that unbiased as a straight male. He's tall enough to be handsome (unlike the human skyscraper I'm related to), with thick black hair that hangs in his face, a contrast against his pure white skin. His eyes are an incredibly bright blue, and as he ages his cheekbones are thin and high, his lips small and usually tipped in a smile. I swear he gets his school uniforms tailored, but I can't prove it. He makes even them look like a fashion statement. Anyway, that's the mental picture. He's Globe Prep's, and in fact Avon's, resident savant. That's not an exaggeration. He was one of the those chess champions when he was ridiculously young, but now his fixation is the Bible. He attends special classes to become a priest, and he's memorized multiple versions of the bible and learned Hebrew.
Suffice to say he and Harry are thick as thieves. They love spending their time being smarter than everyone else and stupid together. He's perpetually around looking fabulous and doing errands for Harry and such nonsense.
"Yeah, Harry's home," I say, shrugging, because I know fully well he knows Harry isn't actually sick.
"Hmm, I should probably check on him," he says, frowning, "First of the month isn't it?"
"Yeah," I don't know what that has to do with anything.
"If my teachers ask I'm dying of the plague," he says, lightly, starting to gather his things from his locker.
"No—no I'm already lying for my stupid brother," I growl.
"Jon's having you lie---oh you  mean our Harry right," he laughs musically. It's not an exaggeration to say that everyone who has ever met him has deeply considered falling in love with him. "Joan was asking for you at church this Sunday. Harry herded you out quite quickly."
"What?" Okay, yes we all go to the same church. My dad is devoutly religious, we go every Sunday AND we have to go to confession. Yeah, my dad. I don't know if you're aware yet, but my dad has actually murdered people. Like, more than one. Because we are---wait, Harry has a really good way of explaining it. Goddamnit. What is it? Oh yeah, something like this: Our family's business ventures are varied and occasionally run perpendicular to legal matters in the pursuit of thriving in this economy. That's it yeah. So we're mob. And our dad has definitely murdered people in cold blood.
Anyway, that's our dad. Devoutly religious. He makes us go to church every single week and pray and all that and he really believes in all of it.  By contrast, he looks like, if you were walking down a dark alley, and you saw him, you'd instantly think 'well I guess I'm dead' that's the vibe he gives off.
And Joan? Well, after years of therapy, I hope to one day come to terms with understanding that my father has a type. Women who are slightly taller than him, with a bohemian fashion sense, who are deeply natural and spiritual and like the great out doors and wear flowy fabric and don't wear bras and don't shave but are none the less stunningly beautiful. Anyway, this was a disturbing realization and led to Harry and I trying to find out if we could hypnotize ourselves into not knowing that.  We couldn't.
Our mother was like that,  kind, gentle, she loved every living thing which strangely enough included our father. She wore dresses all the time and feather earrings and liked horses and sunsets and singing and dancing. She could get our dad to sing even, he has a great voice but unless it was her asking him he'd never sing. She could melt him with a single smile.
Anyway, Joan is apparently his exact same type. I don't think she's a bad person. She just shaves her head for ten different charities and wears crystals around her neck and might actually be a witch.
"Joan was at church?" I confirm, frowning.
"Your father got to her it would seem, fighting the good fight, converting spiritualist hippies one attractive woman at a time," he says, shrugging not at all apologetically.  "I acted like I didn't know who you were."
"Isn't lying a sin?" I ask, glaring.
"I didn't say I said I didn't know who you were. I ACTED like it. Also, she's an infidel it's fine to lie to infidels," you know how I said he's read and memorized the entire Bible? Yeah I'm 97% certain that he's never given accurate advice from it. He's a chaotic neutral priest who looks like a cigarette model. I'm sure the powers that be got together and said 'this'll be fun for a bit, this is gonna be a very weird person, all right---where's that actual demon we were gonna set loose? Oh yeah let's make them best friends okay, go.'
"Whatever, you can take Harry his assignments, I'm sure it will be a very diverting half an hour," I say, handing him a binder that I loyally have been gathering.
"Oh, yes, thank you good sir," he says, accepting it with his little flowy hands.
"You're not welcome; tell Harry to come to school sometime," I mutter, walking away.
"What makes you think earthly forces can move him?"
"Well you're the religious one, pray!"
"God is busy!"
I walk on to class. Whatever, Harry's being weird (as usual), Dad is dying (still), mom is dead (still). Normal day being weird for the Lancasters just get through it. When I'm home everything is different; we're normal again because it's just us.
"Hey monster, does your dad have syphilis?"
"Does your nose hurt, Rupert?" I ask, turning around to confront the heckler.
"What?" He giggles.
I punch him as hard as I can in the face. He falls over. Blood sprays everywhere.
"How about now?" I ask, spitting on him, "Now, you've got our diseases."
"LANCASTER!!" I don't know how the APs find us so fast I really don't.
"I know, office," I say, holding up my hands. there. Now it's a normal day.