Three weeks ago
Dad still hadn’t asked about my plan. He was too busy being pissed off at me. We hadn’t had a decent exchange since I told him about Drexel. It was mostly him barking orders at me at the bar or asking me to pass something to him at the dinner table. For the first time in my life, it was like he had nothing to talk about with me.
Dad and I were never at a loss for words. That was Oscar’s territory. There could be no doubt that we were tight. There was a connection. We had stuff in common. How long was he going to drag this shit out?
You can’t just unravel a father-son relationship.
Right?
I’d tried putting on his favorite songs, getting dinner started before he got home, asking questions about the date he went on, the new beer tap at the bar, the friggin’ weather. Nothing worked.
We’d just finished another uncomfortable dinner. My steak burrito sat like a boulder in my gut. He disappeared into the living room, and then while Oscar and I were cleaning up the dishes, he came in and announced, “I’m going out for a drink. Don’t wait up.”
He slammed the front door and sped down the street.
Oscar said, “Why didn’t you just talk to him first? Before you called Drexel.”
I spun around. “It’s none of your business!” My brother was right. I should’ve told Dad. I messed up. Of course I’d never admit that to Oscar.
He tossed his head side to side. “There’s so much anger inside you. So much,” he said under his breath. He balled his fists and his voice rose. “But guess what? We’re all Dad has left! Have you forgotten that fact? Huh? And while the two of you try to out-selfish each other, neither of you have given an ounce of thought to the reality that we—the three of us—are a family, and families are supposed to be there for each other, look out for each other, not keep secrets like dropping full scholarships from each other.
“Families should feel like safety and home and love. Not this family though. Oh no, here we have anger and insults and lies and pain. That’s what we have. So how can you expect Dad to react any other way to your little bombshell? He’s not capable, Vance! We’re about as messed up as any family can be.” Oscar’s chest heaved.
I’d never seen him so fired up. I’d never heard him say so many sentences in a row.
Every word he said was true. We were a mess. “What is today, all gang up on Vance day?”
“Oh, that’s right. The world revolves around Vance. I forgot.” Oscar slammed the frying pan into the cabinet.
“You know what? In Oscarland, with its fancy classical music and secret drawings and constant ‘no one understands me’ bullshit, the world revolves around you! How many times did you drive me to physical therapy? Twenty? Thirty? A friggin’ million? And during those drives, how many times did you ask about my pain? About my progress? About me? I know how many times! Zero! Not once. You were too busy being lost in sad little Oscarland. Well, guess what, asshole, you’re no picnic for a brother either!”
If only I had my phone on me to capture the look on Oscar’s stupid face. It was a mixture of constipation and amazement. We stared at each other for what felt like years. We’d said more to each other in the past two minutes than we had in the past two years. The kitchen was full of words.
Oscar’s eyes got glassy. “Oscarland? That’s what you call my life? Like it’s an amusement park. You and Dad, all you do is make assumptions about me. I’m weird because I like classical music. I’m weird because I’m not into sports. I’m weird because I’m quiet. You don’t know me. Neither does Dad.”
My brother gave me no chance to respond before he stomped up to his room. Good. I wouldn’t have had a response anyway because he was right.