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A Table So Wide

W. Peter Collins

    My brother stood at one end of the table. He picked up his cue stick and Thwack! The triangle of solid and striped balls scattered across the smooth felt surface. “Nice break, it looks like you got solids,” I said as the four ball fell into the side pocket.
    “What are we going to do when Dad dies?” he asked.
    We hadn’t talked about Dad in years. It was Christmas and I was visiting from San Francisco. I looked over at the tree with presents piled around it and pretended to smile. Frank had stopped talking to Dad years ago. It wasn’t long after Mom died. Frank walked around to the other end of the table and picked up the chalk. He stared at me across the wide green table.
    “You haven’t answered my question.”
    The sound of his voice drained the color out of the room.
    “I’m not interested in what to do when Dad dies. I’m interested in what to do while he’s still alive.” I said as I set my cue back in the rack.
    I walked over and picked up my coat.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Out.”
    “So that’s it. When things don’t go your way you disappear, just like Dad.”
    “I know where Dad is and so do you.” I yelled. “We’ve always known. You chose to cut him out and I didn’t.”
    “He never should have left us. He never should have left Mom.”
    “Yeah, but he did leave, Frank. Mom and Dad fought all the time. Violent fights Frank. If Dad had stayed it would have been worse. They probably would have killed each other.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “And mom kicked you out. She even wanted to leave you in jail when you got arrested for drugs because some discipline would do you some good. It was Dad who talked to the judge to release you. When you did get out Mom beat the crap out of you. Did you forget all that?”
    Frank slammed the cue stick on the table. He stood there motionless.
    “I can’t move. I can’t move forward.” Frank’s jaw trembled as he spoke.
    “If you want to sit around waiting for Dad to die so your life can start, that’s your business. Count me out.”
    I opened the door and stepped out of a frozen room into a frozen night.

    The thermometer on the back porch showed 34 degrees. It was early, still. The temperature would drop even further as the night went on. I didn’t have my hat or gloves. I didn’t care but my head and my hands did. Walking in the high December desert of Colorado the air was thin and dry.

 

 
    I could feel my skin cracking. How long could I keep walking? How long would it be before I froze to death? My throat was already frozen. It was frozen before I walked out on Frank, before I got on the plane to fly here from California.

    Dressed in winter clothes
    The heart
    With a hammer
    And a pick
    Wandering
    In a maze of ice
    Finding a crack
    Chipping away
    Through the long frozen night

    All I could hear was the sound of the snow crunching under my feet as I walked through the neighborhood. The Christmas lights in the neighborhood pitched their bubblegum colors to the fading gray Colorado sky.

Light in the Desert

    The double doors to the terminal slid open with a mechanical hum and the morning air whooshed in. I walked outside. The passenger pickup area is on the north side of the building. Nothing but concrete and shadows this time of year, except for a little yellow Aspen tree to the left of the door. Like a candle at night it chased the high desert darkness away.

    My sister Leslie lives about a mile from the Airport in Albuquerque. She was actually my half sister. I never like describing her that way. How can you be a whole person when you’re only half a sister? There were three kids all together. Frank and I were from the first marriage. Then Dad married Annette. Leslie came along soon after. I was seven years old when I went from being the youngest in the family to being an older brother. I wish I could say I was good at it. Leslie pulled up to the curb.
    “Hey Steve, it’s great to see you.”
    A light breeze rolled through and the yellow leaves of the Aspen started to dance.
    “It’s great to see you too.” We hugged each other, the pull of her heart drew me to her, overwhelming the urge to pull away.
    “It’s so strange”, she said. “One day you’re so far away and the next day you’re here.”
    “I wish I knew why.”
    “Why what?”
    “Why I’m here?”
    Leslie stepped back and looked at me like I was crazy.
    “Get out of your head Steve. You don’t always need a reason to visit family.”

 

 
    “I can’t get over this feeling. My head gets what you’re saying but my heart keeps telling me I don’t belong.”
    “Inventing a reason to be here won’t change that Steve.”
    She walked around and got back in the car.
    “Let’s go, we’ll stop at my place so you can get settled in. We can head over to Mom and Dad’s after that.”
    “Ok.”

    It was a quick ride from the airport to her house.
    “Make yourself at home. You know where your room is.”
    “Thanks for letting me stay with you.”
    “As long as I have a house you’re staying with me when you come to visit. I don’t know why Dad wants you to stay at a hotel.”
    “I’m trying to figure that out myself.”
    Dad always stayed in a hotel when he came to visit me. I never really thought about it until now. I didn’t have much to offer for accommodations living on a sailboat. I didn’t have much to offer of anything really. I was living the artist life. That was all that mattered to me.
    Leslie started cleaning in the kitchen.
    “Do you want some help?” I asked.
    “No thanks, I got it.”
    “Dad didn’t seem too enthusiastic about me coming to visit.”
    “You’re not alone. They like their privacy.”

    
    The Visit

    “Come on in”, Dad said as he opened the door.
    I reached out and gave him a big hug. I felt a tear on my cheek. Annette walked over to the door.
    “Hello Steve.”
    I reached over and hugged her too. Tears were streaming down my face.
    “Let’s get this boy a tissue,” Annette said with a smile.
    “Come on in and have a seat. We’re just getting ready to have a smoke.”
    “Thanks,”
    I walked over to the table. It was rustic and sturdy with a rich dark stain.
    “This is a great old table,” I said as I sat down.
    “Yes it is,” Dad said.
    He reached across the table to pass me the joint he had just lit. I reached out to take it without thinking about it, without thinking that I had quit.
    All I could think about was how wide the table was. How far away I felt from him. I sat there holding the joint, staring at the table.

 

 
    “If you’re not going to take a puff, pass it on.”
    I took a puff and passed it to Leslie, watching the smoke float away, weightless, and free. It crossed the wide table, catching the light of the winter sun.
    “The light is so beautiful here”, I said.
    “Is that why you came? To see the light.” he said, waving his hand through the smoke, sending it swirling.
    “Well, yes, I mean no, unless you’re speaking metaphorically. I mean, I’d love to see the light, to be enlightened, to know what the hell....”
    “Steve,” he interrupted. Dad looked me straight in the eyes. They were fierce and kind all at the same time.
    “Let’s have some lunch.” He said.
    “Leslie, would you be so kind and help your mother with a little refreshment.”
    “My pleasure,”
    Leslie and Annette went into the kitchen.

    Dad and I sat there, looking out the window. The pressure to say something overwhelmed me.
    “I haven’t seen Frank since I walked out on him at Christmas three years ago. He calls occasionally but I never take the call.”
    Tears came rolling down my cheek. Dad sat quietly across the table, savoring the joint as I spoke.
    “He started sending me emails about two months ago. It was when I broke up with Nancy.”
    “These emails?” Dad came to life. “They’re full of criticism and advice yes? They tell you all about your mistakes, what you’re doing wrong and what you should be doing instead, yes?”
    “Yes, how did you know?” I continued without giving him a chance to answer. “Being an artist, living on a boat, never getting married. According to him my life is one big mistake.” I could feel a rush of heat to my forehead and my throat felt like a vise was tightening around it. It was hard to speak, hard to breathe.
    “He thinks I’m a loser.” I shot up from my chair and smacked the table with my knee. “Ow, damn, that hurt.”
    “Are you?”
    “What?”
    “A loser.”
    “No, not at all. Who the hell does he think he is telling me....”
    “Steve.” Dad interrupted again.
    “He’s just a guy who happens to be your brother.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “Why do you care what he says? Why do you let it bother you so much?”
    Dad took a long puff on the joint, exhaling slowly.
    “I don’t know.”

 

    “Try asking yourself, you might find an answer.” He said as Leslie and Annette brought food in.
    The talking stopped as the eating began. I caught myself staring blankly at a painting on the wall. It was one of Annette’s pieces, a female figure reclining. Like all of her work it was powerful yet subtle and refined. I was transfixed.
    “Aren’t you going to eat anything Steve?” Annette asked.
    “I don’t know. I’m chewing on something in my head at the moment.”
    “By the look on your face I’d say it doesn’t taste very good.”
    “I love your work.”
    “That’s nice of you to say Steve. You say it every time you visit.”
    “I’m sorry, it’s just that...”
    “You say you’re sorry every time you visit too.” She interrupted me.
    “And by the time you leave we’re completely out of tissues.
    Do you pack anything more than tears when you come to visit?”
    “What am I missing?”
    “Whatever it is I don’t think it’s here Steve.” She waved her arm around the room.
    I sat quietly watching them eat. I noticed I was on one side of the table. The three of them were on the other. The table was as wide as ever.

    “Why are you here Steve?” Dad asked.
    “I don’t know but I don’t feel welcome.”
    “That’s your problem.”
    His comment stunned me. I sat there speechless, wanting desperately to get up and walk out. The little voice in my head said don’t do that Steve. That’s what you always do.
    “Tell me Steve. Is there a place that you do feel welcome?”
    I had never considered this question. In that moment I realized I’ve been so busy being uncomfortable everywhere that I never imagined life could be any other way. The only thing I could think of is when I’m painting, or having a vision about a painting. Some idea comes to me and I forget about everything else.
    “Well?”, Dad asked.
    “My imagination. I feel comfortable there.”
    “Wouldn’t it be great if that’s where we all lived.” Anette said with a laugh.
    “Hear, hear.” Leslie agreed.
    “Unfortunately, it’s not.” Annette continued.
    “We live in this world with houses and cars and people who get under our skin.”
    “Frank makes me so angry.” I felt the heat in my forehead and the vise on my throat again.
    “You are healthy and free. You’re doing exactly what you want to do in life with whoever you choose. You have no reason to be angry at anyone.” Dad said emphatically. His words slammed into me like a gust of wind in a gale.
    “It breaks my heart that Frank cut you out of his life.”
    “That’s not your problem.”
    “It sure feels like it is”

 

    “So.”
    “So it hurts when he attacks you. It feels like an attack on me.”
    “You’re making it mean too much Steve. Let it go.”
    “I don’t get it.”
    “You’re giving your power away. You can’t change the things he says, the way he acts. All you can do is be yourself. You can be your powerful self or your weak self.”
    I felt myself shrinking as the words sunk in. I never thought of myself as powerful before, except with a brush in my hand and no one else around.
    “He never got over the family breaking up.”
    “You haven’t gotten over it either Steve. Neither have I for that matter.”
    “I never thought of that.”
    “I’m not surprised. Why would you think of it? You had your own problems to deal with. We all do.”
    That was the first time I could ever remember hearing my Dad admit he had a problem.
    “I never should have married your mother but I did. We did what people do. We made babies, we made a life, we made a mess, a big fucking mess.”
    He took a long draw off of the joint and passed it to Annette.
    “Why does Frank have to take his problems out on me?” I could feel my shoulders slump as the words came out.
    “It’s all in your head. He’s not taking anything out on you. You just had the misfortune to be born into this family and you’re sentimental enough to let his attacks get under your skin. He’s not so much attacking you as he’s protecting himself.”
    “Protecting himself! from what?”
    “You’ll have to ask him.”


The Call


    “When am I going to meet this brother of yours?” Carla asked again. “I’m beginning to think you made him up. You do have a pretty active imagination.”
    “No, he’s real alright. It’s just that...”
    “Steve, you and I have been together for over a year and I still haven’t met your brother. What are you afraid of? And what else are you hiding from me?”
    “It’s been so long I don’t know what I would say to him.”
    “How about, long time no see. How’s the weather back there in Colorado?” she said.
    “Come on, be serious.”
    “Lighten up Steve.” She turned and walked out of my studio. It’s been five years since I’ve talked to Frank or seen him. I did feel better for a while without him in my life. Or maybe that was my imagination telling me what I wanted to hear.
    I almost saw him when Dad got sick and nearly died. I visited Dad for a few days and then came back to California. By the time Frank got there I was gone. I remember feeling resentful toward him for wanting to visit Dad after keeping him out of his life all those years. I was surprised that Dad was willing to see him too.

 

    “If Frank wants to see me now I think that’s wonderful” Dad said when he got home from the hospital. I sat there in disbelief when he said that.
    “Aren’t you angry at him for keeping you out of his life? And his kids too, your grandkids? All these years?” I said and began to cry.
    “Steve,” Dad said. “I’m an old man. I don’t have time to be angry. And I’ll tell you a secret. You’ll be old too someday.”

    “What are you committed to Steve?” Carla demanded as she walked back into my studio.
    “What? What do you mean?”
    “It’s a simple question. What are you committed to?”
    “Is this about Frank?”
    “No this is about you.” She stood there, like a mountain, commanding my attention.
    “I’m committed to freedom and love.”
    “Sounds pretty conceptual. Let me ask you something. Are you committed to your brother?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Are you committed to his freedom? Are you committed to loving him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Say that again Steve, I didn’t hear you.”
    “Yes, I’m committed to his freedom and loving him.”
    “Alright then, pick up the phone right now and call him,” she handed me my phone.
    “Be serious.”
    “I am serious, call him.”
    I took the phone.
    “What should I say?”
    “Try saying hello.”
    I looked up his number in my phone. There it was. Seeing his name, Frank, in my phone after all this time was comforting in a strange way. It was like he’s been there all along patiently waiting to talk to me. I called him.
    “Hello?” came the voice on the other end.
    “That’s what I was going to say.”
    “Steve.”
    “Yep, it’s me.”
    “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    We both started laughing.
    “I’m so glad you called.”
    “Yeah, me too.”

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