What is Bardeen’s relationship like with his twin brother whenthey are growing up?
How does their relationship change?
Why doesn’t Bardeen tell his brother his “secret†sooner?
How does Bardeen’s brother react when he finally tells his“secret�
Do you think Bardeen is satisfied or disappointed with hisbrother’s reaction?
Explain. What do you think is the main message of the story?
LIVES; Not Close Enough for Comfort By David P. Bardeen I hadwanted to tell Will I like boys since I was 12. As twins, we sharedeverything back then: clothes, gadgets, thoughts, secrets.Everything except this. So, when we met for lunch more than a yearago, I thought that finally coming out to him would close thedistance that had grown between us. When we were kids, we createdour own language, whispering to each other as our bewilderedparents looked on. Now, at 28, we had never been further apart. Iasked him about his recent trip. He asked me about work. Shortquestions. One-word answers. Then an awkward pause. Will was one ofthe last to know. Partly it was his fault. He is hard to pin downfor brunch or a drink, and this was not the sort of conversation Iwanted to have over the phone. I had been trying to tell him formore than a month, but he kept canceling at the last minute -- afriend was in town, he'd met a girl. But part of me was relieved.This was the talk I had feared the most. Coming out is, in anunforgiving sense, an admission of fraud. Fraud against yourselfprimarily, but also fraud against your family and friends. So, onceI resolved to tell my secret, I confessed to my most recent''victims'' first. I told my friends from law school -- those I hadmet just a few years earlier and deceived the least -- then Iworked back through college to the handful of high-school friends Ikeep in touch with. Keeping my sexuality from my parents had alwaysseemed permissible, so our sit-down chat did not stress me out asmuch as it might have. We all mislead our parents. ''I'm too sickfor school today.'' ''No, I wasn't drinking.'' ''Yes, Mom, I'mfine. Don't worry about me.'' That deception is understood and, insome sense, expected. But twins expect complete transparency,however romantic the notion. Although our lives unfolded alongparallel tracks -- we went to college together, both moved to NewYork and had many of the same friends -- Will and I quietly driftedapart. When he moved abroad for a year, we lost touch almostentirely. Our mother and father didn't think this was strange,because like many parents of twins, they wanted us to followdivergent paths. But friends were baffled when we began to rely onthird parties for updates on each other's lives. ''How's Will?''someone would ask. ''You tell me,'' I would respond. One mutualfriend, sick of playing the intermediary, once sent me an e-mailmessage with a carbon copy to Will. ''Dave, meet Will, your twin,''it said. ''Will, let me introduce you to Dave.'' Now, here we were,at lunch, just the two of us. ''There's something I've been meaningto tell you,'' I said. ''i like boys.'' I looked at him closely, atthe edges of his mouth, the wrinkles around his eyes, for some hintof what he was thinking. ''O.K.,'' he said evenly. ''I've beenmeaning to tell you for a while,'' I said. ''Uh-huh.'' He asked mea few questions but seemed slightly uneasy, as if he wasn't sure hewanted to hear the answers. Do Mom and Dad know? Are you seeinganyone? How long have you known you like men? I hesitated. I'veknown since I was young, and to some degree, I thought Will hadalways known. How else to explain my adolescent melancholy, mywithdrawal, the silence when the subject changed to girls, sex andwho was hot. As a teenager I watched, as if from a distance, as mydemeanor went from outspoken to sullen. I had assumed, in theself-centered way kids often do, that everyone noticed this change-- and that my brother had guessed the reason. To be fair, he askedme once in our 20's, after I had ended yet another briefrelationship with a woman. ''Of course, I don't like boys,'' I toldhim, as if the notion were absurd. ''How long have you known?'' heasked again. ''About 15 years,'' I said. Will looked away. Foodarrived. We ate and talked about other things. Mom, Dad, the mayorand the weather. We asked for the check and agreed to get togetheragain soon. No big questions, no heart to heart. Just disclosure,explanation, follow-up, conclusion. But what could I expect? I hadshut him out for so long that I suppose ultimately he gave up.Telling my brother, I like boys hadn't made us close, as I hadnaïvely hoped it would; instead it underscored just how much we hadstrayed apart. As we left the restaurant, I felt the urge toapologize, not for liking boys, of course, but for the years I'dkept him in the dark, for his being among the last to know. Hehailed a cab. It stopped. He stepped inside; the door still open.''I'm sorry,'' I said. He smiled. ''No, I think it's great.'' Anice gesture. Supportive. But I think he misunderstood. A yearlater, we are still only creeping toward the intimacy everyoneexpects us to have. Although we live three blocks away from eachother, I can't say we see each other every week or even every twoweeks. But with any luck, next year, I'll be the one updating ourmutual friends on Will's life.
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