Four months ago
“Whoooo! This’ll burn so good,” Dad exclaimed. He held up his official eggnog mug for a toast. I lifted mine. Dad and I looked at Oscar, who hadn’t moved a muscle.
“It’s tradition, dude,” I said.
He rolled his eyes and lifted his.
“To your mom!” Dad exclaimed. We clinked mugs. He brought the mug to his lips and chugged his nog. “Ha! That’s how you start Christmas morning.”
I took a big sip, swallowed, and exhaled loudly. “Ahhh. Wow. Strong.”
Dad clasped my shoulder. “There’s no other way to make it. Anything less wouldn’t be worth it.”
Oscar put his untouched mug in the sink and ran the water. What a baby.
“That’s lame. The toast was to Mom.”
He squinted. “I don’t need to drink alcohol to honor my mother.”
“You’re so uptight. It’s not about the alcohol. It’s about Mom.”
Dad poured himself another mugful. “Let it go. There’s more for us.” He raised his arm and then took a huge sip.
I turned my back on Oscar and high-fived Dad.
Oscar moped around all day, disappearing for long stretches of time. Dad had to call him down for Christmas dinner, and by that time, Dad was feeling no pain. The eggnog was long gone, and he was well into a bottle of wine.
Oscar asked if he could turn down the reggae as soon as he entered the kitchen. Dad didn’t hear him. He was in his own world, dancing all around. I was already at the table grubbing on turkey, so I just watched.
The kitchen went quiet, and Dad froze over by the sink. “What’d you do that for?” he shouted.
“I asked if I could turn it down, Dad,” Oscar said. He swallowed and blinked.
“Tha music mmmakes mmmeee happeee,” Dad slurred. “Turn it onnnn.”
“Maybe we should get you to bed,” Oscar said. He locked eyes with me and lifted his brows, pleading.
“Relax. Let Dad eat. He needs to get some food into him,” I said. I went back to my plate and shoved a huge forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth.
Without a word, Oscar took his seat and helped himself to dinner.
Dad stumbled to the table and plopped into his chair. “This boy knows what I need.” He squeezed my shoulder.
Oscar’s cheeks flushed, and he dropped his eyes. I thought that would make my brother storm out, but he stayed.
He didn’t make sense to me.
Why couldn’t he ever let loose, laugh, have fun? I stared at him across the table. He never let me in. He was like a vault locked inside another vault, buried underneath tons of concrete.
It was kind of a bummer.