Two years ago
Dad made steak fajitas for dinner. The three of us sat at the kitchen table building our meal, with Peter Tosh jamming from the speakers. Dad was a reggae fan as far back as I could remember. He said it started when he was in high school. One of his friends lent him a Bob Marley album, and that was all it took. He even got Mom into it. I think she started liking it on their honeymoon to Jamaica.
Reggae music was part of nearly every happy family memory I had. Like Mom vegging out in the backyard with a glass of wine, listening to Bob or Jimmy Cliff before Dad got home. I used to ask her a million questions, and she’d answer every one. She loved my questions. But that music was also playing in the background of my shittiest memories, like the night she died. Gotta take the good with the bad, I guess.
Speaking of “good,” this was going to be a good dinner. A dinner like we used to have before Mom died.
Oscar said, “Can you pass the onions?”
I took a huge bite of my masterpiece.
The onions were next to Dad. He imitated Oscar in a high-pitched voice, “Can you pass me the onions?” The plate of onions stayed put. “You sound like a girl.”
I swallowed my bite and looked up. I guess Dad was more shit-faced than I’d thought.
“Your voice sounds like a damn girl.” He said it again. I watched him guzzle his glass of vodka and glare at Oscar. “Pass me the onions. Pass me the onions,” he singsonged in his best girlie voice.
Oscar put his hands on his lap. My father reached down under the table, brought up the bottle of vodka that was wedged between his feet, and refilled his glass. Why couldn’t my brother just ask again and make his voice deeper? What was the big deal? He was going to sit there and sulk like a pussy and ruin dinner.
My dad wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “How d’ja play today, Vance?” He was done with the girlie talk.
“Two goals. Garner’s being a dick about passing to me though.”
My dad ripped a huge burp and cleared his throat. “Be a dick back.”
Before I could tell him that was exactly what I did, Oscar slid his chair away from the table and disappeared upstairs. His plate untouched. I reached over and grabbed his half-built fajita and piled on the missing onions. As I polished off the last bite, my dad leaned over to the iPod dock and cranked the reggae loud. He stood up and danced in the middle of the room.
My dad was having a one-man party, and it bummed me out. He should’ve been smiling, but he looked lonely and sad. Shit, was he going to cry?
“I love this song, Vance,” he shouted. He sang along with Jimmy Cliff till the song ended. “Y-you know what? Do you know why I love reggae? Have I ever told you about the first time I cried from music?”
“No.” Dad cried from music? Did I want to hear this story? Not that I would’ve stopped him, but I already knew why he loved reggae—it was its perfect mellow beat.
“Mom and I were on our honeymoon in Negril, sitting on the beach drinking rum punch. This three-man band was wandering around serenading couples. When they got to us, they broke into my favorite song. I-I didn’t even have to ask them to play it. They just started singing Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross.” I remember looking over at your mom and being overwhelmed at how beautiful she was, how she l-loved me and married me, how lucky I was at that exact moment. Something came over me. It felt like a whoosh of, I don’t know, happiness maybe. And I couldn’t help it, I cried. It never happened again, that feeling.” He spun around the kitchen, clapping his hands.
Dad stopped suddenly and leaned on the table, breathing heavily. “Oscar’s just like your mother. So friggin’ sensitive.” The one-year anniversary of Mom’s death was the next day, so maybe that was messing with him. He tossed his head back and forth. “So damn sensitive!” he shouted. He lost his grip and fell back onto his butt.
I jumped out of my seat. “Dad! Are you all right?”
He dropped his chin. “I-I messed everything up. Why do I always mess up? I miss her so much.” When I went to help him stand, he smacked my hand away. “Leave me alone! You remind me of her too!”