I was drawn back into the past, into Tammy Hager’s grandma’s basement in tenth grade. Tammy’s grandma was on a cruise, so the beer was flowing, the cigarette and pot smoke was a dense fog, and there were bodies everywhere, some talking, some dancing, some kissing. John was friends with Tammy’s older brother Chris, who, much to my delight and John’s horror, was the senior boy I had been dating for the last two months.
John and I had arrived at the party together. Even though I had spent the previous four years being his annoying little sister, John and I were getting to be friends again, as if he knew college was looming and he was starting to feel just the smallest bit nostalgic.
“Be good, kid,” he had said to me as I made a beeline for Tammy and he made a beeline for the keg. I was a good girl and didn’t get into too much trouble. Even still, I never missed one of these parties.
I remember how good my hair looked that night—Mom had ironed it stick straight—how my new wedges made my legs look longer, and how I thought Chris wouldn’t be able to take his eyes—or his hands—off me. “Where’s Chris?” I had asked Tammy breathlessly.
She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t terribly thrilled I was dating her older brother. He was the captain of the football team. He drank too much and smoked too much. He was beautiful and dangerous. And out of all the girls in the world, he wanted me.Me. What fifteen-year-old girl in her right mind would have turned that down?
Tammy wasn’t going to be much help, so I walked around the perimeter of the room, searching for Chris, a flutter in my heart, a smile on my face. I caught a glimpse of John on the opposite side of the crowded, musty basement with its low ceilings and concrete floors. And I think we must have seen it at the same time. There in the middle of the room was Chris. And Debbie Larkin. Making out. In retrospect, I should have felt angry. But I wasn’t. I was devastated. I thought I was in love with Chris. I would learn that summer, the summer I met Jack, that I hadn’t been in love with him. Not even a little bit. But at the time, it was as though all the oxygen had left my body. I didn’t want to cry in front of all those people. But my heart was broken. I was humiliated. How could he do that to me? I turned to run, and there was my big brother. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “Let’s get you home.”
I had relished the knowledge that John was my protector, and that no matter what happened, I would always have him. As we were walking toward the door, I heard Chris calling, “Ansley! Ansley, wait!”
I wouldn’t wait. I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to see me cry. I felt John’s hand leave my arm, and through the smoke haze, I watched my brother turn and punch Chris so hard he fell to the ground, clutching his cheek. As he was writhing there, John peered down over him and said in a measured tone, “No one messes with my little sister.”
My hand shot to my mouth, and John took my arm again and steered me out of the basement. I felt so safe. No matter what happened, my big brother was going to be there.
In my pantry, I felt that all over again. Despite what had happened between us, despite how much he had hurt me, my brother was here now. And it was all going to be OK.
As he said, “I didn’t even get to say good-bye,” I came back into the present, where my brother had scarcely talked to me for years over the fact that my grandmother had left me a house, where he had barely called me when my beloved husband was killed in one of our nation’s worst tragedies. I needed my big brother to be there for me. I needed him to protect me like he had in Tammy’s grandma’s basement. I wondered if we could ever get back to that place.
At the same time, a tinge of anger remained, and I wanted to snipe at him,I sure as hell gave you plenty of chances, orOur mother knew exactly what to expect from you at this point, you lazy, selfish moron.
But he was actually crying. Real tears. It didn’t seem like the right time to admonish him for all his failures. I got the feeling he was admonishing himself plenty.
But, let me tell you, I took full comfort in knowing I wasn’t the one who had something to be sorry for. I wasn’t the one who’d stopped returning his family’s phone calls and disappeared off the face of the earth once he was married and settled into his own new family. That wasn’t me. That was him. Quite frankly, he should feel sorry.
“What did she say?” John asked, pulling away and sniffling, wiping his eyes. “Was she angry at me?”
I shrugged. “No, John. She wasn’t surprised.”
He ran his hands through his hair in total distress. “I screwed this up like I screw everything else in my life up. I’m such a failure.”
Ah. This was about more than our mother. “Did Sheila leave you?”
He nodded, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t even really care, but now she’s gone and Mom’s gone, and I have no one.” He started crying again. “And it was Sheila who turned me against all of you in the first place. She was the one who made me believe you were all against me. She’s the one who cared so much about the damn house.”
I rolled my eyes. That didn’t surprise me in the least. I had always thought Sheila was a vile little yip dog. The minute she and John started dating, something had shifted between us. I remember him telling me she was jealous of how close we were, of how much we talked and depended on each other. I had told him to run. He didn’t.
But he was my brother. And I could tell he was sorry. I didn’t want to say it. I really didn’t. In fact, the words came up like vomit in my mouth, sour and bitter and downright disgusting. “You have Scott and me,” I said.
Things weren’t as tense between Scott and John, probably because they were men. Probably because Scott didn’t feel like he needed his older brother’s emotional support and unconditional love. That’s why I had made Scott call John to tell him Mom was gone. I couldn’t be let down by my big brother’s response. Not again.
John hugged me and said, “I promise I’m going to be better, Ansley. I’m going to come home for Christmas and remember my nieces’ birthdays. I’m going to make you love me again.”
I sat down on my mop bucket and sighed, the pantry suddenly feeling its size with my huge brother crowded into it. Now I was mad. “Yet again,” I said, “you have taken something that is supposed to be about someone else and made it about you.”
He looked shocked.
“What?” I asked. “You expect to show up here after almost ten years, the prodigal son returning home, and be welcomed with open arms and forgiven for all your sins? This is my time. I get to mourn the loss of my mother in any way I see fit, and I don’t need you around to make me feel guilty about that. I’ll deal with you when I’m good and damn ready.”
I stood and pushed by John and walked with a purpose through the kitchen, feeling guilty already. This was the thing about us. He behaved badly, but the moment I tried to reciprocate that, I just welled up with love for him again.
I heard Mrs. McClasky calling, “Oh, Ansley, dear,” as I was walking out the back door, but I pretended not to hear her. I had had it with all of them. Fortunately, Jack’s house was only forty steps from mine, so I walked out my back door and into his. I stopped for a moment to admire the finish on the floors. It was one of the most amazing cases of floor salvation I had seen. I’d been certain we would have to replace them all, and it broke my heart. But Hippie Hal had managed to scrape away decades of hideous paint colors that were terrible for hardwoods, reveal a lovely oak underneath, and restore it to a vibrant sheen.
“Jack!” I called. But I didn’t run into Jack. I ran into that horrific Georgia. As if my day could possibly get any worse.
“Oh, Ansley,” she said, “I’m terribly sorry to hear about your mother.” She did seem sorry. She did seem nice. I didn’t see any reason why she had to wear those sleeveless turtlenecks that were so tight, but I might have been able to like her. We might have been able to be friends. If it weren’t for Jack, of course.
