by J. Bengtsson
Determined to keep my issues to myself, I played along, focusing solely on the prize – going home. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t became a little more difficult when a staff member let my last name slip, and suddenly I was beating the horny rehab girls off with towels. Oh, wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake if I came home with a druggie girlfriend? How proud would that make the parental units?
As those around me actively participated in the group setting, I jotted down my fake feelings. I was several days behind in my journal and I didn’t want to get caught with empty pages, so I stole lines from Jake’s songs and used kindergarten-sized letters to give the appearance of quantity.
“Keith, what about you?”
I jerked my head up and looked toward the source of the voice – the group leader. She was a young woman no older than myself, but the way she carried herself, with intellect and humility, told me age was where our similarities ended.
Clearing my voice, I asked, “Sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
“Sure. We were just discussing a defining moment in your life that triggered you to want to self medicate with drugs.”
My fellow junkies eyed me hungrily, no doubt salivating at the chance to get the inside scoop on my notorious family. I struggled to mask my irritation. What did this woman want from me? I was showing up like a good boy and filling my notepad with someone else’s feelings, but I’d be damned if I was going to air my dirty laundry in front of a bunch of strangers.
“I think we all know his defining moment,” the guy to my left chimed in.
“Cory,” Ms. Marshall corrected. “Remember the rules.”
“What? It’s not like it’s a big secret what happened to his brother. That shit would mess anyone up.”
Clenching my teeth, I bristled at the assumption that Jake’s drama was responsible for my downfall. It wasn’t. I’d seen the same reaction in my last outpatient rehabilitation therapy. I was basically forgiven for being a screw up because Jake’s kidnapping had messed with my head. Why was it that siblings of kidnap victims got a bad rap? There was that pity thing involved, and people viewed us as a damaged lot by association alone. I’ll admit, Jake’s kidnapping did have a profound affect on my life, but that wasn’t why I became a drug addict. I had no one to blame but myself, so why was I continually being forgiven?
Maybe… maybe if I faced the ‘why’ of my descent into drug abuse I could finally break the chains that bound me to this life. At the last rehab, when I was twenty-one, I’d sat back, half-listening, considering myself somehow above the other losers. I hadn’t used the therapy as it was intended, and so I got nothing from it. I’d never taken the time to really evaluate myself and make the necessary changes. And look where it got me – right back where I started.
If I had any hope of turning this around, I had to face some hard truths… and they weren’t about Jake and his trauma, they were about me and my low self-esteem. There was no smoking gun that made me who I was. There was no scandalous crime. It didn’t always need to be some life-changing event that rewired one’s brain. Sometimes it was simply small irritants that, left unchecked, grew into cancerous tumors. That’s what had happened to me. I’d allowed life’s little injustices to pull me down and make me feel less worthy.
The group leader warned the dude beside me before giving me an out. “I’m sorry for Cory’s outburst, Keith. Of course, it’s up to you what you decide to share with the group. Maybe next session. Eva, why don’t you go next?”
“Actually…” I shut my notepad and glanced around the room. If they wanted a story out of me, I’d give them one, but it wouldn’t be anything like they were expecting. “I want to share.”
“Oh, that’s excellent.” She brightened, and I swear I saw everyone in the room sit up a little straighter. “Go on.”
“Okay, so, I know what you’re all thinking – that I’m here today because I couldn’t cope with what happened to my family. And while it’s true that event took my drug use to whole new levels, it’s not the reason I started abusing them in the first place.”
I could almost see Ms. Marshall taking mental notes.
“My defining moment goes all the way back to when I was five years old and playing in my first T-ball game. My half-brother Mitch, who was eight at the time, was playing on the adjacent field. I got up to bat, stood at that T, and whacked the shit out of that ball – hit it all the way to the outfield. It was the greatest triumph of my little life. As I was running the bases, I heard my father cheering from the sideline. Oh, man, you can’t believe the pride I felt in that moment – my first time up to bat and I hit a goddamn homerun. I looked back to wave at my father with the biggest smile I think my face had ever produced. It was then that I saw his body was turned away facing the other field. He wasn’t cheering for my homerun. He was cheering for Mitch.”
24
Keith: Color-Coded
All I wanted to do the day I left rehab was go to some rundown motel and sleep. Lie low for a while. Being by myself while I readjusted to a new, clean way of living sounded pretty damn nice. But I knew what needed to be done, and putting it off would only delay the inevitable. So after getting picked up and driven home, I slipped out when my parental wardens weren’t watching and began the trip to Arizona, where I was determined to right the biggest wrong of my life.
Driving through the night, I stopped only for gas and at a rest stop for a few of hours of sleep before continuing on my journey. It was 9:00 am when I pulled up to a townhouse on a tree-lined street. The anxious pounding in my chest kept me glued to my seat as I took in the place my brother called home. The bushes were trimmed to perfection, and colorful blooms were strategically placed in flowerbeds around the entryway to the front door. Everything was so orderly and fresh, like the man himself.
Those familiar pangs of jealously crept through me like a poisonous spider. But instead of gathering the eight-legged creature in a cup and taking it outside to live another day, I squashed the shit out of the black widow before it could strike me down first. There was no more room for negativity in my life. Today I would wipe the slate clean. It didn’t matter if Mitch forgave me. All that mattered was that I finally manned up and apologized to my brother for the years of contempt I’d directed his way.
And that’s why I continued knocking after the first round didn’t produce any results. The fact that his truck was parked in the driveway inspired me to keep thumping my knuckles on his door. I was on round three of repetitive knocking when I finally heard movement on the other side, followed by what I was sure would be an eyeball peering at me through the peephole.
The door suddenly swung open and Mitch stood before me, bare-chested and barefoot in only a pair of sweats. It was clear by his sleepy eyes that he’d just stumbled out of bed. “Keith?”
“Hey, sorry,” I replied, taking in his beefcake physique and smashing the imaginary spider threatening to crawl up my spine. “Did I wake you up?”
“I…” Mitch ran his fingers through his neatly trimmed brown hair, the look of surprise almost comical if it didn’t reflect so poorly on me. “What are you doing here? I thought you were…”
“In rehab?” I finished his sentence before extending a full set of spirit fingers and exclaiming, “All done. Surprise.”
Mitch’s shocked expression didn’t fade as he asked, “Is everything all right? Dad?”
I could see that his thought process was not on par with mine. For me to show up unannounced in his life, of course he’d be thinking the worst. “He’s fine, Mitch. Everything’s fine. I came to see you.”
Because we weren’t the type of brothers to show up unannounced at each other’s doors, it took some time for Mitch to allow my words to sink in. I shifted back and forth while I waited. But once an uncomfortable amount of time had passed, I finally broke the silence. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, shit, yeah. I’m sorry.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
Steppin
g over the threshold into his home, I allowed my eyes to wander. Everything was so neat and tidy, and he seemed to have a thing for organization. A long bookshelf was divided into cubbies, and three quarters of them held labeled storage and file boxes as well as color-coded pull out bins. And it was spotless. Not a thing out of place. Even the decorative pillows were all resting at 90-degree angles with the required ‘V’ smacked into the middle. Damn. This guy liked order in the house. Unlike me, he clearly didn’t spend half the day searching for his keys.
Neither of us spoke past the customary greeting, and it was awkward enough that it began to feel a little like hugging a friend goodbye in a restaurant only to realize you are both going in the same direction.
“So, um… nice flowers outside,” I said, scrapping my first idea of complimenting him on his organizational skills for fear he might want to share the details. “I didn’t know you counted a green thumb among your many talents.”
“I don’t. My girlfriend does – she’s the botanist.”
“Really? Cool. Is that like a flower scientist?”
His eyes widened before he smiled. “I was…um… kidding. Kate’s a business major, but she’s the one with the green thumb, not me.”
“Ah.” I smiled back. “Sometimes you need to spell things out for me.”
He nodded, amused. “I remember.”
“Well, more power to her. I can’t keep anything alive. Emma bought me a cactus once that only needed to be watered every three weeks. It was dead by week four. God help my future children.”
“You and me both.” Mitch laughed. “When I was a kid, I won a goldfish at a carnival and put it out on the back porch because I thought, you know, it might like to get some fresh air. Let’s just say, the neighbor cat had a nice snack.”
I chuckled, sliding down onto the sofa with the perfectly fluffed pillows.
He took a seat in the chair opposite me. “So do you want to tell me why you’re here?”
Our eyes connected. “I think you know why.”
“No, Keith. We haven’t spoken in years, and then all of a sudden, you wake me from a dead sleep and want to talk about my girlfriend’s flowers.”
“The flowers were just a filler.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Mitch trapped me in his leading man stare. “Keith, straight up. What are you doing in my living room?”
“I’m here to apologize.”
He just gaped at me. You would have thought I’d told him I didn’t recycle my plastics. “Okay… for what?”
“For everything. Our whole lives. Every wrong I’ve ever done to you. I want you to know, Mitch, I’m so damn sorry. I really, truly am.”
I stopped talking then, allowing him to chew over my words. And chew he did. I was pretty sure he was playing over every slight I’d ever perpetrated against him, big and small. It took my brother a surprisingly long time before he had a response for me.
“Even the time you dipped my carrot sticks in Orajel and caused my lips to go numb?” he asked, attempting to suppress a smile.
“Yes, even then.” I laughed.
“Or the time you hardboiled all my eggs and put them back in the container?”
“Actually, I stand by that one. I ate deviled eggs for a week. They were delicious.”
We laughed together, easing the tension between us.
“You were such a shithead.”
“I know.” I caught his eye. “But I think we both know the real reason I’m apologizing.”
Mitch shifted in his chair and looked out the window. The pain on his face was clear to see. I’d hurt him more than maybe even I understood.
“That day at the hospital when I said you weren’t Jake’s real brother – that was such a shitty thing to say. It makes me sick that I was such a petty asshole.”
“Yeah, you were,” he said, leaning forward. “That stung like a bitch. Here’s the thing, Keith: I’ve always felt like an imposter in your life. Do you have any idea what it was like for me to walk into your perfect little family and try to make myself relevant? And you – ah, shit, Keith, you were the best at twisting the knife in my chest.”
“I know. I have no excuse. I was jealous, Mitch, pure and simple. You were perfect, and I was… not. I took out my insecurities on you. I can never take back all the horrible things I said, but I can try to make amends now. I’ll do anything for you to forgive me… I mean, as long as it doesn’t cost more than $84, because that’s all I have left in my wallet.”
His brow rose. “You’re kidding, I hope.”
I shook my head.
“What about in your savings account?”
“My what?” I flung my arms to the sides for affect.
“Credit cards?” He continued trying.
“Look at me, dude. Who’s going to give me a line of credit?”
“Jesus, Keith. You need to stop living like a teenager.”
“Don’t I know? Number one on my ‘to do’ list is to ‘Get Mitch to forgive me’ and number two is ‘Grow up.’”
“What’s number three?”
I thought for a moment. Was Mitch trustworthy enough to reveal number three? By the earnest expression on his face, I decided he was.
“Number three. Find my own botanist.”
A smile spread across his face. “Everyone needs a botanist.”
“I already found her, dude. I just need to… find her again.”
Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he met my eye. “Well, you can cross number one off your list. I forgive you.”
“Just like that? You don’t want me to grovel? Maybe… organize your pantry or wash your truck naked?”
“No. God, no. I don’t want you touching anything in my house. You look like you have fleas. How long has it been since you showered?”
“Fuck you. I showered yesterday. I’m not dirty. I’m just going for the ‘unkempt’ vibe.”
“Well, then, bravo, brother. You’re killing it.”
I shrugged. “Chicks dig the homeless look.”
“No. No, they do not.”
I smiled, buoyed by how easily he’d pardoned me yet also wise enough to know he might still be harboring some resentment.
“Why are you forgiving me so easily?” I asked.
His answer took time to formulate, but when it did, Mitch blew me away. “Because, if I’m being perfectly honest, it’s not all your fault, Keith. I might have fanned the flames. See, every chance I got was spent trying to show you up. I made sure that everything you did, Dad could see me doing better. It’s how I became a star athlete and an honors student. I pushed myself past every barrier, raising the bar each time, all to ensure that you, the kid who had everything, would never be better than me.”
I leaned in, shocked by his admission. “You thought I had everything?”
“You did. Michelle has always adored you. I mean, I know she loves me in her own way, but I’m not hers. She was never vested in me like she was with her own kids. And you – you ran the pack. They all followed along like little ducklings. Jake especially. Even now, I don’t think he likes me because he doesn’t want to be unfaithful to you.”
“Shit,” I mumbled, realizing he spoke the truth. Their strained relationship had everything to do with me.
“Dad was the only one I could stand out for,” Mitch continued. “So that’s what I did. I stood out and made damn sure you were watching me do it. So, yeah, I twisted a few knives myself, but you just weren’t bright enough to figure out what I was doing.”
“Huh.” I nodded, trying to process the information pinging through my brain. “Wait. Hold up… you were jealous? Of me?”
“Yes.”
I let that awesome piece of reality soak in for a second before slapping his knee and laughing. “Well, fuck me! You petty little bitch!”
Mitch chuckled, spreading his evil genius arms out to the sides.
“So then, are you saying you’re not perfect after all?”
Puffing his chest out, Mitch smirked. “No.
I’m perfect.”
We laughed together, and an understanding passed between us. When it came right down to it, Mitch and I weren’t all that different – except maybe for his chiseled good looks, bright future, and out-of-this-world organizational skills. But, you know, I could live with that. Because for the first time since we were kids, I had faith we could finally become friends.
“You wanna get some breakfast?” he asked.
“Depends. You wanna put a shirt on?”
Mitch chuckled as he stood up. “Depends. Are you buying?”
“Depends. Do you like McMuffins? ‘Cuz that’s all I can afford.”
“I do.”
“I figured you would – McMuffins are neatly stacked and organized.”
“You’re such a dick.” He grinned and whacked me in the shoulder before heading off toward his room.
“Oh, and Mitch? I do have one more question.”
He stopped, turning back and flashing me a quizzical expression.
“When there’s discount day at The Container Store, do you turn that sales floor into your own personal sperm bank?”
25
Samantha: Unfinished Business
I jolted awake to the sounds of banging.
“Uugghh,” I groaned, wrapping the pillow over my ears. Not again. With their headboard against my furthest wall, I’d thought I would be safe, but no. I just happened to be rooming with the horniest Harry Potter geeks this side of Hogwarts. Who knew the magically inclined were so prolific in the sack?
The only bright spot of being woken up on a weekend to thumping and pumping was that Stewart didn’t have much staying power. Sometimes, as a way to pass the time, I even counted. Once he racked up a whole minute and thirty eight seconds. But more typically, by the time they got to the point where the headboard was bouncing against the wall, he didn’t have much left in that skinny body of his.