Best Friend’s Sister

Christmas Break­­

Finally! Christmas Break had arrived. Classes were over, exams were done. Two weeks of no thinking. No assignments, no studying, and no homework. I was wrapping up the four-hour drive home and had half an hour left. I was tired of driving but in no hurry to get home. My home was a soap opera.

The last stop before heading home was always a visit to the John’s house. Thank god they were there. Their house and everyone inside were the only normal part of my life. It was good to start the holiday there, with John, Wanda, and Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. I’d been friends with John and his family since I was five. We’d made it through thick and thin together. Fourteen years later we headed off to college. John and I had started our second year and Wanda was in her first. Not kids anymore, not adults, but getting close.

When I walked in the door the smells of Christmas cooking rolled over me. Mrs. Anderson was bustling around the kitchen, focused on doing five things at once. Setting plates out, pulling one thing out of the oven to be replaced by another, giving directions to each one of her kids, even polishing silver when she could. It was pretty impressive.

Dishes made it over to the table, covered in tinfoil and cyran wrap, and slowly the table took on the look that it had passed the capacity to hold anything else. Salt, pepper, sweet pickles, black olives, corn bread, rolls, cranberry sauce, butter, gravy, chitlins, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potato pie, rolls, iced tea, apple and pumpkin pie. Glasses filled with ice that was starting to melt, pitchers of tea waiting to be poured, forks, knives, and spoons, serving spoons and forks waiting to fulfill their duty. The last thing to arrive would be the turkey, which was supposed to fit in that empty space left in the middle. It didn’t seem likely but we knew it would end up there eventually. Each dish would be exceptional, simply because they were created by Mrs. Anderson.

Christmas decorations were out and I could see some of the lights and decorations were up. I bumped into John first and he wrapped a welcoming arm around my shoulders. “Davie!” Then onto Wanda. I got a quick hug from her that barely brought us together, a brief little kiss on the cheek, then she spiced it up with a quick cheek-to-cheek thing that she only brought out at Christmas. I felt a brief moment of warmth when our cheeks touched, then it was done. Didn’t even give me time to attach any dirty thoughts to the sensation.

Mrs. Anderson gave me a hug, which brought me close enough to put a kiss on her cheek. Mr. Anderson gave me a nice firm handshake. I thought he was a fairly good guy. I’m not sure his kids would agree. He was the assistant principal at the local high school, so being strict was part of him. He was probably born like that. To have him as a parent was probably pretty tough and I know he didn’t shed any of that seriousness nor that quiet dignity he carried around with him. How totally opposite to my father. Me? I felt like stray dog they’d brought home then couldn’t get rid of. But I always felt welcome there.

Amazing what memories surface after all these years. In the kitchen the fluorescent lights over the sink tossed out a yellow glow, balanced out by the bright white bulbs in the chandelier over the kitchen table. The living room furniture was covered in heavy plastic, the kind that burned you unmercifully on hot days if you slipped up and forgot. I remember riding bikes around their neighborhood, playing in the dirt in the backyard, and working with John on our pinewood derby cars for cub scouts. It was the people, though, that made it such a special place.

John was putting up lights in the living room and Wanda headed down to the basement for more decorations. His parents told me to take a seat, like I was still a guest, but I never seemed to sit still that long. I wanted to move through life quickly, so I never slowed down enough to sit and think. I had my own reasons for being that way but I avoided letting them out. Certainly not here at my ‘refuge.’ I went in to see John, where he was putting up Christmas lights in the picture window. I sat on the arm of the sofa, which was always a no-no. “David, can you not sit on the arm of the sofa? It wrinkles the fabric.” Mr. Anderson chimed in. Like he was more interested in not hurting the feelings of the sofa I’d sat on, as opposed to dishing out some discipline to me for sitting there. Yet, I still got off quickly, with a stab of guilt. Wow, that was subtle. Isn’t he slick? Lord knows what he did to the students that ended up in his office.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson.” I slipped down to sit on a cushion and leaned over to talk to John. “Hey, John. Do you see these twenty little marks on my belt? Do you know what each one represents?”

He let out his patented sigh, that he only used on me. “Oh, Davie. Don’t tell me. It can’t be good.” He knew he didn’t want to know.

“Come on. Give it a try.”

“Oh, okay. The number of girlfriends you’ve had?”

“Thanks, John. You make me sound like a slut.” I shook my head left-right. “Nope.”

“The number of times you’ve gotten your head stuck in something?”

“No, John.” I said with a frown. “If I never kept count, why did you? No, not that.”

“The number of times you’ve tried to kiss Wanda. Tried!”

“You are something. It’s only been ten times. Unless you want to count the times I kissed her when she was sleeping.”

“Really?”

“No, John. Not really. You know my shock collar goes off when I

go near her room. It’s hard to be romantic when you’re on the floor twitching.”

“The number of times your father’s been caught with his pants down.” With a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Wow. And wow. You go right for the jugular, don’t you? Twenty? I come over here to feel better, not for you to drag me around behind some horse like Hector around Troy. But no, not that.”

“Alright. Out with it. I know I really don’t want to know but get it over with.”

I leaned in and whispered, “These twenty little marks are for all the times I sat on the arm of this sofa when you weren’t looking. I even drank a soda here once and spilled some and then I didn’t even clean it up. Look. You can even see the spot.” I scuffed my foot over some nonexistent spot. I sat back and shook my head up and down and added a big wink to make it even better.

“You’re gonna go to jail someday.”

“Ha! You don’t know where the bodies are buried, Buddy! I have a hole dug for you already!”

He shook his head, then he called out, “Mom!”

“John! No, No. Don’t do that.”

She stuck her head in. “Yes?”

“Can David stay for dinner?”

“Of course, he can.”

“Oh, man.” I covered my face with both hands and rubbed my eyes. Two things I tried to avoid: Don’t make life difficult for Mrs. Anderson and don’t get on Mr. Anderson’s bad side.

“Busted!” said John.

“You used to be such a nice guy.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I can remember all the times I did something simply because it would hurt his brain. Whatever my mind baked up, his mind could never have dreamt it up. His brain would seize up and shut down like a Star Trek robot. By the time the thought coalesced in his brain to make him burst out, “Davie!” I would be on step four and it would be far too late. He would just sigh that sigh and follow along, just to make sure I didn’t get my head stuck in pipe or drown in those tanks at the town’s septic farm. I think on a day-to-day basis, his parents couldn’t decide if I was a good influence on him or bad. But hey! Maybe . . . maybe the real goal was for him to be a good influence on me? That seems even more likely.

So, I got a smacked on the wrist and I scooted off the arm of the couch. I’d only been asked to do that probably four or five or ten times before. “So, old buddy, old pal. How’s school going? I hope your grades are better than mine.”

“They’re pretty good. I’m taking a psyche course called Abnormal Psychology. There are some pretty messed up people out there. We’ve gone over cases for some really strange people.”

“I don’t doubt it. Has my family made it into any textbooks yet?”

“Not yet but I’m working on it. We focus on specific behaviors, like serial killers, chronic liars, or people that have been criminals their whole lives. We have to identify the factors we think led to their behaviors. They’re way outside the norm. So, we have to search through a database, establish their background, and set up scenarios that match everything we identify. It’s pretty neat stuff. That’s usually where I include your family. They have so many issues, I can fit them in anywhere. But I usually change your name to Waterchucker or sometimes even Hitler.”

“Hitler. Really?”

“Yeap. You do know Hitler really is the same as Smith or Jones in English? Really it’s a quite common over there. But I don’t mean the real Hitler. I turn your family into kissing cousins, like Jackie Hitler Junior or Little Davie Hitler.” He said with a grin. “When I stick your family in there, it really spices up my paper. My professor’s always impressed if you have ‘real life experience’ with mental illness.” He said with a chuckle.

“So if he grew up here, he woulda been like Adolph Smith or Adolph Jones and his first job would’ve been as a trash collector or a barber at the shop in town? Then one day he’d stop in front of the 7-11 and have an epiphany. “Ach! I know vhat I vant to do. I dink I vill make a mess of the vorld for the vun of it!”

“Wow, David. Very good. You’re a natural.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Such a marketable talent, being able to understand the mind of Adolph Jones. Another bit of my brain filled up with more useless information. You are running on all cylinders, aren’t you? I’m proud of you. You’ve busted my chops five times since I got here. It is Christmas, remember? Gotten hooked on coffee, have we? Or have you been saving it all up?”

“Nope. Right off the top of my head.”

“That’s impressive. How’s Laurie, by the way? Is that it? You’re having way too much sex, so you’re ridiculously relaxed? Uh huh. Whatever it is, I think you should ease off on that. If you sit down with your parents and have nice long talk and all of a sudden feel the need to bring up how loud they were last night, just keep your mouth shut. I can tell you from experience, it doesn’t end well.”

“I’ll remember that.” Then he put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. Merry Christmas.”

“Me, too. Merry Christmas to you, too. It’s good to be here, like always” I looked down in thought, trying to find the right words. Something inside made me realize these thoughts were actually quite significant. “This house and all of you here, . . . it’s like my refuge. Isn’t that something?”

“Good. I’m glad you feel that way. If I could, I’d let you move in, in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, man. You have no idea how . . tempting that sounds. Until you said that, it never crossed my mind. Now I’m gonna go home and dream about it all night. I can already picture where I’d put my mattress down there in the basement.”

“David. The basement, really? I’m pretty sure we can find a better spot than that.”

“Okay, I didn’t want to presume too much. Do you think there’s a chance they’d let me toss my sleeping bag on the floor in Wanda’s room?” With a smug, devil-may-care grin on my face, knowing it wasn’t remotely possible.

“Oh, you like playing with fire. Maybe the basement is the way to go. It’s like there’s a bear trap and there you are, seeing how many times you can dart your fingers in there and touch the trigger. But hey, you’ve gotten by just fine with six fingers. What could go wrong? I’m afraid if we let you sleep in her room, we’d find you in the morning wrapped up duct tape or stapled to death.”

“So, what you’re saying is that maybe I don’t think things through enough? Don’t spend enough time worrying about the consequences?”

“Exactly!”

“Nah. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We need to clean those ears out. No doubt it’ll make a great paper someday. Posthumously.”

“Alright, alright. I hear you. Keep this in mind, would you? If you’re going to use me as the pièce-de-la-résistance in some psychology show-and-tell, can you give me a heads-up? You need to tell me what to wear, how crazy to act, or how much it’s gonna hurt.” The ideas were flowing like usual but they were getting weird. It was Christmas, after all.

“I’ll keep you informed. You’re always a lot of help. It’s like I have my own lab rat.”

“Well, that’s pleasant. How about we try to head back into something normal. Do you need more decorations?”

“I need more lights out of those boxes in the basement. Can you see if my ‘brat-of-a-sister’ has found them yet?” That had been his term of endearment for years, so it wasn’t changing any time soon.

“Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Good luck with that. Don’t get her mad.”

“Oh, I know that. I try not to do anything that makes her turn that ‘evil eye’ on me. You know, that look that says ‘You’re an idiot.’ My sister has the same look too, now that I think about it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I headed down the stairs to the basement. Why was it always so gloomy down there? It was lit by two weak lightbulbs with pull strings. Just enough to see where you were going but not enough to see the monsters in the corners. I looked around to see if Wanda had the found last boxes of decorations.

I spotted her rooting around in a couple of big boxes, looking for something. “Your brother needs some more lights, please.”

She stood up as I arrived. “Well, if he’s in such a hurry, he can come down here and help me get these boxes up the stairs. What did he really say?”

“He said, ‘Can you see if my beautiful and wonderful sister has found the rest of the lights? And he said you owe me a kiss for some reason. I’d do what he said.”

“Yeah, right. I’m sure he’s never said those words in his life. Let alone the half-baked story about a missing kiss.”

“Well, don’t shoot the messenger.” I reached into a box and pulled out a sprig of plastic mistletoe. “Hey. Wow! Look, Wanda. Mistletoe.” Like it was the first time we’d done this.

She looked at me with that leery stink eye that could see deep into my soul. I always wondered if she did that just for me. Or did she even know she was doing it? Each year we did this mistletoe bit and nothing ever came of it. I think over the years I’d kissed her left cheek nine-ten times. We were never left alone long enough to kiss her other cheek, let alone anything else. I held it over my head, trying to look like a saint. “Come on, Christmas Angel. Give me a smooch.”

“Oh, sure. Like we’ve never done this before.” She said with a roll of her eyes. “Keep your tongue in your mouth.” I leaned in for a kiss and like every other time, she turned her face away. I got a good kiss on her left cheek, just like last year, the year before, and the year before. We’d spent a lot of years as pseudo-brother and sister. I guess anything else would just be too weird.

“Hey, Wanda. Listen.”

“Go on. I know this will be good.” She raised her eyebrow, in an almost Spock-like way.

I did my best to sound sincere. “Do you think next year you can let me kiss your other cheek? It’s like I’ve got the flavor of this side totally memorized. The other one’s got to taste different.”

“Woe there, Bucko. Sounds like puberty has finally arrived.” She gave me a smirk and pushed me out of the way.

“I saw a couple at school that were kissing. She actually let her boyfriend kiss both cheeks! Man!!” I said with a little shiver. “It was so exciting! Then they told me to go away.”

“I don’t doubt that. You do run on impulse. Take a breath and slow down. Doesn’t help to get all worked up. If I remember correctly, we had our first and only kiss when I was five. It was Thanksgiving dinner at our Church. You didn’t stay long enough for one kiss, let alone two. I’m still hurt. If you don’t remember it, I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Your own fault. So, that’s like thirteen years. No need to rush things. Besides, you kiss like one of the old ladies at church.”

“That’s harsh. You really need to unthaw that heart of yours.”

“That’s life. Get over it.”

“Hey, wait. You kissed some of the old ladies at church? That is so hot!”

“What a sick puppy. When you grow up, maybe you’ll understand.”

She dragged two big boxes out into the open. You know the kind–the decorations are so light, everyone ends up cramming them into the biggest boxes they can find. The only problem is that everyone gets boxes that are so big that when you pick them up, you can’t see your feet and you certainly can’t see where you’re going. Having them stored in the basement just compounded the risk since you had to get them up the stairs.

She reached down and slid the bigger box over to me. “These need to go upstairs.” Then she grabbed the other box and we headed for the stairs. Being the gentleman I am, I let her go first. “After you.” It was just a moment but I wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip to watch her sashay up the stairs.

She stopped to look back at me. “Can you not check out my butt?”

I wanted to be honest with her, even on such a delicate topic. “How can I not look? And I mean this with complete honesty.” Putting my hand over my heart. “It’s cute simply because it’s attached to you.” Surprisingly it was the one sincere thing I’d said since I walked in the door.

“Boy, you get under my skin.” I can be dense at times but I could tell she wasn’t saying that like it was a good thing.

So, we struggled up the stairs and almost . . almost . . made it. Then it all fell to pieces. Both of us were holding boxes that were so big and unwieldy that we couldn’t see the stairs, our feet, let alone her butt. She made a misstep, which got her off balance, and then she tilted back. I kept moving up and I bumped into her. With that damn box, I couldn’t see what was in front of me, anyway. “David!” She leaned back into my box, which was, for the moment, holding her up. It was like there were four us there: Wanda, me, and our two kids the boxes.

I had one foot up and the other one in the middle of deciding. If I was able to get it solidly on a step, we’d be okay. Which way, up or down? I chose down. What did that old Crusader Guy say in that Indiana Jones movie? “He . . chose . . . poorly.” Then the guy’s face fell off.

Wrong direction. I made my ‘decision’ and if my foot had gone where I told it to, everything would’ve been fine. Did it? No, of course not. Like every other appendage on my body, it had a mind of its own. I stepped back, hoping it was going to plant itself right in the middle of a nice, solid wooden step. Nope, didn’t want to do that.

Just that decision to move my foot sent me back an inch, maybe two, and my box moved with me. And those two missing inches released the pressure of my box, which was holding her up. Again, with the, “David! What are you . . .?” Even as I moved, that pulled my box away from her and what little balance she had vanished. I knew one second ago it was relatively okay and now I knew it was all going downhill. “Shit!”

Stupid-ass-box! I twisted it and toppled the stupid thing to the right. Now this opened up the huge space where it had been. I had half a second to make up for taking that support away from Wanda. I had to try to catch her before she fell back. Impossible, considering my back foot wasn’t even participating. I was really just standing on one leg, which is great for a gymnast, but here it just wasn’t gonna work. I reached up and my fingers barely touched her shirt.