FAÇADE, 3
“–Save the speech, Ray.” 

I start to open the bedroom door, when Ray adds a little louder, “See, you’ve always gotta have these bimbos around –”

“–Ok. Fine. Let’s go,” I mutter and leave my lovely guests by themselves in my bedroom.

Outside Ray has a few beers ready for me, next to a pink .22. The deck faces a backyard stretching until it drops over the horizon. He leads me to the beers and the guns at the end of the deck. He hands me a cold one and the pink .22. Another .22, black, is at his feet. 

Ray tucks his gun into his armpit with one hand and grabs the beer with the other.

Though I’ve never fired a gun before, I nestle the butt along my shoulder, which feels wrong. 

Ray loads the gun, and a slight aroma of gunpowder fills the air.

“Jesus, Ray,” I say. “You’re gonna piss off the entire neighborhood."
He reloads and fires again. “It’s relaxing,” he says. He reloads.

Sighing, I load the pink .22 and follow suit. The slight recoil catches me off-guard, but I’m not shaken by it, although I expected to be. “Then tell me, why did you wake me up? Please say it’s not just so we can shoot in the dark.”

“Isn’t that what we always do?” he replies. And fires.

The whisper of his gun is followed by mine. “It’s gonna be one of those drunken, philosophical kind of nights, isn’t it? Mom used to love that about you, you know.” 

“Leave that alone,” Ray says through clenched teeth. He aims.

​“What’s the point of dragging me out here, Ray?”

Without hesitation he says, “I’ve been thinking about people lately.”

Though the last words on my mind, I say, “Fuck people.”

He replies, “And look where that has gotten you.”

“Better off than you are.” 

I slam the .22 down and walk for the backdoor, when Ray says, “Some people only need someone special to hold their hand and reassure them in times of doubt. And when they’re confident and move on, sometimes they don’t think twice about it all.” Fires. Reloads. 

“Man, spit it out,” I respond. “I’ve got these two twins up there, and you’re beating around the bush.”

“That’s redundant.”

“What is?” I ask him. “It’s just a turn of phrase.”

“No,” he says, “‘two twins.’” Ray checks his gun to see if it’s loaded. He fires two simultaneous shots. “Ever since I moved in–since Mom–you’ve had a different girl over every night.” He gulps down the last of his drink. Reloads. 

“You’ve got two seconds to step off,” I shout and then recognize the unintentional volume of my voice. “I’d hate to kick my own brother out on the streets.”

Ray fires his gun and says, “I’m not calling you a womanizer or anything; nothing like that. But I want to know exactly who you think you are.”

I slide the door open and step inside the house. “Goodnight, Ray,” I tell him.
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