Monte

It seems like all of my friends have troubled families. James’ family has trouble showing affection towards one another; one friend’s father secretly drugged her so she’d have a miscarriage; and another friend’s family is involved in the mob. I use to consider myself lucky for having what I considered a fairly normal family; however, a war has cropped up in the last week; it’s a tension that has been building momentum for years, and yet it came to me by surprise only tonight.

My brother has briefly returned from the army to celebrate the birth of his new son. The reunion wasn’t as cozy as I had hoped. I was taking a shower the evening he was to come over when I heard a knock and saw his head appear from behind the bathroom door.

“Hey. I need you to take me to the hospital,” he said plainly.

“What?”

He repeated, “I need you to take me to the hospital.”

“Why?”

“I broke my finger.”

It occurred to me that the motorcycle race he had participated in earlier that afternoon had not been successful. Much to the dismay of my parents, Chris races motorcycles.

So then this afternoon, Chris asked if I wanted to go four-wheeling. I agreed and all was well until I got home and told my mother. She looked up from the flowers she was arranging in a vase and scowled.

My mother’s scowl is an ugly one. It’s more than a scowl, really. Imagine a starved, angry animal that has just picked up the scent of blood. That’s what my mother’s face looks like when she’s pissed, and this is the face I caught glimpse of tonight.

“You’re not going. Your brother is a fucking idiot and he’s gonna get you killed. He’s gonna break your neck…”

“Mother…” I interrupted.

“You are not going. If you leave tomorrow morning, you are going to start a war…”

She said this all very calmly through her clenched jaw. I could tell she was trying not to raise her voice with grandma in the room (she’s in town visiting, too).

Dad’s reaction wasn’t much better. He flung his hands in the air and cried, “That boy is gonna get himself killed one of these days! You tell him he can shove that motorcycle up his ass for all I care!”

Rather than continue the argument, I tucked my tail between my legs, scampered off to my bedroom, and called my brother to explain why I wouldn’t be able to hang out.

It’s not fair that I should have to choose between spending time with my brother and satisfying my parents. I should not be the catalyst for “starting a war.”

This whole week has made me think a lot about family dynamics. I realize now, unfortunately, that my family is not immune to internal conflict as I had previously thought—or hoped.