...Memory 3....Bubby

It's 1:30 in the morning and I am tired of economics. I am still on my 15 memory stint trying to figure out who I am, but I want to caveat this one with some thoughts on my favorite brother....well he's my only brother but I'm pretty sure he'd be my favorite if I had more. We are online right now throwing fake insults at each other that would make most people cry.....and I love him for it. Ironically we haven't always had a close relationship, in fact we use to hate each other. I don't know how we got from playing bank and chef as little kids, to throwing punches and serious insults as pre-teens, to despising each other's existing in high school, to fairly close during late adolescence, to be best friends today, but it has happened. His home in Idaho Falls is my second hom after my parents house in Montana. I love and respect him more than most people I know. What many don't understand is that behind the gruff outer shell is the most charitable person I know. He will be one of the best father's I know...when he finally decides he actually wants children.....well enough, to the memory.

Memory 3)
The sangria soda is amazing. I love being at Las Carmelitas....although it is getting late. I don't mind, Clay is the one who is going to get in trouble when we get home. We should have left hours ago, but no worries, I am playing Magic Cards and Dungeons and Dragons. I have a charge account at Las Carmelitas, the owner Rita is a great friend of my grandmother and we bankrolled her to start the restaurant, and I am thoroughly enjoying not doing homework.
I am in the side room of the restaurant so I see my brother's white Suzuki Swift pull up. Yep, its a casket on wheels, if we hit anything we die and will be buried in it, at least that is what dad says, but it has great gas mileage and we commute over 100 miles round trip every day to go to high school. Clay walks into the restaurant and I can feel his anger. Maybe he broke up with Anna Thomas, or maybe he's just pissed in general, I don't know but I know I don't like him like this. Rita recognizes something is up as well, but luckily she only has a few people left in the restaurant, it is past 9. She asks Clay what is up while I walk over to them, and I am sure she smelled what I did....alcohol. Well Clay is a senior, and I am no saint when I party with Jon or Grady, so I can't judge, but honestly walking into the restaurant of our Grandma's best friend drunk....its over the line. I start to feel some indignation, our family is really into preserving the family name and Clay kinda trashed it tonight, but I know better than to open my mouth when he is all mad like this. Rite suggests I spend the night with her and Carlos, her son my age, but Clay insists he is driving us home. So I follow obediently out to the car with my books and say goodbye.
We are soon on the interstate and taking the exit to high way 278 out to Jackson, and we are going fast. (I dont even remember why Clay was upset) We never go slower than 95 on the way home and break 100 most the way. Clay has the ability to make his Suzuki wrap the speedometer past the end mph and into the letters beneath. He's upset, not talking and we are kinda swerving. I know we are going die. We have almost died multiple times this year. Back in December we were going over 80 on the ice and did a full 720 in the road and went into the ditch, or when we hit the brakes in the snow and almost ran into the moose, or the multiple times Clay fell asleep at the wheel, but this time is different, we are driving home drunk....and we are going way to fast. That was the second longest car ride from Dillon to Jackson I have ever had, although technically I am sure it was one of the fastest (the longest is a memory for another day).
We finally pull up to the hills just outside of the turn off to our ranch and Clay hits the brakes and we turn down Bloody Dick road to our house. We go down the hill and park in front of the house, and Clay doesn't even tell me not to tell mom and dad, he just gets out of the car and pounds upstairs to the internet. Well, if he isn't going to threaten me I might as well tell mom and dad what happened. I go upstairs and start to put on the tears, I need this to be dramatic if I am going to get him in trouble. I am whimpering by the time I am at the top of the stairs and I call out for mom. I am good at acting, I am part of all the plays in Dillon and do alot of improv work with my friends on the drama team. I explain my story, the alcohol, the embarassment at Las Carmelitas and the drive from hell. She starts to glow red and calls to Walter, my father.....oh yes he's dead. My dead listens in quiet silence and I feel the anger smoldering...the same anger Clay had just a few minutes ago. We all head back to the bedroom where my mom leaves us and Dad barges in as Clay is just on his bed. Dad starts to yell, telling Clay he is worthless and taking pot shots.......WAIT this is not what I wanted, I am not down with him insulting Clay I just want Clay to lose the car so we have to ride the bus for awhile. Clay takes it all and starts to yell back about how awful Dad is ....this is just like this last summer. Back then we all had a fight and Dad had thrown his glasses as Clay came in for a fist fight and I had picked up a stick to hit my Dad if he had dared touch my brother. We are SO EMOTIONAL......wait they are stopping, Clay is just crying...what did Dad just say....
" I don't care if keep screwing up your life, but don't you dare drag my other son down with you. He is going places............." Oh that isn't good, Clay always competes with me. I know it, he doesn't admit it but I know how he hates when I beat him. I only beat him for the attention, but he always wants something of his own and Dad just implied he is going nowhere compared to me.

I don't say another word, I just get in my bed. Clay hasn't slept in the same room with me for at least a year, he likes to sleep in the computer room, but tonight he stays in our shared bedroom. The lights go out and I hear him cry for awhile...then stop. I am wide awake...what have I done. I don't even notice or hear him get out of bed....but I feel him reach down and pick me up. He is so much bigger than me. He is over 6-3 and 180 pounds (he just lost 40 pounds this year and is looking good for his last year in high school) and I am 5-5 and 105 lbs at most. He always has been bigger, and he has always picked me up, to take me across the river when we use to go fishing, or when he tried to literally put my head in the ceiling fan when we were younger, or when he use to throw me from one side of the room onto my bed. Tonight as he picks me up the anger is gone and I just feel his sadness. He sets me on my feet and just hugs me and cries a little bit. I am not use to seeing him vulnerable but I hug him back until he stops. I tell him Dad didn't mean it, I try to be the mediator (its a role I still play today in the family) and he just tells me to stop.

"Dad told me he loved you more tonight"
"No he didn't Clay, he's just upset.."
"Shut up, yes he did, and the problem is not that he favors you more, its not that he likes you better, I like you better than me too..."

And there it is, I don't have any more words, he just finishes hugging me and tells me to go to bed. He is still a little drunk......but his honesty is there and I feel awful. How could I ever have let him get to the point that he wasn't loved and that I was more important, even to himself....I don't like it and I vow to be a better brother that night.



PS: Funny how roles change in the future. In the future it would be Clay that watched me get high on drugs and drunk as I partied and would always make sure I was fed and slept well. He would be the one to turn me into my parents for partying and ruining my life. We have both played the role of a victim in our family, but it was always of our choosing, I don't understand how from such arguments and hatred we ever got close. However, I always remember the night above and the realization of how much I had hurt my brother through the constant downgrades and manipulation to make myself into the angel child and him into the monster. I was a jerk, and I have tried to be better now. I have made many many mistakes, but how I treated him as we grew up is one of the mistakes I regret and would take back. He is a great person today and someone who I look up to and admire. He's a great husband, brother, son, and friend who I love more than I love myself. I guess our roles have reversed yet again.