"I'm Not Crazy"

XVII.

"How do you identify yourself in terms of your family?" I asked, reading the question as it was written.

"Explain that one," Riley's replied.

"Mother, father, son, spouse..." I trailed off.

"I'm a brother," Riley said. "A twin, remember?"

I remembered very well. I remembered how Bryn smiled at me and squeezed my hand before I left on Thanksgiving. I remembered her yelling at Riley to play nice when she dropped him off here with me at Manhattan beach. Riley and I liked the beach. It was becoming a trend for us to lay in the sand under the shadow of the piers. When I was in the wilderness program, I'd never thought I'd enjoy being outside so much.

"Not son?" I questioned.

"I mean, I was at some point, I guess," he reasoned. "But I wouldn't write it down. I haven't spoken to my mom in a very long time, and I think we both prefer it that way."

"What about your dad?" I asked. I didn't press the issue because Riley had implied on thanksgiving that seeing his mother was an unpleasant prospect. He didn't often speak of her. When he did, it was short and clipped and straight to the point.

"He died when I was a kid," Riley said. "It was very tragic."

He did not seem particularly perturbed by that. He was still smiling in his easy going way. He wasn't even smoking the cigarette he was holding, so I knew he wasn't stressed. That was a thing I'd come to notice from him. He only smoked when it was necessary.

"So did mine," I said, and relating to him came so easily that I didn't even recognize the significance.

"Hell yeah," Riley affirmed. His smile widened like he was actually quite serious in that strange reaction of his. "We're the dead dads club!"

I nodded.

"That's the first actual thing you've bothered to tell me about your family, by the way," he added, leaning forward slightly to look over my shoulder at the paper. It was very much filled in now. Riley and I had committed ourselves to finally sorting out the issue of his identity and I was very pleased with our progress. We'd spoken at length that day about his sense of self. I knew his sexuality, his financial position, his standing in his family, his feelings about his own gender, and his idea of culture. Spiritually, he was agnostic, although he liked the idea of Hinduism and karma. He'd told me his opinions on current politics (issues he typically left to Basil), his ideas about his age, his sense of place and more. We'd rehashed the old questions just to discuss them. Riley's identity had become and open book, scribbled all over the page and in the margins. "When's it your turn?" Riley was suddenly saying while I found myself lost in my review. "I get to ask you the questions now, right?"

My eyes widened some. Riley didn't notice because he'd successfully pulled the paper into his own lap. He brushed away some loose sand.

"You're white, right?" Riley asked, laughing slightly. He reached over for my pen. "I'm going to write that you're white. Didn't you say you've always lived in California?"

I'd avoided answering these questions for myself. I'd avoided even thinking about them. Thinking about myself was generally not an enjoyable time for me. I'd become a master at evading it, especially in the more recent days.

"Yeah," I answered, and I had no idea if it was true. Where had wilderness school taken place? Was all that wilderness set in the California desert? It was hot wasn't it? Were all the inpatient programs specific to California too? How Californian was I?

"I know you have those job interviews, but I'm still going to say you're unemployed," Riley informed me, writing it down as he spoke. I promptly ignored any mention of the job interviews. He glanced up once and saw my face, but immediately darted his head back down to avoid my reluctance. "Smile," he ordered me. "I don't care that you're broke. We can get food after this if you're nice and answer everything for me."