Drinking Closer to Home

by Jessica Anya Blau

  The room felt small: the two beds, the numerous boxes, and the circus animal wallpaper were closing in on Anna. She noticed that Emery had drawn on the wallpaper animals, giving black ink penises to some, and hanging-nippled breasts to others. The elephant had the biggest penis of all, dragging on the ground like a fifth leg.

  “This is disgusting,” Anna said. Like her mother, she was prone to speak aloud to herself. Anna left the room and retrieved her suitcase from the entrance hall. She hauled the luggage into Emery’s old room and plopped it in the middle of Portia’s bed. There was no way she was going to sleep on the cot.

  The front door banged open.

  “Hello?!” Anna called out.

  “Me!” Portia said, and Anna rolled her eyes. How was it possible that her sister was so happy all the time, even when surrounded by the muck and mire of their home and their parents?

  “Anna?!” Portia called.

  “In Emery’s room!” Anna said.

  Portia popped open the door and looked in.

  “Dad took over my room as a second office and Emery moved into your room.”

  “Really?” Portia asked.

  “Really.”

  “I’ve only been gone three months!”

  “We’re out now,” Anna said. “We’re like Bubbe and Zeyde visiting.”

  Portia looked down at the bed and the cot pushed side by side against the wall.

  “It’s like we’re in a dorm!” Portia said, and she stepped in and threw her backpack onto the cot. Anna couldn’t understand why her sister wasn’t distressed by their sudden, intense proximity. They had rarely spoken since Anna went away to college. Only recently had the girls been exchanging letters. Anna’s letters were usually cartoon strips with drawings of the people sitting around her in the cafeteria eating, or of a group gathered in a closet-sized room passing around a bong. She would write single-sentence captions underneath, things like, “This guy and I made out one night after doing shots at some alky-towny bar near school.” Portia’s letters rarely had drawings, and were mostly detailed character descriptions about her housemates, classmates, and the people she met at the café at the end of her block. Anna’s favorite letter from Portia detailed her friendship with the bearded quadriplegic who spoke by banging the pointer strapped to his head onto a lettered Ouija-like board that straddled the arms of his wheelchair. It turned out he directed porn movies and he spent fifteen minutes one day banging out, “Will you star in one of my films? You’d only have to have sex with my wife and me. And maybe some of her friends.”

  But with all the details, the minutiae the two girls revealed, they rarely actually talked about themselves. Portia was, in a way, a stranger to Anna; Anna could only think of her sister in memory: daffy Sally, from Peanuts, or Pigpen, the slob, who would sit on the floor of the family room watching TV and making the most infuriating popping sounds when she breathed. Anna walked to her sister and gave her a quick hug.

  “Where are Mom and Dad?” Portia asked, and as if on cue, the girls heard their mother’s wooden clogs tapping against the kitchen floor.

  Louise was tending to the dinner she had set to simmer hours earlier.

  “Hey, Mom!” Portia said, and she went to her mother and hugged her for a long time. Louise rocked her daughter back and forth, as if she were a little girl, then pulled Portia away and kissed her on the forehead. Of course their mother would kiss Portia first, Anna thought.

  “I missed you!” Louise said.

  “Did you miss me?” Anna said, and she approached for her hug.

  “Of course,” Louise said.

  “No, you didn’t. You only missed Portia.” Anna smiled. She figured she better at least act like she was joking.

  “Yeah, Mom only missed me!” Portia said, and Louise laughed.

  “Come to the store with me,” Anna said, to Portia. She had to get out. Just being in the house made Anna’s mind feel as cluttered and muddled as the kitchen counter.

  Anna picked up Louise’s car keys that were sitting on the counter.

  “What do you need?” Louise asked.

  “Tampons,” Anna said.

  “Use mine,” Louise said, and she lifted a spoon to her mouth and slurped the steamy gravy from the pot roast she was making.

  “Yours are too big,” Anna said.

  “You’ve got a big vagina, Mom,” Portia said, and Louise and Anna laughed.

  “Portia, come with me. Mom, I’m borrowing the car.” Anna headed down the hallway toward the front door as Emery came running in.

  “Hey!” he said, and he leaned in and hugged Anna. Emery had grown about six inches since she had seen him last. Anna thought he smelled like moldy bread. Louise had written Anna a letter that chronicled Emery’s current interest in taking a pitchfork, standing on the hill-sized compost pile Buzzy had fenced off with redwood planks, and turning the fusty, steamy pile. Maybe this accounted for his smell.

  “Emery!” Portia said, and she ran down the hall and grabbed her brother.

  “Portia, let’s go. Now. Emery, we’ll see you when we get back.” Portia was slow in everything she did: she moved slowly, walked slowly, said hello slowly. If Anna didn’t push her sister out the door this second, she’d never get her out.

  “Can I come?” Emery followed Anna.

  “No!” Anna said.

  “Take your brother!” Louise shouted, from the kitchen.

  Anna was practically running toward the blue station wagon in the driveway. Emery and Portia followed her, jumping into the car as if they were making a getaway.

  “Listen,” Anna said, and she tilted the rearview mirror so she could see Emery in the backseat. He was skinnier with his new height, and his voice was starting to crack.

  “Listen what?” Emery asked. He scooted up and put his hands on the back of the bench seat. The rims under his fingernails were black as tar.

  “Whatever you see me and Portia do, you are not allowed to report to Mom and Dad. Get it?”

  “What are you going to do? Rob a bank?”

  “Yeah,” Portia said, “what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I mean anything. Anything I do or say cannot be reported back to Mom and Dad.”

  “Are you doing drugs?” Emery asked.

  “Noble Citizen wants to know if you’re doing drugs?” Portia asked, and she alone laughed. She knew from the letters Anna sent that she was at least doing some kind of drug on occasion.

  “Portia, reach into my purse and get me a cigarette, will you?” Anna could hear Louise’s voice in herself when she said that.

  Emery jumped in his seat. “YOU SMOKE!?”

  Portia handed her sister a cigarette and a lighter, then stuck a cigarette in her mouth, too.

  “NO WAY!” Emery said. “You smoke, too?!”

  “You smoke?” Anna asked.

  “I thought I’d try it during finals a couple weeks ago,” Portia said, “and then this really hot boy told me it looked sexy, so . . .” She lit her cigarette.

  “You’re smoking because a boy thought it was sexy?!” Emery said. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  He was right, Anna thought, but Portia was dumb in just that way.

  “I’m smoking so I don’t eat and barf,” Anna said. “But I seem to be drinking more calories than ever, so it sort of evens out.”

  “You drink alcohol?!” Emery said.

  “You eat and barf?!” Portia asked.

  “I’m twenty-fucking-one now!” Anna shouted.

  “But eat and barf.”

  “Everyone at Bennington does it. We keep a big black Hefty bag in our room and barf in it.”

  “Your roommate barfs with you?!”

  “It’s no fucking big deal! And anyway, I told you, the smoking helps me not do it!” Portia was such an alarmist, Anna thought. Everyone at Bennington was doing everything: freebasing cocaine, barfing, cutting themselves with razors. Why did Portia have to act like there was somethi
ng wrong with all this? This was college. Shit happens.

  “Fine!” Portia said.

  “Fine really? Or fine, and now you’re going to run home and tell Mom and Dad that I’m barfing?”

  “If it’s no big deal to you it’s no big deal to me,” Portia said.

  “But it is a big deal!” Emery said.

  “You can think it’s a big deal, but don’t say anything about it, okay?” Anna asked.

  “Okay,” Emery said, and he bounced back against his seat. Anna glared at Emery in the rearview mirror until she was sure he would submit.

  Anna drove past the grocery store and the drugstore.

  “I thought you needed tampons,” Portia said.

  “I needed a cigarette,” Anna said. “And now I need a drink.”

  “It’s five o’clock in the afternoon!” Emery said. “And Portia’s not twenty-one. And I turned fourteen only two days ago.”

  “Happy birthday to you . . .” Anna started singing and then Portia joined in. They were laughing and singing so enthusiastically that Anna almost missed the turn for Jasper’s Saloon. She had to slam the brakes and skid into the driveway.

  “Do you have a fake ID?” Anna asked. Portia nodded but she looked nervous, like she was carrying some Girl Scout ID that might not work.

  “Do you have a California driver’s license?” Portia asked.

  “No, a Vermont one.” Anna turned off the car, pulled up the emergency break, and tapped an ash out the window.

  “Cool,” Portia said.

  “But before I turned twenty-one, I had an Alaska driver’s license. They sell them at the back of this restaurant in Chinatown.”

  “Chinatown?” Emery asked. “There’s a Chinatown in Vermont?”

  “There are Chinatowns everywhere!” Portia said to her brother. “Even Vermont.”

  “There’s no Chinatown in Vermont!” Anna said. “There aren’t any Chinese people in that state. Just snow and white people and some Canadians with French-sounding names.” Anna got out of the car. Emery and Portia got out, too. No one locked their door.

  “Well, then where’d you get the fake ID?” Portia asked.

  “Chinatown, New York,” Anna said. “My friends and I have been taking the train there since freshman year.”

  “You never told me that,” Portia said.

  “You never asked.” Anna heaved open the heavy wooden door of Jasper’s. From the outside, the bar had always reminded Anna of Noah’s arc: it was built with horizontal slats of shellacked wood, like an old boat. Neither she nor Portia had ever been inside.

  Jasper’s was long, narrow, and as dark as a closet. Against one wall was the bar with wooden stools against it. The other side of the room had a row of two-seat tables. No one was at the tables. A smattering of men in plaid work shirts and a couple of coifed smoky ladies sat at the bar. Emery tugged Portia’s arm anxiously.

  “I’m too young to be in a bar,” he pleaded.

  “We’ll pretend you’re a midget,” Portia said.

  The girls sat at stools and Emery stood half-hidden between them.

  “Sit down!” Anna snapped at her brother.

  “No!” Emery hissed, then whispered, “I don’t want the bartender to see me, and if the police come in, I want to be ready to run.” Anna and Portia cracked up.

  The bartender was younger than Buzzy and Louise but older than Anna and Portia. He was appealing in that he had even, smooth features and hair that looked streaked from the sun. He leaned toward the girls across the bar and raised his eyebrows.

  “Whiskey sour,” Anna said.

  “I’ll have the same,” Portia said. The man turned his back to them as he fixed the drinks.

  “What’s a whiskey sour?” Emery asked.

  “No idea,” Portia said.

  “It’s good,” Anna said. “You can share Portia’s with her.”

  “I’m not drinking!” Emery said.

  “IDs,” the man said. He slid the two drinks in front of the girls, then reached out a sturdy, veined forearm.

  Portia pulled her license from her wallet. Anna whipped her license out from her back pocket.

  “Anna Stein and Anna Stein,” he said, looking from one ID to the other. Anna looked at Portia with hard, fast eyes.

  “We’re twins,” Portia said, smiling.

  The bartender winked, handed back the IDs, and went to the end of the bar to help an old woman who was singing “Funny Valentine.”

  “Twins wouldn’t have the same name!” Emery whispered. It was clear he was disgusted with Portia’s lack of insight into this matter.

  Anna grabbed the driver’s license.

  “What the fuck?” she asked. “How’d you get a real driver’s license?” She was both angry and impressed. A genuine matte, ribbed California driver’s license was so much more masterly than a plastic Alaska license that looked like the IDs you get when you drive a go-kart.

  “I used your birth certificate.” Portia took the license back and shoved it in her wallet as if she expected Anna to confiscate it. “Mom sent it to me accidentally when she sent my passport and a bunch of other papers.”

  “Do you realize how many laws you’re breaking?!” Emery asked. Anna and Portia looked at Emery and laughed.

  “He’s like the cartoon angel that sits on the guy’s shoulder and tells the guy not to do the bad thing,” Portia said.

  “Yeah,” Anna said. “Exactly! Except he needs a little devil-red twin who will tell us to go ahead and do it.” Anna took a sip of her drink. She thought that she was her own who-gives-a-fuck devil. The good angel inside her was an anorexic waif who was too weak to give a voice to anything. That was fine with her. Life was more fun that way. Easier.

  Anna huffed as she pulled over the station wagon on the way home from Jasper’s so Portia could vomit. Why did her sister have to be such a lightweight? Louise always said that Portia had a “delicate system.” What kind of bullshit was a delicate system?! Anna thought the girl simply needed to build up tolerance, be braver, buck up. She needed to be more like Otto and Billie and less like Bubbe and Zeyde.

  “I think I’m allergic!” Portia yelled as she ran to the soft, plush grass and leaned into the bougainvillea bushes along the front walk of the Smyths’ house. Emery crawled out of the car and stood behind Portia, his dirty little paw rubbing her back. No one was worried about the Smyths’ finding Portia barfing on their lawn. It was clear they were gone for Christmas—there were no cars out and the curtains were closed. The house looked dead.

  “Hurry up!” Anna shouted out the window. “Mom’s going to freak if we’re not back in time for dinner.” She wasn’t really worried about their mother, but she was tired of waiting for the lightweight to heave up her drinks.

  Portia stumbled to the car. She looked deflated and soiled. Emery opened the door for her, helped her get in, then climbed over her lap and did a flip into the back seat. He was too big for the move, legs and tennis shoes banging against the ceiling.

  “You okay?” Emery asked. Anna looked in the mirror at her brother’s tiny face. With his crinkled brow, she could imagine him a grown man with worries.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal,” Portia said.

  “I can’t believe you’re barfing from three drinks! What’s wrong with you?” Anna jerked the car backwards out of the driveway.

  “I dunno,” Portia said. “That’s what happens every single time I drink.”

  “Then WHY do you drink?!” Emery asked. “If I threw up every time I drank Tang, I would stop drinking Tang!”

  “But drinking’s fun!” Anna said, and she reached for her purse on Portia’s lap, swerving the car, as she tried to get her cigarettes.

  “Watch the road!” Emery shouted.

  “Hey, Father Junior,” Anna said, “don’t worry about the road. We’ll be fine!”

  Portia took the cigarettes from Anna, pulled out two, and lit them both before handing her sister one.

  “This cigarette makes me feel li
ke I have to vomit again,” Portia groaned.

  “THEN PUT IT OUT!” Emery said. His eyes were as big and round as his mouth. It was clear he had never before witnessed such imbecilic behavior.

  “But I really like smoking,” Portia said, and she laughed and coughed at the same time.

  “You know what the best thing is about being in Santa Barbara?” Anna asked.

  “The ocean,” Emery said.

  “All the hot surfer guys,” Portia said.

  “No, dumbasses!” Anna drove half-way up on the curb as she aimed for the driveway. “Oops,” she said. She put the car in reverse and tried landing it once again.

  “What’s the best thing about being in Santa Barbara?” Emery asked.

  “This town is so fucking small, no matter where you’re drinking, you’re always drinking closer to home.” She pushed down the emergency brake with her foot and cut the engine.

  “I guess Otto would be happy here,” Emery said.

  “Nah,” Portia said. “Otto wouldn’t be happy here. Too many freaks and weirdos, remember?”

  The girls stubbed out their cigarettes in the open car ashtray that was heaped with cigarette butts and ash. Most of the butts had a blot of red on them from Louise’s lipstick. Portia tucked her butt under others so that it wouldn’t be the one to fall off the pile. Anna set hers down and watched as it toppled two other butts onto the floor in front of Portia’s feet. They both stared down at the butts and saw that there were plenty others down there, along with gum wrappers and a balled-up oily paper wrap from a McDonald’s run.

  “I hope Mom doesn’t notice that there are a couple of Marlboro butts in with her Camel butts,” Portia said.