Christmas, 2006

I slump over the last steps and draw the liqueur bottle from the top drawer, and unloading the remainder into my throat, take again to the stairs.

My father is storming around, and he stops and says

Don’t worry I’m going to stay and take care of it.

And in an instant I see that this might cut me from the ride I need across town. My aunt and uncle are waiting for him and my mother, and their children are playing Clue in the living room.

If you stay it’s only going to perpetuate the fight. You should go; it’s not worth ruining everyone’s night over.

But he is off again. Brian had found a bottle of Smirnoff in Thomas’ gym bag. Thomas plays on my father’s basketball team, and we all stood around while he issued a summary suspension across the dining room table. Thomas called Brian a faggot. Brian told Thomas he was going to be a janitor. Then Brian and I argued about whose evening plans were more important. The loser would watch the kids.

My mother stops Brian at the hall end and asks him what he was doing with someone else’s PEI drivers’ license. Why did you bring this up now, Dad and I are saying. There are red splashes on the wall through the bedroom windows and open doors, and someone yells from downstairs, there’s a fire truck in front of the house. My aunt and uncle are waiting in the driveway.

Sorry, I’m leaving, I can’t take this shit and I’m going.

If you leave I’m going to hit you in the fucking face on the way out the door.