Sober

Things appear to be the same as they were when I left. I swear, nothing changes in this town. It’s still the quaint, boring town I remembered. There’s a blur of familiar faces—including a few women I never want to run into again. I wish I could go back in time and beat myself for being the whore I was back in high school. Hopefully my past doesn’t come back to fucking haunt me. That’s the last thing I need.

As I stop to fill-up my gas tank, even the clerk behind the counter gives me a sympathetic smile, seeming to remember me due to my brother’s influence and popularity. At least now I have their sympathy and not their disdain. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask about my brother’s death because I’m not sure if I’m ready to so much as mention it. I haven’t talked about it since he died, fearing that once I voice my feelings aloud—I’ll have to finally admit to myself that the accident truly happened, and this is my new reality. A new reality without one of the most meaningful people in my life isn’t something I’m willing to accept. I pay for my gas and an energy drink—one of the few vices I have left—and pass a group of smokers on the way back to my truck. As the scent of tobacco fills my nostrils, my throat constricts as desire overwhelms me. Fuck. With a clenched jaw, I pump my gas before I head on my way.

My parents live in the same large, brick house I grew up in. It’s exactly like I remember it, inspiring memories of my childhood which leave a lump in my throat. I take a moment to breath in the crisp, Colorado air before heading inside. This will be a fresh start for me and I’ve got to make the most of it. I sobered up since leaving California and while the withdrawals are nagging at me—I can breathe easier now that I’m not constantly under the influence. When I found out Dean died, the first thing I wanted to do was get completely fucking hammered. I wanted to drink until I didn’t remember my own name. However, the baby which is waiting for me at my parents’ house stopped me. Dean wanted me to be his son’s guardian. I can’t fathom why he would want me of all people, but it’s what he and his wife, Cat, had bequeathed in the will. I don’t know the first thing about children, but I love my brother enough to rise to the challenge. I’ve never met his son, Greyson, but I love him already for one reason: he’s one of the only pieces of my brother I have left.

I grab the duffle bag, which carries all of my belongings, and head into the house, feeling oddly nervous about seeing my parents for the first time in almost two years; the last time I saw their faces was at Dean and Cat’s wedding. I knock on the door a few times and wait, expecting one of them to let me in. I notice my dad’s car isn’t out front, so I assume he’s at work, which leaves me with my ice-queen of a mother. Maybe she’s improved since the last time I saw her, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. I suppose I can’t blame her for treating me the way she did; I wasn’t exactly the “model child” growing up. I gave my parents a lot of grief—although, my mom and dad handled my behavior in completely separate ways. While my dad has always been supportive of me, my mom gave up on me entirely by the time I finished middle school. Perhaps my brother’s death may have changed her. I’m the only son she has now, after all.

After standing outside for a few minutes with no response, I decide to let myself in. The interior of the house is exactly as I remembered it. Except cleaner now that it’s not inhabited by two teenage boys. I set my duffle bag on the floor of the entryway and look around. The main hallway is lined with photographs, mostly of my brother, but there are a few of him and me together, as well. My chest constricts as I look at them. I can’t believe he’s really fucking gone. My fingers trace the lines of his face, as my eyes prick with tears. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I didn’t even shed a tear when my dad called to inform me of Dean’s untimely death. I’d been shocked and was unable to truly accept the news as reality. But now… Fuck—now my eyes are wide fucking open.

“Trevor, you’re my brother. Do you think I could ever turn my back on you? I’m here for you, Brother. No matter what you do.”

A lone tear runs down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away with the sleeve of my shirt. I hear the faint cry of a baby in the distance, which brings me back to the present.

I follow the sound, eager to meet my nephew for the very first time. I find him being held in my mother’s arms. She doesn’t acknowledge me, which could be due to the fact that the little guy’s cries are so loud. I take a moment to stare at his little face for the very first time. His eyes are shut and his face is flushed; tears are running down his chubby cheeks as he cries out. My mother begins to rock him in her arms and murmurs things to him which are too quiet for me to hear. As his cries begin to subside, he opens his eyes and looks right at me. He looks at me as if he’s known me his entire life, and in this moment, he has me wrapped around his little finger. I know I would do anything for him.

“Hey,” I say lamely, stepping into the living room to make my presence known. After five years of squandering my fucking life and traveling, I can’t think of anything better to say to my mother.

She gives the baby a kiss on the forehead before turning to acknowledge me. She looks me over as if she were looking at a complete stranger, before finally saying, “Hello, Trevor.” Jesus, she’s always been so formal with me. “Your old bedroom is all ready for you.”

After five years this is all she can manage to say to me? I suppose things were never too warm and loving between us. She practically dismisses me and turns her attention back to the baby. I try not to take it too personally. Maybe this is just her way of grieving for Dean. As I turn to leave, I hear a tiny squeal which causes me to stop in my tracks.

“Can I hold him?” I ask, although, I don’t know why I bother. I am his guardian now.

“He needs his rest, Trevor,” Mom responds in a tight voice.

I move to stand next to them and Greyson giggle, reaching his hands out to me as if he wants me to hold him. “Come on, Mom,” I say, unable to look away from the little boy who resembles my brother. With that smile on his little face, he looks just like Dean. “Let me hold him for a bit.”

“Trevor, it’s almost his naptime.”

I take a step back and turn away, not wanting to get into an argument with her on my first day back, but Greyson’s cries cause me to turn back. He reaches for me again, and I wonder if I seem familiar to him. I don’t look much like Dean, but we do have some of the same facial features. I wonder if the baby can see that.

“Fine,” she bites. “But don’t come crying to me if he gives you any trouble.”

I ignore her comment as I hold my nephew for the first time. I can’t name the emotion which fills my heart as I look at him—it seems so foreign to me. I’ve only recently learned to take care of myself, yet I feel as if I’d do absolutely anything I had to do to take care of this little guy. His eyes widen as he studies my face for the first time, before a giant smile graces his face. With his sage eyes and dark brown hair, he looks just like Dean. It’s almost painful to look at him because of it. I trace his small face—just like I did with my brother’s photograph moments before. His skin is so soft under my coarse fingers and I suddenly realize how fragile he feels. He’s so little; I’m almost terrified of holding him for fear that I might cause some sort of irreversible damage. With shaky legs, I sit down with him in my arms and hold him against my chest so his small head rests on my shoulder.

I notice he doesn’t cry at all when I hold him, and I wonder if it’s because he likes me. Maybe this little guy fucking likes me! Perhaps I have some sort of calming effect on him? I kiss the top of his head and smile as his fuzzy hair tickles my lips. Once I start smiling—I can’t stop. I love him so much already.

When I look up at my mother, I notice she’s taking in the scene with an icy look on her well-constructed face. I can’t imagine what her problem is. If anything, I thought she’d be happy that I’m getting along so well with Greyson. I’m his guardian, after all. I smile at her, and she responds with her version of a smile—tight lipped and constipated—before turning on her heels and leaving the room. My stomach drops. Her rejection stings more than I imagined it would. I didn’t expect much from her, however, I thought after years apart she might have warmed up and missed me a little. I return my attention to Greyson and try to ignore the subtle aching in my heart. Fuck her. If she doesn’t want me, that’s her problem.

“Hey, Greyson,” I say, running my fingertips along his chubby cheek. He gasps in surprise as he hears me say his name, before giggling at me. “Should I call you Grey, or Greyson?” I question with a goofy fucking grin.

He squeals and wiggles in my arms and I lower him down on a sitting position in my lap—facing me—so I can get a better look at his flushed face. “Greyson?” I pause to assess the look on his face. “Or Grey?” He squeals at the second name, causing me to make my decision. “Grey it is then.” He cocks his head to the side and looks up at me curiously—as if he were trying to figure out who I am. “I’m your uncle,” I tell him, reaching down to tickle his stomach. “I’m your Uncle Trevor.” He squeals again and grabs ahold of my finger to bring to his mouth.

As cheesy as it sounds, I feel like we’re sharing our first moment together. I never dreamed of having this sort of connection with him already, but I feel like I’ve known him from the second he was born. What I wouldn’t give to have been there to welcome him to the world… to see the look of contentment on my brother’s face. Dean had wanted me to come to the hospital so badly, but I was in California with no means of transportation. He called me on the phone as soon as he found out he had a little boy. I can remember the conversation so clearly in my mind. I can remember the excitement and tears in his voice as he told me Cat had just given birth to their son. I’d been mildly intoxicated, but I felt so happy for my brother even though I had no interest in meeting his child at the time. Now that I’m holding said child, I wish I could’ve known him when he was a newborn. A smile tugs on my lips as I watch him suck on his thumb.

“I’m going to take care of you from now on, Grey,” I tell him in a quiet voice. He stares up at me as if he was able to comprehend exactly what I had said, before rewarding me with a bright smile. “I’m going to get a job here, save up some money, and fine a nice place for us. I vow to do my best by you.” I promise him, and I promise myself. I don’t want to be a fuck-up anymore.

I enjoy my first few moments with him and commit them to memory. With him tucked safely in my arms, I go back to the entryway to grab my duffle bag before heading to my childhood bedroom. Nostalgia washes over me the second I see it. It’s just as I remembered leaving it. Dust has accumulated on my furniture, suggesting that no one has been in this room since I left. A part of me is shocked that my mother didn’t take it upon herself to turn this room into a home gym or something. While another part of me is uncomfortable, knowing the reason this room hasn’t changed is probably because my parents knew I’d end up back here sooner or later. Feeling slightly defeated by this fleeting thought, I walk inside the room and set my duffle bag on my bed, which is still covered in the black, Star Wars comforter which I recall getting when I was a freshman in high school. Before I became immersed in the world of drugs and alcohol—I’d been quite the geek. My room is an interesting hodgepodge of sci-fi and Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition posters.

While rocking Grey in my arms, I show him around my old room. I show him my collection of DVDs shelved near the fifty-five-inch flat screen I had been very proud of owning as a teenager, my Nintendo 64 with its plethora of games, and finally, I show him my vast collection of comic books which I’d bought as a preteen. Grey looks at everything as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, which, maybe to him it is. I’m sure everything is stimulating when you’re five months old. I settle him down on my lap so he’s leaning comfortably against my stomach; opening one of my favorite comic books, I begin to read to him. I can’t remember the last time I even held a comic book. Honestly, I can’t remember when I had interest in any of the things I used to love. These past five years of my life have been such a blur and as soon as I sobered up, I feared that I’d lost myself completely during the time I spent traveling. How ironic. I go on a journey of self-discovery and come back feeling completely fucking adrift.

After I finish one comic, I pick up another, happy to keep my little guy entertained. Before I know it, I hear a soft knock on my opened door and look up to see my dad standing in the doorway. We stare at each other for a moment—both trying to find our words after our schism. While I barely seem to recognize myself, it’s obvious that my dad recognizes who I am. He’s always seen something in me that I’ve never been able to see in myself. He’s always had such hope in me, which only made me feel shitter about letting him down my entire life. Unable to find the right words, I stand up with the baby in my arms and go to greet my dad. He gives me a wistful smile. As I approach him, I notice he looks so much older than I remembered—so much older than his fifty-two years. His blonde hair still looks the same, as well as his tanned skin from the hours he spends outside golfing with his colleagues. The change is in his eyes… they reveal so much pain, completely taking my breath away—punching me in the fucking gut. They’re filled with sadness, longing, fear, and regret.

“Trevor,” he says softly, while giving me a weary smile. “We’re so glad you’re home, son. Things have been so chaotic around here lately.”

My dad—always one for understatements. I know why he does this: he always wants to give us the appearance that everything is all right. He’s been doing this since I was a kid and it’s always provided me with such a sense of comfort. I grew up believing he could solve any problem, so there was never anything for me to worry about. My brother’s death is one problem he’ll never be able to solve; one wound which he’ll never be able to mend.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says lamely. I can tell he’s too overwhelmed to talk about Dean. He’s so strong, but this situation has obviously brought him to his knees. Before he turns to leave, he asks, “How are you and Greyson getting along?”

“Grey’s great!” I smile at the chance to talk about my nephew. “He’s just so little,” I add with a chuckle. As silly as I feel, I had no idea babies could be so small. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to have held him as a newborn.

“Grey,” Dad says with a wistful smile tugging on his lips. “Your brother used to call him that.” He looks at me for a pregnant moment before giving me another tired smile and turning away. “I’ll be downstairs. Come on down and join us when you’re ready.”

As hungry as I am, I find I’m not eager to eat with my family. I’ve never been one to enjoy sitting at the dinner table and discussing my day with them. Growing up, Dean’s amazing stories usually took all the pressure off me. I spent the majority of the time sitting in silence while he’d describe parties he attended, games he won, and tests he passed without the least bit of effort. I wasn’t the least bit jealous of him growing up. If anything, I was grateful for him. His success took all of the eyes off me and my issues. Now that he’s gone, I know this dinner will be awkward as hell. What could I possibly say? I don’t want to discuss my battle with pills and alcohol. Nor do I want to talk about all the escapades I’ve had over the past five years.

As if sensing my self-loathing, Grey reaches out and touches my face, running his little fingers along my cheek. I grin at him, happy to have my brother’s mini-me around during a time like this. I kiss his forehead and he responds by bouncing in my arms—obviously enjoying the attention from someone new.

“You’ll get me through this, won’t you, Grey?” I ask him, wanting to laugh as he smiles at me as he watches my mouth move as if he were trying to understand. I take his smile as a positive response and kiss his forehead again. Everything will be all right.

I end up selfishly using Grey as a security blanket during dinner. As soon as my mother set a bottle of red wine on the table, I knew I was in for one hell of a night. I keep Grey in my lap, rocking him while I try to focus on anything other than the Merlot taunting me from a few feet away. Disappointment overwhelms me as I consider the power the drink holds over me. I’ve spent the past five years letting alcohol decide my fate, and now that I’m home I want to regain my control. It’s not just me anymore; I have a baby depending on me.

I pull my eyes away from the bottle and focus on my nephew. To my surprise, he’s staring up at me with wide, curious eyes. My heart splinters as I look at him. Now that Dean is dead, I can feel all my love pouring into his son. My heart fucking breaks, knowing Grey will most likely not remember his parents. He’ll never know how wonderful they were. He probably doesn’t have an inkling of understanding as to what has happened to them. I want to give him back everything he lost. Hell, I would’ve gladly taken my brother and sister-in-law’s places, so they could have raised their son. But none of that is possible now. There’s no deal I could possibly make with God to bring him or my sister-in-law back. So, I’ll do the next best thing: I’ll devote my life to their child and try to give him the world. My brother would have expected that, and I’ll be damned if I let him down this time.

I’m done with the nights I spent blackout drunk—partying until dawn. I’m done with the random hookups with nameless women. I’m done with losing myself in a bottle of whiskey. That Trevor is gone. All that’s left is a broken man who’d do anything to make shit right for his nephew. I look away from Grey and give the bottle of Merlot a challenging stare. I’ll be damned if I let shit like this fuck-up my life any longer. I stare at the bottle as if doing so will take away my craving for it. It doesn’t. Only time will take care of that. At least, I fucking hope.

My body aches as I look at the wine. Making me wish I had more time to break my habit before coming here. I quit cold turkey and acted as if it were the easiest feat in the world. I underestimated my dependency, but I’ve managed to go without a drink for a few days now. I wouldn’t call myself an “alcoholic” per se—just a man who did copious amounts of partying in his youth. So, I hope that’s something which works in my favor.

“You’re quiet tonight, Trevor,” my dad says as he takes a drink of his wine.

I avert my gaze and give him a stiff nod. “I’m just tired,” I say poorly, as I begin to feed Grey his formula.

My eyes return to him, fascinated as I watch him suck on the bottle’s rubber nipple with an immense amount of concentration. His eyes are squeezed shut and his cheeks are moving with each drink that he takes. There’s a little v formed between his brows which I can’t help but smooth out with my thumb. As I do so, his eyes open and he stares at me as he continues to feed.

“Well, you better get some rest, Trevor,” my dad says to me, though my eyes remain on my nephew. “We have to head out around eight for the funeral tomorrow.”

My eyes pop up as I hear the pain resonating in his voice. Fuck, my dad almost looks unrecognizable. He’s always been the strong one in our family.

“I’ll be ready, Dad,” I assure him, giving him a small smile in hopes that it’ll lighten his mood.

My mother doesn’t say a word; she merely watches the interaction before returning her attention to her food. I’ve never seen my mother deal with any sort of difficult situation before. She’s spent her life shying away from anything with the potential of being painful. My mother only liked to deal with what is easy—and losing a child is such a messy matter.

 

 

I retire to my room as soon as dinner’s over. I just couldn’t stand seeing my parents have to go through this shit a moment longer; it’s too painful. Grey fell asleep in my arms during dinner and Mom insisted I put him to bed in his makeshift nursery. I didn’t like the idea of being so far away from him. Which seems silly, considering I’ve only known him for a few hours and he’ll only be sleeping a few rooms away. However, I already worry about him like a father would worry about their son. I suppose, in many ways, I am his father now. Now that Dean’s gone—I’m the closest thing Grey has to a dad.

After I read him one of my old comic books, I put him to bed before returning to my bedroom to attempt to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a rough day at best, and with the pain of withdrawals already shooting through my body, I can definitely use some rest. However, sleep doesn’t come. My mind is on the little baby in the room down the hall. His nursery is across from my brother’s old bedroom. A room which I haven’t the courage to venture into just yet. I hope it’s exactly like I remember it, yet, I hope it’s completely different, so I don’t have to deal with the memories seeing it will bring. Maybe one day I’ll summon the courage, but that day isn’t happening any time soon. I’ve barely reached the depression stage of my grieving, let alone the stage of acceptance.

I roll onto my side and punch my pillow, wishing the pain in my body would dissipate so I could get some fucking rest. Just as my eyes are growing heavy, I hear faint cries coming from down the hallway. I’m out of bed and on my feet before my mind can register what my body is doing. While my body is itching in agitation, I bound down the hall and open the door to his nursery. I wonder if it’s like this for all new parents? This little baby inspires more fear in me than I’ve felt in my entire life!

My breath is caught in my throat as I walk to his crib, worried that his cries mean something horrible is happening to him. I quickly find that they merely mean he’s hungry. Rocking him in my arms, I take him to the kitchen to grab a bottle of his formula from the fridge. He cries until he gets the familiar rubber nipple between his lips.

“I know it’s not a tit, but it’s the best I can do,” I apologize with a light chuckle, carrying him to the couch in the living room so we can relax.

Things are so calming at night. With the darkness surrounding me and no one awake to bother me—I feel like I’m the only person in the world. I look down at the baby in my arms and smile. I’m not alone in the world anymore. There’s two of us now.