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There was nothing more relaxing than being on a boat. The waves gently rocking it, the sound of the sea crashing softly against its hull, the comfortable warmth, the dim lighting. All of it combined into a truly indescribable comfort. There was the added benefit that Ford was living his childhood dream, obviously, but that was only a small part of it. After all, the dream was only actually realized once the other half of it was there with him.
Truth be told, he had been worried about how well his brother and him would live together out on sea. He’d been excited, don’t get him wrong, but there was an anxiety that simmered under his skin up until they had left for their expedition. After all, they were so different now. Decades apart and so much hurt to make up for, Ford hadn’t been sure what to expect. But, against all odds (and through the occasional scuffle that came from two stubborn men living together), they had grown closer than Ford thought possible. His nerves eased as the months stretched on. There had been nothing to worry about. Most days, it was like no time had passed at all.
Of course, there were some things that had changed. Stan’s memory presented some… unique challenges.
They had settled into a routine. They would hunker down in the bottom bunk of their small cabin and flip through an old photo album in relative silence. It was born after one too many close calls with a confused Stan wanting to leap from a boat he was supposedly being held against his will on. Keeping old memory refreshers around– and looking through them frequently– dramatically decreased the amount of times said scenario happened.
That night presented no break in habit. Currently, they were smushed together, Stan shoved in between Ford’s arm and chest, glasses skewed off to the side and poking Ford in the shoulder. Neither of them tried to move, all too willing to just soak in the warm ambiance of the gently rocking cabin.
The album was filled with Dipper and Mabel when they were younger, moments that Ford had missed and were still hazy for Stan. It was good for them both to look through it. Both had begun to appreciate keepsakes in their old age, memory loss aside.
Ford flipped past another spread of baby Mabel– his favorite photo being one where a spaghetti noodle stuck out of her nose– pausing briefly when he saw the clear divide of time on the next page.
“Jeez, how old are these?” Stan mumbled, eyes scanning the grinning faces of two young identical boys. These were moments from their childhood.
“At least fifty years,” Ford laughed lightly, “It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Why are they in here with the kids?”
He hummed, “I suppose this one was gathered by Mabel.”
She had been remixing (her exact words) photo albums so that they were easily grouped together.
For Grunkle Stan! She had explained, so that he doesn’t get overwhelmed!
Weddings and other family events went in one, age groupings and specific events in the other. It was all very efficient. Ford could only praise her for her organizational skills.
Examining every photo he saw, Ford made sure to linger on whatever caught his brother’s eye. His memory had improved significantly since the initial wipe, but their youth was still just a collection of vague wisps and sensations, nothing more than a few sights and sounds, or the occasional smell, that brought him a strange sense of nostalgia. After all, it wasn’t like their adolescence had been well documented. There was very little to truly jog his recollection. He had come to just rely on what Ford told him, but obviously, that wasn’t always enough– or comforting.
Stan seemed completely enraptured, barely moving as more and more time passed between each photo. On the first page, they were very young children, no older than 4 or 5, on the next, it was their first day of the third grade. Young Ford was swallowed in the backpack that he had brought, the thing being bigger than he was.
Stan snorted. His brother had always been a shrimp.
They passed their kid years. The boys shown in the photos gradually began to lose the baby fat on their faces and grow taller with each snapshot, Stan even growing the beginnings of a prepubescent mustache in some of them. Ford laughed a bit harder than was probably warranted.
Stan thumped him lightly on the arm, “What’s so funny, Sixer?”
“I had nearly forgotten how ridiculous you looked with a mustache.”
“Can it!” Stan rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath about how mustaches made him a lot of money in the 70s and how would you know what looks good.
Ford ignored him in favor of skipping a few of the more embarrassing photos, finally settling on one that made the breath leave his lungs.
The science fair.
A young Stanley had his arm thrown around teenage Stanford’s shoulders, a proud smile plastered on his face while Ford looked a bit sheepish. A large golden trophy was balanced in his young self’s arms, a physical reminder of his victory and what would come in the passing day.
Ford tried to skip it before his brother realized what he was looking at, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough. He could feel Stan’s frown against his chest, deep and critical.
“Stanford?”
“Yes?” Ford answered, voice tight in his chest and really regretting not fully looking through the album before he had brought it onboard. Mabel had no clue what she had put in the album, that was the only reason that photo had been kept. It should have been thrown overboard.
Just another reminder of his mistakes.
“Do you– nah. Nevermind,” Stan shook his head. “Keep goin’.”
Ford swallowed thickly, trying to keep his voice steady through his guilt, “No, what is it?”
Stan struggled with his words for a moment before blurting out, “Do ya remember what I did to make us fight for so long?”
Ford was struck speechless. Had Stan really not remembered something so crucial to their past? He had always assumed that his brother would remember what had happened. That somehow Stanley would just intrinsically know of the incident that cost them both so much. And when he never asked, Ford was glad to not prod at the wound.
“I mean,” Stan rambled, “I know it was something big. Whatever I did to fuck everything up that bad had to be huge, but… I dunno. It’s like there’s this big gap between us bein’ best friends in high school and then just– not.”
But maybe he should have.
“You broke my science project. A perpetual motion machine.”
He waited for some kind of reaction. Some sign that the very mention of his project would be enough to jog his brother’s memory. It certainly was enough for Ford. He could remember it like it was yesterday: the panic that filled his chest at the sight of his perfectly still project, the burning shame at seeing his name get crossed off that list, the embarrassment.
The anger.
But that never came. There was only silence. And he could only avoid eye contact for so long, so, preparing himself for the worst, he looked over at his brother.
A wobbly frown etched itself into his face. He looked small. Confused. Ford rushed to comfort.
“I-I mean, it’s water under the bridge now, Stanley. I understand you were young and scared and stupid– not like that. Like youthful stupid, not dumb– because you are not dumb. But I digress,” Ford softened as much as he could, adding gently, “I know you were just scared about me leaving. I don’t blame you for breaking it.”
A hazy look clouded Stan’s eyes. A common sign that he was remembering something on his own. Ford waited for it to pass.
There was a bit of fear in the wait to see how his twin would react to the memory. Shamefully, a part of him still had some resentment about that night. Not necessarily towards his brother– he had long understood that holding a grudge over something that long ago was hurting himself more than anything– no, Ford had forgiven his brother for breaking it.
What he did resent was whatever passing emotion had caused his brother to lash out. Whatever had possessed him to break Ford’s trust. What had caused him to believe that his brother would abandon him rather than keep in contact while he attended college. It had baffled him for nearly 40 years, and a part of his mind fiercely hated what he had no way to fully understand.
Now, he was finally going to get an explanation, and a part of him was terrified.
Stan snapped back into the present, eyes locking onto Ford’s with a grimace, “Sixer, you know I didn’t break it on purpose, right?”
Ford’s brain halted completely, “What?”
“I didn’t break it on purpose. I remember now. I went to the high school after bein’ on the swing set with you and wandered around for a while. When I saw your project just sitting there, I got mad and hit the table,” Stan’s eyebrows furrowed and a hint of guilt crept into his voice. Ford only listened, completely transfixed, “It caused one of the grates on the side to pop off, but I managed to shove it on and the thing started back up so I thought ‘close call!’ And moved on. Went home.”
“I–” Ford’s mouth opened and closed a few times, words refusing to formulate.
“Did– did you think for all this time I did it on purpose?”
“Well,” Ford blinked owlishly. “Yes. I thought you had sabotaged me so that we could go sailing together.”
“I would never sabotage you!” Stan gasped, sitting up so fast he nearly hit his head on the top bunk.
“Well, I know that now!” Ford yelled back, even if he didn’t fully understand why. Grief over all of the lost time with his brother swirled in a tight whirlpool around his brain, a lump forming in his throat. All of this, all of this fighting and missing time, all of the betrayal, was because of an accident. “Why didn’t you tell me it was an accident?!”
“Because I thought you knew! Because it didn’t even cross my mind that you would think I would purposefully fuck you over!” Stan shook his head. “I always supported you. Why would I randomly switch up?”
“Excuse me! I had quite literally just gotten done telling you that if West Coast Tech didn’t work out, I’d leave with you on the Stan o’ War!”
Stan gaped. He tried to argue, but Ford was on a roll. He couldn’t stop the word vomit even if he tried.
“And how did it even break that easily?” he stood up from the bed, pacing around the room. “It was perfect! I’d quadruple checked the math, the materials, the temperature and moisture conditions of the gym to prevent it from rusting– how could it have broken?! You’re not that strong!” He pushed a hand through his unruly gray hair.
Stan crossed his arms. “Gee, thanks.”
“You– I– You and I–!” Ford floundered. He stopped pacing, standing in the middle of the room. “I lost my brother… blamed you, for years. Because my engineering was so unstable that bumping a table caused it to break completely. No wonder I could never get it to work again. It was never functioning in the first place.”
Stan stood up, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t beat yourself up, I punched the damn thing. ‘S not like you could plan for that.”
“If…” he considered his words, “If it was an accident. And you didn’t mean to–”
“It was.”
“I believe you! But why didn’t you apologize? Why didn’t you wake me up after you got home so that I could try and fix it?”
Stan swallowed, letting go of Ford’s shoulder to wring his hands nervously. He stared stubbornly at the wall past his head, “I meant to apologize. I think. It just came out all wrong and you were so mad and then fuckin’ Pa stuck his nose in it– I just wasn’t thinking right. You know I’m not good with my words. Honest ones, at least.”
He nodded hesitantly. That made sense. Ford could practically hear the rationale that a teenage Stanley would use. No use in saying sorry if it’s already done. Might as well find the silver lining. An apology would come out as an excuse. An apology would be accepting guilt for something that was a freak accident.
“And why I didn’t wake you up… like I said. I thought I fixed it. You were so happy and excited, I didn’t want to ruin that for you. I guess I did, though. Either way. I fucked it all up for you. Damn, I’m an asshole.”
Ford dropped his gaze. He couldn’t look at him, his eyes staying glued to the floor. It happened so long ago. He had already forgiven his brother. Why was this revelation turning his world upside down?
Because, an inner voice growled, you could have had him back so much sooner.
That made his head snap up, a pitiful look scrunching up his features. He could have reached out sooner, patched the relationship, but didn’t because he had convinced himself that his twin was something he wasn’t.
It simply wasn’t fair.
Stan looked old, but he could see the same teenager from forty years ago in his eyes. He could see the same hesitant hope that Ford wouldn’t turn his back on him. That he wouldn’t close the curtains. If he could go back in time, he’d smack himself. He’d tell himself that his family was more important than all the glory and fame in the world. Tell himself to keep the curtains open, to march downstairs and leave with Stan. But he couldn’t. All he could do was try and make up for it.
“I’m so sorry, Stanley,” Ford said, too much emotion creeping into his voice for either of their comfort.
“Shut up,” Stan pulled him into a tight hug, murmuring against his ear, “I am too. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”
Deep body pressure always worked wonders to soothe him and he could finally begin to reel himself back in. Ford inhaled shakily a few times, “All of this over a fucking accident.”
Stan let out a small laugh, devoid of true humor, “It’s a little funny if you think about it.”
“How,” Ford pulled away, just enough to stare dumbstruck at his brother, “is any of this funny?”
“It’s not,” he admitted with a shrug, “I was hoping you’d roll with it and laugh.”
They both stared at each other in silence before Ford snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle and pretty soon they were both cackling loudly, holding onto one another for support. Stan laughed so hard that he agitated his lungs, internally blaming cigars as he doubled over and coughed in between wheezing laughs.
“Moses!” He swore, finally letting go of Ford to collapse onto his bunk, “We sure are a pair of fuckin’ dumbasses.”
“Agreed,” Ford shook his head fondly, “I really am sorry.”
Stan waved him off. “Ah, don’t worry about it, Poindexter. You said yourself that it was water under the bridge. Just glad we could sort it out eventually.”
“Thirty years too late.”
“Maybe,” Stan sighed, “But, better late than never.”
Ford sat gingerly on the edge of the bunk, not sure if he should try and wedge himself into the same position they were before. Stan made up his mind for him, reaching over and pulling on the collar of his turtleneck so that he fell onto his back with a light oomph! He took the opportunity to push the photo album back into his hands, unceremoniously flopping against his shoulder.
When Ford lobbied a strange look towards him through the corner of his eye, Stan only grunted and stared down at the photobook in his hands.
He rolled his eyes. His brother, ever the wordsmith.
Ford cleared his throat, trying to banish the last remaining bit of emotion from it, “Alright, where were we?”
Stan reached out and flipped past the last photo the two of them took as teenagers. The next page was much easier to look at. Photo after photo of Shermie.
“Right. Thank you.”
They fell back into their familiar rhythm, the cabin becoming pleasantly silent once more.
Ford knew internally that they would have to discuss further. There was no way that they would just be able to breeze past it. But for now, with his brother at his side, Ford could only be grateful. It was nice to finally have that cleared up.