Thunder Sandwich  #23

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Susan B. Townsend

Common Ground

For years, the only thing my brother Alex and I shared was a distinct family resemblance and the same last name. When I was a little girl, he tormented me at every opportunity. Bald, disfigured dolls and broken tea sets littered my room--victims of his reign of terror. "You're just a foster child," he whispered to me at the movies one Saturday afternoon. "I heard Dad talking to the social worker. I bet they're coming to get you soon."  When I accidentally broke one of the swings at the park, he smiled, much to my astonishment, and for a second, I thought he might comfort me. "I sure wouldn't want to be you," he said. "You can bet that the people who own this place will call the cops."

I spent the rest of the afternoon staring out the front window, paralyzed by Alex's predictions. Any minute, a police car would pull up, its occupants searching for me. When I broke down and began to cry, my mother hurried into the room. "For goodness sake, what's wrong?" she said. I struggled to catch my breath to tell her, but when I saw Alex standing behind her, his eyes narrowed in an obvious warning, I shook my head. "Nothing," I said.

The families I scrutinized on television sent me a clear message. Brothers and sisters were supposed to care about each other. In my mother's glowing stories of growing up in a big family, the siblings teased, annoyed and even fought with each other, but in the end, the loving bonds of family endured. I concluded I must be a terrible person for Alex to treat me the way he did. I hated him and fantasized about being an only child.

My hate became tinged with bitterness as I watched Alex, with a never-ending supply of self-confidence and charm, float through high school, his popularity and position on the honor roll unchallenged. His blonde hair and blue eyes provided him with a parade of female companions while mine did nothing to change my unremarkable looks or my miserable status as a social misfit.

One day, my locker partner, a cheerleader with chestnut hair and physical assets that eliminated any need for a personality, struck up a conversation. "Why don't I come over to your place after school?" she said. "We can study or something. Just hang out together, you know?"

The thrill of acceptance blinded me to anything but exciting possibilities. Five minutes after we walked in the door, Alex appeared. When I saw the look on my friend's face, I cursed the infantile eagerness that had allowed me to imagine, even for a moment, that she wanted to spend time with me.

Alex traded his teasing and pranks from childhood for callous, sarcastic words designed to maim and even scar. I did my best to stay out of his way, and when he moved to the mainland to attend university, I resigned myself to the status quo with no small amount of relief. What did it really matter, I thought? Maybe we just weren't meant to share anything except the same set of parents.

"Things will be different when you two get older," my mother said. She's right, I thought. It was the age difference. Alex was almost four years older. Eventually, I would find our common ground, and, like someone making the ultimate discovery of a long-lost treasure, I would tap into the vein of affection and loyalty that I knew must be lying beneath a surface of hostility and betrayal

Over the next few years, almost as if life had been waiting for Alex to leave, I underwent a transformation of my own. Braces disappeared, contact lenses appeared, and my body no longer resembled that of a ten-year-old boy. My hair grew into a sleek golden curtain that hung to my waist, and I sampled some of the intoxication that came with having power over men. When Alex arrived home one weekend with his best friend and roommate, Garth, I confirmed my suspicions that appearances are everything. Alex not only tolerated my presence; he encouraged it.

"Why don't you come back to Vancouver with us?" Garth said while Alex nodded his encouragement.

"I can't. I've got an 8:30 class tomorrow morning," I said.

"Then come next weekend," Alex said. "I'll meet you at the ferry."

I was on the ferry the following Friday night and the Friday after that. For over a year, I spent my weekends at Alex and Garth's. I refused to do any drugs, but as soon as I took my first drink, I knew that I had discovered something magical--something that me feel as beautiful on the inside as people told me I looked on the outside. I was startled by the abundance of cocaine everywhere we went. One night, closer to dawn than dark, I watched as Alex lowered a rolled-up dollar bill to a mirror covered with lines of white powder. Then he looked up, our eyes met, and he smiled. I raised my glass in a silent toast. Common ground at last.

I rode the ferry back to the Island every Sunday night, invariably nursing a crippling hangover and vowing to go easier on the booze next time. I began to carry a small bottle of vodka in my purse to banish the demons that insisted on following me home. Demons who conjured up anxiety that made my stomach go hollow, who flashed images from the weekend that made me afraid to close my eyes. I saw Alex, going for days without food or sleep, growing gaunt with empty eyes that stared but did not see. I was there, of course--always with a glass in my hand, always laughing, flirting and even sleeping with the guys who knew the right things to say. I remained smug in my refusal to touch drugs, but when blank spaces began to appear--terrifying gaps in my reality that were supposed to be memories, I started to spend my weekends at home. Sipping liqueurs in the dark basement suite of my parent's house, I congratulated myself on regaining control of my life. Unlike Alex, I knew when the party was over.

Then he met Carmen, and everything changed. He still drank -- a glass of wine with dinner, a beer with our dad -- but he left his old friends behind, and he stopped doing drugs. He finished his university courses in Vancouver and got a job making instructional videos at a local children's hospital. Carmen had a little boy from her first marriage, and Alex took on the job of being dad as if he'd been doing it since day one. They bought a house in a part of town full of upper middle class families, and Carmen started teaching school. It was definitely one of those happily-ever-after kind of situations.

Everyone loved Carmen. She was one of those perky, eternally optimistic types and, although that preyed on my nerves sometimes, I couldn't help but appreciate what she had done for Alex--and for me. Not only did she give Alex an opportunity to clean up his act, she brought Alex and I closer together than we'd ever been.

My wretched self-esteem wouldn't allow me to enjoy anything for long, and jealousy made a triumphant return. Envy convinced me that when Alex met Carmen, he took some of the happiness meant for me. If I hadn't been poisoned by these twisted thoughts, or if I had looked past the packaging and heard the practiced monotone of his "everything is great" speech, I might have looked into his face and seen the truth. He may have gained weight, he may have turned his back on manic days and sleepless nights, but his eyes would have told me that he was still hungry, still looking for something to fill that space.

One evening we all gathered at his place for supper. Warmed by the fire he lit, and by the feelings of goodwill that filled the room, we sat around after the meal, talking a little, but mostly just enjoying each other's company. Indulged with tolerance and affection, the boy ran around like a wild thing. A contented quiet settled over us all, but for one horrible moment, I ached with wanting what Alex had. What was my problem? I had been worried sick before he met Carmen, and now I resented him for trading his one way ticket to the bottom for an attempt at living straight. I broke the silence. "What are you doing this weekend?" I asked him.

"I'm spending the weekend with Garth on Salt Spring Island," he said, his casual tone suggesting that this was something he did on a regular basis.

"Garth?" I said. "It's been ages since I heard you mention his name." A vision of Alex in a room thick with sweet smoke, smiling at nothing and laughing at everything, flickered briefly and disappeared.

Maybe Alex shared my vision, because suddenly he wouldn't meet my eyes. He busied himself with the fire, adding another log and poking at the embers. "Oh," he said, his back to me, "I ran into him at the bank one day. Amazing coincidence. His parents have a place on the Island. He's having some people over this weekend and asked me to come." He gestured to our empty glasses. "Hey, does anyone want more brandy?"

"Let me get the drinks," I said and stood up. In the kitchen, I poured the brandy, allowing myself a generous bonus. Wait a minute, I thought. Maybe Garth had changed. Maybe his life had turned around, too.

"Are you going?" I asked Carmen when I returned with the drinks.

She shook her head. "No, I've got too much to do. Papers to grade, stuff like that. Besides, I couldn't find a sitter at this point." She smiled at my brother. "Alex has had it kind of rough at work, lately. He could use a break. I hope he has a great time."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about having fun if Garth is there," I began, but Alex glared at me, and I stopped speaking.

Later, I found him in the kitchen alone. "I wasn't going to say anything downstairs, you know. It's not up to me what you tell Carmen about Garth, or anything else for that matter."

"Well, thanks, that's awfully good of you," he said in a voice that belonged to the sullen, sarcastic stranger I thought had left long ago. "Besides, it's not what you think, so I'd recommend giving your imagination a rest."

I said nothing more that night. In the weeks that followed, I saw him a few times. We even had lunch together, and it was if that ugly moment in his kitchen had never happened. If anything, he was more solicitous than usual, generous in his encouragement and praise. I resisted the temptation to ask about Garth.

Then, at dinner one night, my parents and I had a conversation. At the time, I didn't make any connection to Alex and his renewed association with Garth, but much later, the implication of my mom and dad's words became clear, just like the hazy edges of a picture coming into sharp, tight focus. A few minutes into our meal, it occurred to me that no one had said more than a couple of words. One look at my mom and dad told me that their usual dinner time chatter had been silenced by worry. After twenty years of living under the same roof, I knew these things. "What's up?" I said. "How come you two are so quiet?"

My mom gave my dad a "should we tell the child?" look that made me feel about ten. "We're worried about Alex. I think he's working too hard. He looked so tired the other day. Told me he can't sleep." She paused. "And they're having money problems."

I shrugged. "Maybe it's temporary. You know, a few unexpected expenses."

"That's what I thought, at first," my dad said.

"At first? How long has this been going on?"

My mom looked at my dad as if willing him to speak, but his eyes said nothing and his mouth was set in a firm line. "He's borrowed money recently," she said. "Twice. Rather large amounts."

"We're concerned because we think he may have taken on too much at once," my dad said. "That big house and a new car, just last year."

"Yeah, but they're both working."

My mom lifted her hand, dismissing my words. "Wait until you're out there, dear. You'll find out that the money goes fast, and when you're just starting out like he and Carmen are, there's never enough."

Her words killed any interest I had in my brother's money problems and what they might mean. I drifted off into a fantasy of being on my own and not subject to patronizing remarks from my family.

Alex phoned one day around lunchtime, just as I came in the door from school. Cradling the receiver against my shoulder, I got a beer from the fridge. "Mom and Dad aren't here," I said. "How come you're not at work?"

"That's okay. I wanted to talk to you, anyway." He sniffed a couple of times. "I wondered if you could lend me a little money."

"Sounds like you've got a cold. I don't have any money. Not much, anyway. What do you need it for?"

"I'm just a little short until payday. No big deal."

"You know the last time you asked to borrow money? I was in twelfth grade, and I had one dollar and fifty-three cents. I remember because you took it and never paid it back. Nothing's changed much, except now I have about two dollars."

"So you can't help me."

"I'm not joking, Alex. I'm broke. Sorry."

Things got real quiet, and for a second, I figured he might have hung up. Then I heard him sniff, twice. Fuck the cold, I thought. He was using again. I transferred the phone to my other hand and wiped my sweaty hand down my leg. I didn't need this news flash. I wanted someone to turn it off and let me go back to my regularly scheduled programming.

"That's okay," he said. "I've got to run. Carmen will be home soon, and I said I'd do a bit of laundry and get dinner ready. Talk to you soon, eh?"

"Wait, I want to talk to you," I said, but he was gone. I hung up the phone and drained my beer. My head began to throb as an army of evidence crowded my mind and destroyed any denial that might have remained. Why hadn't I seen this coming? Then again, maybe I had seen the signs, like billboards on the highway, and closed my eyes as I passed them by.

I had no clue what I would say to my parents and winced at the thought of their faces, crumpled with hurt and betrayal. I had to tell them. Or did I? Maybe I didn't need to say anything. Maybe things would straighten out all by themselves. The compelling prospect of nonintervention inspired all sorts of reasons to keep my mouth shut. If Carmen didn't know now, she soon would. She'd put a stop to it. Besides, Alex knew what a good thing he had going. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it.

Satisfied with my decision to remain silent, I went to the fridge for another beer. There was only one left, and I closed my hands around it as if claiming a prize. I had nothing downstairs, either. Damn, that meant a trip to the store. If there was ever an evening designated for relaxation, this was it.

I sipped my beer and made a few plans. Maybe I'd call Alex later and see if he wanted to talk. My choice not to spread his grim news didn't mean I couldn't suggest some kind of help. I tossed the empty into the trash and went to find my jacket.

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