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The front door is the same. Awful shade of green.
A lot's the same, actually. Here’s that faint, weathered gouge where Michelle knocked out her front teeth rollerskating. There’s the grass-filled fissure that was the catalyst. Second step creaks. Porch light still broken, I see. Those spots at the top of the doorframe Mama had missed gleam cherry. Should I ring the doorbell or knock? I bet that twenty-five-dollar gallon of off-white paint I was going to use to repaint the damn door is still collecting dust in the garage.
I wonder if it’s any good. It's been five years.
I exhale. Here I am, worrying about a stupid paint job when I should be preparing for announcing my presence. Just standing here overthinking it is making my palms sweat. I wipe them off on my jeans, noticing belatedly that there is a huge oil stain near the knee. Damn! How did I miss that? Too late now, I guess.
But really, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not they could disown me again. I raise my fist. They wouldn’t call the police on their own flesh-and-blood again, would they? I picture the cops showing. Dunno what'd happen after that. I mean, I do. But the facts slip away whenever I try to pin 'em down.
Michelle’s laughing face flashes across my memory next, and my hand falters. It's hard to breathe all of a sudden. What will she think? What will she say?…
C'mon, man.
I rap. Luckett and Emery start up a chorus of barks and howls on the other side. I wince at their claws scrabbling. Mama won’t like that one bit.
“Luckett! Em! Down!” Mama’s voice is just as husky as I remember. The sharp edge of annoyance gives me flashback chills.
The lock turns. The door swings open. Where do I look? At her? At the dogs? At my boots?…
There is profound silence. She pales.
“Bobby?” she breathes. Her hair has traces of grey threading through it now, which startles me. But the hands resting on the door is the same. All at once, I remember how warm they felt when she’d tuck me in at night. Smoothing the hair across my brow.
“Hey, Mama.” I aim for a smile, but it seems my facial muscles won't comply. I settle for a half-shrug instead. I don’t know if I should hug her or what. Kind of wish reunions with estranged family members came with a manual. It would make my life a whole hell of a lot easier.
The dogs are going crazy, whining and licking my hands and arms. I ruffle their fur and mumble nonsense to them, glad for the excuse. Their muzzles are grey too. Damn, damn, damn-
Her lips tighten. She turns to look over her shoulder. I glance down the hallway and into the dining room where the edge of Dad’s chair leg is visible. They must have already started to eat.
“Irene, who is it?”
Mama blanches, and we lock eyes. After an intense struggle, she motions me into the house and shuts the door. The dogs circle me, tails wagging furiously. I shoo them away, mouth dry. They listen and retreat.
“I’d hate for the neighbors to hear,” she mutters to me, and I flinch in remembrance. Could see it like it was yesterday. Dad, in the middle of the front yard. Face red and veins in his neck pulsing. Denouncing me. Mama had stood slightly behind him, steadfastly looking at the ground in the hopes it would save her.
None of us were saved that day.
“Irene?” The chair legs screech against hardwood. I ease myself towards the front door. He takes two steps into the hallway before he sees me, and the transformation is clear.
“Dirk-” Mama starts.
He bites down on each word. “What is that boy doing here?”
“Dad-”
“You lost the right to call me your daddy. Or did the alcohol addle your brain? Huh?”
“I, I… I’ve come back to make things right.” The panels of the door press into my spine. It's pure instinct. No sound. No movement. Maybe he won't come for me.
“Make things right?" He laughs, a choked ugly sound. Eyes are as hard as I’ve ever seen them. "Better that you get, boy. Better for all of us, 'specially…”
“Is she here?”
"What do you think?"
I don't answer. All my focus is on forcing myself away from the door. Green flakes come off on my sweaty fingers. I start picking at them distractedly, and a few of them slip under my fingernails. Dad makes some kind of derisive sound I decide is just a casual throat-clear. He always gets phlegmy at night.
The silence rings. Mama inches past me. I catch a whiff of her perfume as she slips towards safety. Dad watches her go, jaw set. I fight the urge to beg her to take me with her.
Dad's sick of waiting on me. “Of course Michelle’s here. What, you think she went out for a little run? Huh? A little jaunt 'round these parts?” He shifts his weight forward and I flinch, involuntarily making contact with the door again.
It's a contemptuous scoff, but I'm already years away.
Eyes closed.
Homecoming Night.
I had consumed most of a hundred-mil of Jack Daniels, ignoring my girlfri- my ex-girlfriend’s anguish.
“Bobby, I am so, so sorry. If I could, I’d take it back. You know I would.”
"Do I?" I rounded on her. “You were drunk. You let him in. It was just the once. It still happened. It happened. Where was I in all this? Huh?”
Sarah wiped my spittle away. “Bobby, look at yourself. Where do you think? Buzzed on suds, that's what. Not here.”
"What does that have to do with-"
"God!" She threw her arms out. “Your truck is always full of empty beer cans. Rattling around in the floorboards. Getting under my feet. The smell is soooo gross. It is. Like… ew."
My molars grind. "Sarah…"
"You know why I said yes to going steady with you? You're introspective. But it gets to be too much on alcohol. Like… you get too quiet. Get that faraway look in your eyes- like now- and I always feel like. Like."
"Spit it out."
She fidgets. "I always feel like, like I don’t exist to you in that state. Do you understand? You just haven’t been the same, since- um."
"Go on. Say it."
"S-since you joined the team junior year.”
“So, what. I drink a little too much. Alright. You think that gives you the right to fuck him? Huh?" I adopted a high falsetto. "'Oh, you make me feel so seen. Not like Bobby. He's too much of a daydreamer. Head in the clouds. I need a real man.'"
It's a futile attempt to head me off. "Bob-"
"Disgusting," I murmured, watched as it hit. She stared down at the ground, jaw working. I leaned in. "I'm not shaming you. That'd be shitty. Shittier than…" My eyebrows raised. "Going out with a guy… and screwing his teammate instead of talking to him first."
There's that flinch I wanted. Then tears filled her eyes. Damn, I didn't want that. The urge to apologize consumed me. I bite down on my tongue.
"I should have," She mumbles. "I just… didn't think you'd take it all that well."
I turned my back on her. Took another swig to avoid the realization she's probably right. It's uncomfortable. I'd rather be anywhere but here. Suit is soaked through with sweat. It's disgusting.
Her heels crunched against the gravel. I could taste the barest hint of hairspray mingled in with alcohol. Disgusting- I shrugged on my jacket and stumbled over to my truck. Fumbling for my keys. Nauseous all of a sudden. Might have to pull over and hurl- and it wouldn't be from the alcohol. That'd be stupid. It's- all this shit here.
God, she is still coming. Voice hiking up into shrillness.
“What are you doing? Bobby, please don’t. You’re drunk. Give me the keys.”
“I can handle it. No, get away. I don’t want you touching me or my truck.”
“Don’t you drive. You’re a danger.” She ignored my defensive maneuvers. I blocked her as best I could. Damn, and to think I was gonna buy her a promise ring. What the hell was wrong with me?…
It was a shaky sneer. “I’ll be just fine, sweetheart. Why don’t you go on back to Todd? I’m sure he can soothe any fears… Make you feel real good about yourself.”
She dropped her hands.
Yeah. That's right.
She sucked in a shaky breath. I was determined to make this suffering a shared experience. Finally I braced against the truck. Shifting my weight to properly fish out my keys.
The sound of gravel grinding snapped her out of it, and she rallied. “Bobby. Bobby-”
“Stop calling me that,” I snarled. "That's for people who are actual friends."
“Fine!… Robert, what, what happened- Don’t leave. Listen. Bo-Robert, you just drank a bottle of brown. Please, please let me drive you home. Or at least wait until Daddy gets here, and he can take you. I don’t care how you get back, just as long as it’s safe. You can even sleep on our pullout cou-”
I rounded on her. “Are you stupid? What, is your mama gonna make me a cowboy hash in the morning? Is Todd staying over? Sure will be cramped with all five of us there!”
"Okay, fine, but like..." She winced. “Ergh. Look, it’s not just you! Just give me the keys, Bobby. Give me your keys. I am not going to let you risk everyone."
"No."
Her voice cracked. "Give me the damned keys!”
I climbed into the cab. Took me two tries to get the damn thing started. The engine rumbled to life. She started to bang on the window. As I backed down the gravel, she pulled out her cell phone and started to dial. I kept an ear out for my cellular. Debated turning it off, but naw. What if somebody important calls?
As I reached the highway, my cell did ring. It took me a moment to register it was my sister and not the Ex.
I flipped it open and wedged it between shoulder and ear. Squinted at oncoming headlights on the other side of the median thing. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?”
“Robbie, can you take me home? Jennifer got a ride from her boyfriend.” Michelle was breathless with exhilaration. I bet she’s had a great night so far. Kind of wish I were in her shoes right now.
“Sure, kid. I’ll be there in fifteen.” My phone started to ring again right as I hung up. It was Sarah. So I turned my phone off, turned my radio up, and rolled down the windows. Finally pulled back into the high school.
Michelle was waiting with a bright dress and a brighter smile.
Woke up later. Hazy white lights and frantic voices. Faded in and out. Suffered a major concussion and a few scrapes and bruises…
…Michelle’s left leg was shattered almost beyond repair.
Mama comes back into the hall. She stares at Dad and me.
“Turkey’s getting cold,” she hints. “Better come in and eat while we can. Don't need another thing getting ruined.”
Dad starts to protest. She silences him with a look. He levels a devastating glance my way, then jerks his chin toward the dining room. I take that as consent, and inch on towards the dining room.
Before I reach the doorway, Michelle is there, cane in hand and surrounded by the dogs. We both stop and stare. My God, how she’s grown! The hair she always kept so short now cascades down her shoulders. I catch the glitter of what must be her class ring on her right hand. Guess she decided jewelry wasn’t so bad after all.
“Hey, Sis,” I manage. After the words leave my lips, I blanch - what if she doesn’t think me fit to call her mine? I search her. Waiting for a cue on whether I should stay or back off.
“Robbie!” She gently pushes the dogs out of her way and shuffles into my arms. I let my fingertips settle against her shoulders. I’m not sure I should reciprocate or not. Should I? Can I? Would I be allowed to… Would she even let me…
Dad and Mama are exchanging glances over our heads, but I don’t care.
“How’ve you been?”
“I completed my GED this past June. Now I’m going to the community college just outside Stickerton. It’s been a blast.” She leans back to look at me. Searching me out like she always did.
“Yeah? I’m glad…” I am cautious. She'd had her pick of all the top-rated institutions before, well. Me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mama pull Dad away. I heave an internal sigh of relief. Michelle squeezes me again, and I finally respond in kind. Gathering her up properly for the first time in way too long. Reminds me of all the years I'd been hoisting her onto my shoulders. Piggyback rides. Tossing her into ponds and pools. Spinning her around until we're both so dizzy we could hurl. Getting tossed into leaf piles… My grip on her tightens.
Her voice is way too cheerful. Almost artificial-like. “Yep! You know what, I don’t even care if their athletic department sucks.”
I shudder, and she sighs hard. “Robbie, that was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”
Immediate protest, arms loosening: “Well, I hardly think I-”
“Okay, okay, I apologize." She leans into my arms again. "I guess you haven’t really been around to hear me crack jokes about it, huh?…”
I shake my head and tighten my hold on her again, examining the wall. Same floral print.
Finally I get up the gumption to mumble into her hair. “I’ve, I’ve been sober one year as of day before yesterday. They said you aren't s'pposed to count, but I… I wanted you to know.”
It's the barest breath. “I’m proud, Robbie. You hear me?…”
"Hear you." I nod. “I know I swore up and down how sorry I was, but Michelle. Not a day goes by-”
“'Not a blessed day'…" She sings. Ah, that one musical. Merrily We Roll Along, I think. I blanch. God, what a fitting song… The version you hear first sounds so happy. But when it comes around again, it's all you can do to not break down and cry.
She shakes me lightly. "Robbie, I’ve heard it all before, okay? Hey...” She directs my gaze to hers. “I know how sorry you were. How you never should have gotten behind the wheel, how you should have let me drive, how much it tore you up inside to walk away when I couldn't. I know. You think I didn't read your letters? You think I didn't hear you crying into your pillow at night?…”
My eyes slam shut. Breathing is getting too hard to bear. She can probably hear my heart jackrabbiting. Shit. Calm down. Calm down. We used to stand on our beds to whisper through the vents. Used to snake cup-and-string 'telephones' through our windows. Used to jump on our beds to cause the headboards to bang into the shared wall. Always too thin. She'd come find me after Dad made things hard. I'd do the same for her. Always. Always. She quit coming around after.
Probably couldn't drag herself over even if she wanted. And we both know she'd never have wanted to. Who would? Ruined her everything, didn't I.
Deep breath. Finally I can look.
Her face has grown unreadable. Voice so flat. “When you left, I was still in denial. We didn’t really have the chance to… to talk. Robbie, I laid in my bed and cried after I got that rejection letter. None of it felt real. There was just this… desire to wake up in my bed, whole again."
Breathing hurts again.
“I still opened my eyes at four every morning. I would try to swing my legs out of bed before I’d remember. I finally made Mama box up all of my fitness clothes. My uniform. My trophies. She stored them in the attic. That was my whole life, Robbie. You took it all away from me. You.”
I cannot speak. Remember too well what the house felt like when I came home. The silences were so heavy, even the dogs were subdued. My license was suspended. Due to what I did to Michelle, I got convicted of intoxication assault too.
The judge put me on probation for just three years. Knowing Michelle, she fought for me… But it still meant jail time. It still meant that, should I choose to get another vehicle, I’d need an ignition interlock device installed for the first long while. It meant fines, and court dates, and monthly reports. It meant evaluations and educational classes and antabuse meds. It meant the end to all my friendships. My prospects. An end to 'Best Big Bro'.
Dad would not speak to me. Mama could not. And I was not, according to Dad, allowed to see Michelle under any circumstances. It's coming back to me now… The consequences. If they'd called the cops, I'd get hauled off. And it'd be deserved.
Michelle searches me. “I don’t know how long it took to reconcile the fact I would never, ever run again. I talked to doctors and therapists and my coach, and eventually the truth caught up to me. It was a physical impossibility. I just… couldn’t."
God.
"I had to stop going to school. And sure, I went back after therapy… but it got to be too much. The GED took me at least two years. I'd been so good before... at school. At everything… Then this. B-because of you.”
My eyes are on the ceiling now. Scrutinizing a hairline crack near the light fixture. Guess that spackling paste didn’t do its job properly. Told Dad off-brands never do work as well as the real deal… Can’t look down now, might start crying. It's already happening. Eyes hot.
“Robbie. Will you look at me."
Eyes so blue. Piercing.
"I know now that the disownment was more than enough punishment…"
"Wasn't…" It wasn't. It could never be. Why did I come back here, when all it is doing is hurting her and Mama?
"Well. Listen up. You want the truth? It was a relief to not have you around. But… I realized eventually that I was using you as a scapegoat. A big one."
Yeah, well.
Michelle falls quiet. I shift my gaze towards the air vent. The heat rattles on. I fixate on it.
Her voice is low. “I was going through the photo albums of us when we were younger. This will sound so…" She trails off. Eyelashes fluttering.
"Go on," I manage, stealing glances at her. "'m listening."
She breathes out slow. "I remembered you're human too. You were probably really screwed up. On the path to liver disease for all we knew. You could be dying somewhere, and we’d only... know after the fact…”
Her breath gets all shaky, and she shoves into my arms. I bear up under the weight. Eyes narrowed against the pain. Yeah, been there. Drinking overwhelmed my waking thoughts. Haunted my dreams. Had to have that burn slipping down my throat. Had to. It was a year of hell. Relapsed over and over. I don’t remember much of it, honestly. Not sure if I’d even want to.
If I'd ever want to.
She finally gathers herself. I let her go.
Michelle twists her cane after. Watching the side of it catch light. “Robbie, that scared me. So I wanted to reach out to you. I tried. I tried and I tried… Your letters had already stopped by then. You were in the wind. I thought, what if he's wrapped his car around a tree? What if he took a turn too sharp and just- flew?…"
I reach out to grip her free elbow. Shaking my head soundlessly. No. No. No. I was okay now… but not then. Can't comfort her with a lie. She deserves better than that. Than me.
"I did make my peace. Have you?” Her gaze unsettles me, so I let go again. Looking down at my hands. Flexing them. Thinking of how the steering wheel felt, all those years ago. That sensation of soaring. Glass and gravel.
Michelle was like an angel, flying away from me. Haloed by incoming traffic.
“I’m trying to.” Now I’m attempting to rid my nails of those blasted specks of paint again.
The green still remains. Why wouldn't it! I'll never be cl-
-Michelle takes my hand, effectively stopping my fidgeting. Interweaving our fingers like Mama always did. Squeezing tight. There's her class ring, cold on my skin. I fight off a shiver. Feels like home.
It's a half-dream: Maybe Mama can hold my hand like this. We can retire after they've put me to work washing the dishes. Dad can watch the game and drink his Jack Daniels. Michelle can kick my butt at cards. And Mama can hold my hand and ask me how the last half-decade has gone. I want it so bad I can taste it. Maybe my room is the same. Maybe they won't turn me out after. Maybe they can make me cowboy hash in the morning…
I look down at Michelle. She turns my hand to the foyer light. She glances at the door to confirm, then says casually, “Robbie, you have part of the door under your nails.”
“It’s the worst shade ever, honest.”
She chuckles. “Yeah. I remember how much you hated Mama picking it out. You were a fit to be tied! What a temper tantrum! And then you…" She pauses, squinting. "I think you said you were gonna repaint it as a graduation present to me. More like for yourself, and we all knew it. Trying to drag me in! Dad’s face when you said that was priceless. I thought he was gonna hit you.”
“So did I.” I am embarrassed she remembers that much. Damn me and my big fits. Too old to be carrying on like that, and I'd know. Dad made that explicitly clear. No bellyaching and no tears.
Michelle’s face brightens. “Wait, wait, Robbie! Did you actually go out and buy new paint? I can’t remember… Tell me you did…”
“I did, yeah. Bet it's still in the garage, covered in spiderwebs and crap. Probably separated to hell and back too. They should toss it... It's been, uh. What, several… years…”
Michelle becomes quiet, twisting her cane absentmindedly. I watch it spin, listening to the clock as it ticks relentlessly. So many years, not hearing that clock. Not seeing her with her cane. God.
I am startled out of my downturn when she raps it on the floor.
“Robbie.”
“What?”
“I’ve just had a thought, O Brother.”
God, it's damn good to slip back into that easy rapport with her. “O Sister, do tell.”
She checks the door to the dining room to make sure we can't be heard, then leans in. Whispers conspiratorially: “Actually… I’m kind of sick at looking at that green. It's old! Flaky! And I mean, it’s a right shame that that paint is just out there, being a waste of space. So let's use it for its intended purpose!…”
My head rocks back. “I… What?”
“We should repaint the door, you and I. You can get the high parts, and I’ll be in charge of the bottom half.” She brandishes her cane. "I get around in all sorts of ways with this little sucker here…."
I am at a loss of words. Finally I squeak, “I hardly think our… uh, that they will allow us to do such a thing…?”
She searches me. “Well, you’re trying to make peace, ain’tcha? This could be a great way of showing that. Or we can get Mama to buy us some new paint. You know… shake this place up a little. It needs it. New day, clean slate!…”
I make a noncommittal noise. Eyes narrowed at her. She rolls her own and huffs, “Well, the fact you came back at all is a step in the right direction. Don't you think?…”
“Yeah…” I'm so distracted I don't even catch the emphasis at first. Then my head whips around. "…Hey!"
We're still holding hands. That doesn't register until she squeezes down. Almost smiling. “And you’ve stopped drinking to boot!”
I extricate myself, wiping my hand on my jeans. Picking at that stupid oil stain. "Great. Yeah. That'll be sure to just, smooth everything away." I eye her cane demonstrably. "I can just hear it now. 'Oh, you're sober? Congratulations, tell that to your sister's busted leg. You good-for-nothing whelp-"
Michelle groans loudly to drown out my self-recrimination. "Fine, fine! I'll do it with or without you. Sorry, but I've decided. Just think… What if I fell and injured my other leg, just because you wouldn't be a good brother- a good person- and help your poor disabled sister? For God's sake, think of the optics!…"
My mouth falls open, and she positively howls with laughter. Snatching up my hand again and swinging our arms back and forth. Just enjoying the hell out of the fact all my blood has left my face. Reaching up to poke at my cheek. I don't even bat her off.
Finally she relents, grinning. "That felt so good to say. Be prepared, it will happen again. And again. And- you get it! You’ve been warned!…”
I squirm. Not to duck responsibility, but… “Don’t you think it’s too soon to be joking with me about this?…”
It's a decisive headshake. “Naw. Gotta catch you up somehow. Besides, sometimes the best path to healing is laughter, according to that stupid pillow Grandma made for us. …Remember?”
“We hid it in the tree house." I mutter. "Then Mama made us fetch it home. Look, 'Chelle… I don't know if I'll even be able to laugh about this anytime soon.”
“Well, that’s fine! I’ll be laughing enough for both of us.” She swings my arm one last time. Grin positively wicked. "So? Can I?"
I blink hard at her and blurt, "Is this like… the condition for forgiveness, or…?"
Michelle's head tilts, bird-like. "Oh, you expect unconditional forgiveness?"
I blanch, ripping my hand out of her grasp. "No no, I just-"
"-Mm." She blinks slow. "Sarah and Todd got married."
"…What?" That's a non-sequitur if I ever heard of one.
"They're expecting their first girl soon." She leans in. "Tell me… Did you ever forgive her?"
A refusal is on the tip of my tongue. Then I hesitate. Blinking rapidly. What, so… She got to build a life out of the infidelity? No, that's not right. She built a life because her boyfriend went against her wishes. Maimed his sister for life. Screwed his own life up, and for what? Alcohol. That was all. That was it.
That was everything.
It's a low confession: "I did. I… do."
Michelle taps against my boot with her cane. "There's new surgeries. New drugs. We found a surgeon on the east coast who might could help. Does that ease you?"
Holy shit. "I'll pay." I don't know how. But I will. If she could run again…
"I don't want this bad blood," Michelle says carefully. "But I can't exactly…"
No, no. "No. I get it. Hey." Damn, but my throat is tight. It takes a couple tries, but I get there. "Thank you."
She hums, pleased. Hugs me to her.
Eventually we let go. The dogs shadow us as I follow her to the dining room. As we pass though the doorway, I look back towards the foyer.
Alright. Here is how it is all going to go. I'm going to work my butt off. Get her where she wants to be. Be the brother I should have always been. Be the son I never could be. Move back into town if everybody is amenable to it. Run into Sarah and Todd and wish them the best. Take life by the reins. Really get myself right this time. Get it right.
Sit out on the porch. Watch the fireflies… Take it all in.
And then.
We are going to repaint that door.