Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material. -F. Scott Fitzgerald
I turn the volume up as far as it can go, not particularly caring for the song itself, rather for the noise it provides. My eardrums throb in protest, but I'll take the physical pain over the emotional trauma.
As further distraction, I flip open my Chemistry book and attempt to make sense of chapter one. Most of my classmates are likely enjoying this last month of summer. Instead, I am already hitting the books in an effort to tune out the fighting in my house.
Out of the corner of my eye I see my mom open the door. I quickly pull out my headphones and turn to face her. "Hey, Mom," I smile, trying to act as though I hadn't just tried to block her voice.
"Any ideas for dinner?" she asks tiredly. She's still dressed for work, and obviously only just got home.
"Can you make fettuccini alfredo?" I ask eagerly.
A small smile stretches across her worn-out face. "We just had that the other day, didn't we?" She asks as though she can't remember the answer.
"Well, yeah, but it's my favorite," I reply defensively.
"Sorry, Brian, but I'm not making it twice in one week. Plus we're out of pasta."
"I'll go to the store!" I joke, bringing another smile to her face.
"That would be great, but I'm still not making it."
A small shriek meets my ears, accompanied by an overexcited five-year-old running into view. "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"
My mom instantly relaxes. "That's great, Molly-wolly! Did you say hi?"
Molly jumps up and down as she answers, "I going, I going!" and runs down the hall to meet my dad at the door. I know when she reaches him by the squealed, "Daddy!"
Mom turns towards the kitchen, and I follow, abandoning my self-assigned homework. Still standing in the doorway is my dad, with Molly in one arm and a pizza in the other.
"You sounded stressed on the phone, so I thought I'd lighten your load a little," he tells my mom.
"Seth, I love you," Mom gushes, taking the box from his hands.
Dad kisses her quickly but lovingly. "I never get tired of hearing that." After another long gaze at Mom, Dad turns to me and says, "Hey, Brian. How was your day?"
"It was fine," I answer, starting to set the table.
"Just fine?" Dad asks. "Not even really fine?"
I roll my eyes, but smile as I answer. "Sure, Dad. My day was really fine. Fine and dandy in fact."
"There we go," he winks, satisfied. My dad is always so happy, and as annoying as it can be sometimes, it's my favorite thing about him.
"Molly-wolly, can you go get Alex?" Mom asks carefully. I bite my lip. You know things are bad when Mom has to resort to using Molly's irresistibility for her own gain.
But Molly, oblivious to how crucial her task is, skips down the hall and cheerfully calls Alex to dinner. Predictably, she succeeds where anyone else would have failed.
"Hey, Alex, how was your day?" Dad asks as he pours milk for everyone.
"Fine. I don't want milk," he snaps. Dad gives him a patient, yet warning look. Alex looks away and mumbles, "I'll get my own drink." Dad has this natural aura of leadership and authority that usually makes us listen to him. I don't understand it, but I admire it. Maybe it comes with being the man of the house.
Dinner proceeds normally, with both Mom and Dad trying to get everyone to share their day. Molly happily divulges the adventures she had with her various imaginary friends, and I throw in a comment or two about the book I'm reading. Alex says nothing.
Not even ten minutes have passed when my brother stands up to put his plate in the sink. "Alex, can you sit down? I have something I need to tell everyone," Mom says.
Alex takes his good, sweet time sitting back down, then begins ripping his napkin, making a show of being bored out of his mind. Mom pretends not to see this.
"What's going on, Mom?" I ask, trying to compensate for Alex's lack of enthusiasm.
"Well, we are going to have a very special guest for dinner on Friday," Mom begins, barely able to contain her excitement.
"Santa?" Molly yells, jumping out of her seat.
"Molly, Santa comes at Christmas, which is in December," I correct.
"What month is it, Molly-wolly?" Dad asks, smiling.
Molly thinks it over for a moment. "December!" she cheers.
Dad laughs. "Close. It's August."
"Easter Bunny?" Molly asks hopefully.
Alex rolls his eyes and starts, "Molly, Santa and the Easter Bunny aren't-"
I kick him hard in the shin and earn myself a death glare.
"I was going to say 'coming'," Alex growls.
"Sure you were," I mumble.
Mom regains control of the conversation. "Actually, your Uncle Jake is coming for dinner."
Uncle Jake. For all intents and purposes, he is just as mythical as Santa and the Easter Bunny. Uncle Jake is someone I hear about several times a week. Someone who calls on every birthday and Christmas. Someone who sends presents and candy on literally every holiday. Someone my parents call all the time. Someone I've seen countless pictures of. Still, he's someone I have never met.
"Really?" I ask, not daring to believe it.
"Yeah, really!" Mom smiles wider than I have ever seen her do in a while, and there is a warm, rosy glow in her cheeks.
"Is everyone coming, or just him?" Dad asks quietly, as though hoping we don't pay him any attention.
"Everyone, I think. Bella wants to visit her dad," Mom replies in the same volume.
The semi-private conversation catches Alex's attention. "Who's everyone? Do we have other long-lost relatives we don't know about?"
Mom dodges the question. "It's not his fault he hasn't been around to visit."
"Then why doesn't he?" Alex demands.
Looking slightly uncomfortable, Mom simply ignores the question this time. "Alex, could you do the dishes, please?"
"Why can't Brian do it?" he snaps.
"Because Brian is taking out the trash."
"Well, I'll do that, and Brian can do the dishes," Alex says, standing up and grabbing the garbage bag.
"No, Alex, that's not what I asked," Mom says firmly, but Alex ignores her and heads for the door. "Alexander!"
But he's already outside. When he comes back in, Dad stops him and orders, "Apologize to your mother for disobeying her."
"Why? I still helped, didn't I?" Alex says.
Mom starts to raise her voice as she starts, "That is not the point, the point is-"
Alex cuts her off. "No, the point is that everyone here hates me, so why do I bother?" Then he stomps off to his room.
An awkward silence follows the slam of my brother's door. After a few seconds, Molly breaks it, singing cheerfully. She obviously doesn't understand what just happened.
"Sarah," Dad puts his arm around Mom to comfort her.
"I'm fine," Mom lies. All the excitement from her big announcement has left her face, and she is once again trapped in her constant, tired state that Alex causes.
The sad part is, it wasn't always like this.
Alex used to be a fun-loving, carefree kid that everyone wanted to be around. He made me incredibly proud to be his older brother. Alex never fought with anyone, and always went out of his way to help Mom. Alex has never been the best at school, but was never shy about asking for my help. In return, he taught me how to shoot a basket, beat everyone (except himself, of course) at videogames, and he even helped me talk to girls. Not that it worked, but that was my fault, not his.
But when he started middle school, everything changed, and to this day, I still have no idea why. It happened slowly, so that no one realized what was happening until it was too late. Alex became quieter, and rarely expressed any interest in doing anything with friends. He stopped asking me for help, and rarely helped me. He would have days where he was clingy to the point I'd have to lock my door to even do my homework, to days where no amount of knocking would get me into his room. He'd make dinner for Mom one day, then yell at her for making something he didn't like the next.
Slowly, the bad days started to be more frequent than the good ones, and eventually they stopped altogether. Mom is losing her mind, afraid to do anything that could upset Alex, but also afraid not to punish him for acting this way. Seeing Mom like this kills Dad, but there is nothing he can do to fix it. Molly doesn't completely understand, but Alex's behavior still upsets her. As for me, being the empathetic idiot I am, not only am I suffering for my sake, but also for the sake of my family. Some nights, I lay awake for hours, asking why my family is being torn apart from the inside out. Some nights, I wish I was someone, anyone else.