Two months later
I glanced at Oscar’s sketch of Dad—the one he did in the hospice, the one I gave him so much shit over. Unbeknownst to him I made a photocopy of it. I carefully folded it up into a square and tucked it inside my graduation cap.
A few days after Dad’s burial, Oscar brought out his sketchbook at the dinner table. He had never done that before. He asked if there was a particular drawing that I liked, one that “spoke to me.” I’d raised my eyebrows and asked him to explain what “spoke to me” meant. He did, and I knew exactly which drawing. The one he drew of Mom on the phone. He nodded and said, “Yeah, that one is my favorite too.”
When we were clearing the dishes, he asked if there was another one that I liked.
Without a pause I’d said, “The one you did of Dad in the hospice.”
“Really? The one you gave me shit over? That one?” He was busting my balls.
I’d dropped my chin and mumbled, “Yeah, that one.” Me flipping out on Oscar was stupid. Thinking back, it didn’t even make sense. What was the big deal about him drawing Dad? I didn’t have a logical reason. It was more like I’d been scared shitless and my brother took the brunt of my raging fear.
“Surprising. I thought you’d have picked one of you with Dad.”
I’d surprised myself actually. The ones with me and Dad were great, but it was the nakedness of his face in the hospice sketch, the way Oscar was able to almost capture his soul. “It was beautiful and terrible at the same time.”
Oscar looked me dead in the eye. “You saw that?” he’d whispered.
A few days later, when I woke up, the drawing sat on my dresser with a note from Oscar.
Dear Vance,
I know graduation will be emotionally confusing—joy and aching sadness. So I’m giving you the sketch of Dad from the hospice. Yes, I realize it’s a somber drawing, but like I said, the day won’t be all one thing. I wanted you to have something that represented those complicated emotions. As you said before, the drawing was “beautiful and terrible at the same time.”
You’ll never know how much it means to me to have you respect my artwork. I always thought you and Dad would make fun of me for it. So to have you tell me—to my face—that you think I’m good means everything to me.
Oscar
I zipped up my graduation gown, placed the cap on my head, and stared at myself in the mirror. The edge of the folded drawing poked into my head. I was okay with that. In fact, I liked it. It would be the perfect reminder that Oscar’s drawing was there. That Dad was there. I also wore Mom’s wedding ring on a silver chain around my neck. That was my brother’s brilliant idea. And it allowed me to keep Mom’s plastic ziplock bag in my drawer, sealed and private. Maybe I’d tell Oscar one day. Maybe I wouldn’t.
I removed the drawing from my cap and tossed it into the big, brown envelope. I would put it back later. I had a surprise for Oscar.
“We should go, Vance!” Oscar shouted from downstairs.
I patted my heart. “Here we go, Mom and Dad.”
We were in the car about to back up when I handed Oscar the envelope.
“What’s this?” He held it up.
I hadn’t planned on surprising him until after graduation, but I couldn’t wait. “Check out the paper-clipped stuff first.”
Oscar unclasped the envelope and pulled out the papers. He flipped through and looked over with wide eyes. “Dad never canceled it?”
“Nope.” A few weeks before Dad’s accident, I was about to knock on his office door, but when I heard the words, “Yes, the boys have their passports,” I dropped my arm and eavesdropped. He was on the phone with the travel agent. He never did cancel our trip to Jamaica, and by what I heard, we were still going. Hearing that news lifted my heart so high it felt like it might burst through the top of my head. Dad was obviously going to surprise me. He didn’t hate me.
“So we’re really going?” Oscar sounded unsure. “Am I allowed to?”
I laughed. “Yeah, we’re really going. Everything’s done and paid for. We already have our passports. And who’s going to stop us? I’m your guardian, remember?”
Oscar dropped his head. For a second I thought he was upset, but then he smiled and snorted. “Dad would definitely want us to go.”
He went to put the envelope underneath his leg. “Wait,” I said. “There’s something else in there.”
Oscar reached in and pulled out his folded drawing. Once it was opened up, he just stared at it. At least a minute passed and then he said, “I don’t understand.”
I said. “First, don’t be mad that it’s folded. It’s not your original. I made a copy. I’m going to fold it and wear it underneath my cap so Dad’s with me today. You cool with that?”
Oscar turned and looked out the window.
Why wasn’t he saying anything? “Are you mad?”
“Not mad. Just drive. Give me a minute.”
I continued backing out of the driveway. When we were halfway to school, I said, “You all right?”
He took a big, loud breath. “Four months ago, if someone told me that my brother, Vance, was going to fold up one of my sketches and wear it underneath his graduation cap, I would’ve fallen on the floor laughing.” Oscar smacked his thighs and blew out his breath. “So, what you said to me at the hospice, when we were meeting with Ms. Becker after Dad died. You said we had an ultimatum. Remember?”
I nodded.
“I’d never looked at our situation like that. So black and white. Sometimes I can complicate things.”
I laughed. “Yeah, no shit.”
“I always thought you and Dad were masters at assuming things. I used to tell myself that all the time. Maybe it was all of us. Maybe we all assumed a whole bunch of stuff about each other. We did, didn’t we?”
A red light loomed ahead, and I slowed to a stop. “You’re right. It was all of us. All three of us let it get so messed up. Assumptions definitely were part of the problem.” The light turned green, and we quietly motored along for a while, lost in our heads. Then it hit me. “You know what? It’s simple. Either we’re brothers or we’re not. And I mean we act like it. We owe it to Mom and Dad to take care of each other.”
“I think we’re doing it, Vance.” Oscar held up his palm and I high-fived him. If hands smacking together could feel like a promise, well, then we just sealed the deal.
I shoved his shoulder. “Of course we’re doing it, dipshit. Look at us.”
We laughed so hard I nearly missed the next light.
We scored a pretty decent parking spot and walked through the lot. “Is Jacque meeting you at the entrance?” I asked. I’d had a feeling Jacque was there to see Oscar the night of Dad’s service. I could tell by the way she kept looking past me, searching for my brother. And about a week later she sent us each our own sympathy card. When Oscar’s face went purple after reading his, I was sure his note was more than what I got:
I’m so sorry for your loss, Vance.
Sincerely,
Jacque Beaufort.
“What did she write to you?” I’d asked him. My normally private brother handed me the card.
Dear Oscar,
First let me say how incredibly brokenhearted I am for your loss. I can’t even imagine the pain you must be in. Please know that I think of you a lot. Anyway, I hope you finish out the school year. Being in the busy halls of WCHS could be a good distraction. But if you decide to do cyber school or something, that’s cool. I meant what I said in your yard that night—I’m here if you need me. I know now is not the time to make plans so I’ll text you in a few days or weeks. I’m not sure how long I should wait. Maybe you can text me when you’re ready to talk?
With all my sympathy,
Jacque Beaufort
PS Remember when I was all blabby that day at the piano, going all deep? I’ve always thought you had a quiet confidence like my mom. I could tell you had a lot going on underneath the surface. That intrigued me. Oh, and you’re a really excellent hugger.
“Holy shit, dude. She likes you,” I’d said.
Oscar shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. You’re the one with all the experience with girls.”
The moment was huge. I’d felt the weight of it on my shoulders. Oscar only had me to talk to. Only me. I held out my hand and said, “Can we make a pact that we’re not going to repeat the mistakes Dad made with Mom?”
Oscar squinted before grasping my hand. “Yeah, sure. But, I thought you wanted to be just like Dad.”
I’d sat on the sofa and motioned for him to do the same. “When Mom was still alive, I used to think that was how it was supposed to be, that guys couldn’t be faithful.” I shook my head. “But after my accident, things changed for me. It was like I saw everything differently. Dad treated her like shit. She wasn’t happy. I saw it in her eyes in your drawing. I saw it in her eyes in real life. And Dad definitely wasn’t happy. I think all the drinking he did after she died was his guilt. Deep down, I think he knew he fucked up.”
Oscar held his fists next to his temples and then fanned his hands out wide. “Mind. Blown.”
“I feel things too. Wild, eh?”
We’d sat till ten o’clock talking. Another first for us. I’d even walked him through what to text Jacque and where to go on their first date—the Black Bean coffee shop in town.
They’ve been inseparable ever since.
I pulled my cap down a little as I neared the gym doors. Oscar still hadn’t answered me. “Hellooo? Is Jacque meeting you before she goes in?” She was graduating today too.
Oscar stared through me. I snapped in front of his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Yes. She’s meeting me right here.”
“Vance, before you go in, what I love about classical music is that it’s complex. The way it let me escape to a place where I could just be. It’s the way it allowed me to remain introverted but all the while challenging me with its aesthetic lure—”
I grabbed his shoulders. “Dude, you said you were going to stop talking like that. Remember? And you’re not making any sense. I gotta go. Cheer loud when they call my name, okay?”
Oscar returned the gesture and clasped my forearms. “Wait. I have a point. I’m complex. You’re simple. And I don’t mean that as an insult. I’m the ying to your yang. We complement each other. Down. Up. Ying. Yang.”
I smiled and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Whatever you say, buddy.”
“I know what I want now.”
His eyes were glassy. Crap, I didn’t want to walk in there crying. He knows what he wants? Huh? “Can we talk about it afterward?”
“What you owe me, remember? For breaking the news to Dad for you? I finally know what I want. The hatchet that we’ve carried around since childhood, I’d like it buried. Underneath concrete.”
Oscar extended his hand and I grasped it. After a few shakes, I pulled him in for a hug and we smacked each other’s backs. “Look at us. We’re doing it again.”