“Thanks, mom.” All negative thoughts drifted away into the recesses of his mind as he smiled at his mom and reached for the cup.
THEY HAD A QUIET DINNER together later that day. The three of them were sitting around the dining table just like they used to, when Dale was still living at home, and Darren had left for college. It almost felt to Dale like he had slipped back in time. Dinner wasn’t sitting well with him, and he felt the start of a gut ache coming on.
Damn, I hope I packed those antacids.
Dale looked at his surroundings as he quietly ate his supper. The house still was pretty much the same as it was six years ago. The only changes were in his parents, and Tex. They all got older.
It seemed to Dale that they had aged more than six years. His mom’s face was heavily lined, and her hair had turned mostly grey. Dad looked even worse. A few years of retirement had afforded the man too much couch time, apparently.
He must have gained fifty pounds since I moved out!
The hair that he had left, had gone beyond grey and was now white. His eyes were still the same though. Grey-blue, with an intensity that could drill right through you. That, and the lips. Those thin lips, perpetually positioned in a frown. Those hadn’t changed either.
Poor Tex had aged most of all. His face had gone mostly white. Tex was lying on his side, at the edge of the dining room, having been trained long ago to not beg at the table. When the dog noticed Dale’s attention, the tail started wagging, slapping the linoleum floor.
“Tex!” Tom warned without lifting his face from the meal in front of him.
The dog stopped its wagging, got up and with one last sad look, walked into the kitchen to his dog bed near the back door. Dale noticed that the dog moved stiffly when getting up.
Those joints are getting stiff, old boy!
The rest of the meal passed in silence. The cutlery made more noise than the people using them. That was the way the Moore’s preferred it. Efficient. No unnecessary, annoying interactions.
Dale decided to do a quick tour of the house after supper. It had been a few years, and nostalgia was calling. His first stop was his brother’s room. The door opened with a slight crack, almost as if opening a sealed chamber. As if to confirm this analogy, Dale saw that nothing had changed in Darren’s room. A couple of baseball bats were mounted above the desk, remnants of high school and college glory. All the posters and trinkets were left untouched.
An eternal shrine to the golden child. It wasn’t jealousy, Dale told himself.
Dale had no interest in being the prodigious son, with the career, the property, the investment portfolio and the smart, handsome wife.
Not jealous... He repeated.
Just about the only thing dad didn’t like was that they were DINKs – dual income no kids. But pesky children would just get in the way, wouldn’t they, Darren...
Dale stood in the middle of his older brother’s room and thought about it some more.
Huh. I am actually not jealous. The realization made him smile.
The way dad had always doted over the older Moore boy had been painful when growing up, but it had built Dale’s character and self-sufficiency in the long run.
He had also gone beneath notice, which worked out well for the mischievous teenage Dale.
Him and his brother really couldn’t have been more opposites. Where Darren excelled in school, Dale struggled. Darren was fit while Dale tended to be flabby. Darren had a prestigious job and Dale couldn’t hold down a job for more than a few months at a time. The list went on and on.
Dale stepped up to a dresser. A framed picture showed Darren receiving his graduation certificate from their old principal. Dale picked it up and lifted the picture close to his face, so he could see the details of his brother’s face.
It confirmed his suspicion.
At least I found a way to be happy and satisfied. You always were and probably still are, miserable, brother.
Darren’s stern face stared back at him from the picture.
“Oh, Darren. Was High School just another check box to mark off, in your task list called life?” Dale asked, as he placed the picture back on the dresser.
With a sad shake of his head, Dale walked out and closed the door to his brother’s bedroom.
He walked down the hall and saw the framed family pictures on a wall. They hung in a neat, orderly row. He glanced at the pictures. The only hint of humor in any of the pictures came from his own face, and occasionally from his mom. Dale stopped in front of one family portrait, the boys sitting on bar stools with the parents standing behind. The picture was about twenty years old, and yet it would look eerily similar if they had staged the same photograph today.
Dad. Stern, proud, and always wary of displaying any emotion. Mom. A half-smile. The peace maker. Always running interference when arguments broke out. Full of love for her kids. Full of concern over outward appearances. Darren. The man with the plan. Also, an arrogant dickhead of a brother. And then there was the youngest member of the family.
Dale’s gaze lingered on his younger self.
You were no angel either, Dale. Seemed like you were always getting in trouble. Crying out for attention, maybe? Oh well, at least I dealt with my shit. I’m over it. ... I think.
With that thought fresh in his mind, Dale walked up to the living room. The tv was off. His dad sat in his chair reading a magazine, while his mom sat on the couch with a romance novel. The picture seemed so fake to Dale that he wanted to run into that living room, screaming at the top of his lungs.
