Humanly Displeasing

Sunday

We moved into a really tiny house on the corner of Candlewyck and Rose, directly across the street form my grandparents not so tiny house. Pop's is in politics, but we don't talk about that. Something about "stuffy-cocked paid consultants with for sale signs up their asses" that my father used to ramble on and on and on and on about. While Gram has stood merrily by his side and taught Sunday school, along with owning a bakery -- though I'm pretty sure she's never picked up a whisk a day in her life. They had two gorgeous daughters and two strapping young boys. One daughter went on to study at Yale and become the finest lawyer this town has seen, opposed to my Mother, who got knocked up at 17, then had two more kids. One son received a full football scholarship to Notre Dame then worked his way up to working for NASA and hasn't been seen since the great Christmas Ham Incident of '07, where my mom slapped his gold-digging arm candy with a piece of ham for calling her a "hussy"; first the ham, then the ping pong paddle. It was a great day. And while Uncle Football Star was out being a football star, there was Uncle Bait and Tackle, who never left town, but opened a little shop and lives quaint and quietly, therefore, he's always been my favorite. This isn't to say that my mother hasn't done alright for herself and that she's the family fuck-up though. She became a nurse, who in the eyes of Pop and Gram was lead astray by a not-so-strapping young man. I am currently the same age my mom was when she was pregnant with me, so you could say that I'm one step ahead of her and Scott, but I feel thirty steps behind.

My brother, Danny, was definitely something. It was no secret that he was the family favorite. Though we were in the same grade, he was a little under a year older than me and an apparent saint. But, oddly enough, I didn't mind, it just meant that I got left alone. I maintained decent grades, decent to my family being steady B's, while Dear Daniel had all A's, AP classes and perfect attendance. I played one sport, he played three. I was president of the drama club, he was president of the entire student body. I played cello, he played violin, saxophone, and trumpet. I took French, he took French, Spanish, German, and Latin. You get the picture. But it never felt like a competition, because we never wanted it to be, we got along. I loved my brother, and while I looked up to him, I never pined to be him. And while he achieved more than me he didn't look down to me. We were equals, we were friends. And even though he was doted on at family events and bragged about, I was content living up to my own goals and not pushing myself to live for others. It just always seemed easy for Danny. He even had the perfect girlfriend. Second in our class, because obviously he was first, National Merit Scholar, volunteered at the animal rescue shelter, played varsity volleyball and soccer and was practically a piano prodigy. But I guess that wasn't enough for Danny, or maybe it was too much.

While it seems like Danny lived the perfect high school life, mine wasn't bad either. Like I said, I was involved too, and I skipped a grade, which to my family, apparently, wasn't an accomplishment. I had a lot of passions, a lot of things to do to take up my time, so I didn't have to be alone with my thoughts. I made decent grades in all my class, particularly the literary side where I took AP. I played varsity basketball, even though I rode the bench a lot, I still enjoyed it and had managed to obtain a few decent friends. I am a classically trained cellist, like everyone in our family, we were expected to be well rounded academically, physically, artistically, culturally and any other 'ly' you can think of. So on the flip side my parents we surprised to find me as the president of the drama club. Which was surprising to me, given how good they are at acting, or lying rather. I suppose I just like pretending to be someone else. But that was my life, practice for this, then that, then study for that, then play at this recital, then pretend that being fluent in French would get me somewhere someday.

I enjoyed my life, even my insane family. You know about my parents Charlotte and Scott. Charlotte being an ER nurse, so the pressure was always on, and Scott being a middle school teacher, and after having a kid in high school, it took a lot for them to get to where they were. They then, of course had more children, they had Daniel, me, and our little sister, Violet. One big happy, chaotic, family. Every day was pretty much the same, but fast paced anyways, especially since our parents felt it very important to know the value of hard work. So on top of whatever extracurriculars we chose/were forced to do, we were also expected to have jobs by the age of 16. But soon in our lives became so routine it was scary. Mom worked third shift, so there was always a parent home on odd hours. During the day she got sleep and prepared for us afternoon and night, she worked hard. She'd keep the house clean and make sure we always had prepacked lunchs. Dad was up with us in the morning because he had a very similar schedule to us given him being a teacher, and always had breakfast ready. But it was Daniel's job to make sure that Violet and I were up and ready and at school on time. But Daniel and I usually ran on very little sleep, so there was always a coffee stop in the morning during the drive to Violet's elementary school. Iced coffee for Daniel, hot tea for me, and a little hot chocolate for Letty. We shared a raggedy car that dad paid a tooth and a nose for, but got us from point A to point B. Even our splitting a car was on a set schedule. We drove to school together, if one of us had to work, we'd drop the other off, then go to our activities or meetings, then pick up Violet from her after-school program, then head home to where dinner was waiting for us. Mom was a great cook, there was always warmth and wisdom in her food, especially since she loved to embrace her strong Latin roots. Although, we didn't celebrate our heritage like we used to. Weekends were kind of a blessing and a curse. We got to catch up on sleep, or get in some more hours at our jobs, or do homework. But Sunday's were reserved for Church. Danny hated Church more than anything, he hated the way it made him feel. I think it made him feel unworthy, constantly. But, I could never figure out why.

In a sense, Danny was my best friend. If ever we had free time, we were together. We'd drive around, or hit the drive-in, or take Letty to the park, or whatever we could to escape the routine. We usually even studied together. I guess we just felt better when we were together, not so alone. But, that's gone now. And I am alone.