Designed

by Alicia Renee Kline

  Chapter Six

  (Past Tense)

  “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” Alan Snyder’s voice boomed across the expansive dining room.

  I sunk down in my seat, wishing that I could become invisible. There they were again, the comparisons that inevitably surfaced when my brother screwed up. And this time, Matthew had done so royally.

  I stirred my spoon absentmindedly in my bowl of oatmeal and snuck a peek at my sibling. He sat across from me, elbows on the mahogany tabletop, his head lowered into his fists. His blond hair, several shades darker than mine, stood up in random tufts. Though he hadn’t made eye contact with me since he’d arrived back home, I knew his were bloodshot and troubled.

  I supposed getting arrested and spending the night in the drunk tank could do that to anyone.

  “What were you thinking?” our father continued as he paced around the room. “Oh, that’s right, you weren’t.”

  I wanted to get up and leave, but I knew my dad enjoyed playing to an audience. He thrived on the attention that being in the public eye brought about. There was no need to wait for a judge and jury when your youngest offspring could assume that role. Part of me stayed glued to the chair in fear, the other part told myself that by being here I could somehow protect Matthew from the harshest of punishments. Like my dad wouldn’t say or do the worst possible things in front of me.

  My mother, interestingly enough, was nowhere to be found. I imagined she had retreated to her bedroom shortly after getting the phone call that her son had been picked up. She’d not wanted anything to do with the reality of his actions, instead choosing to curl up in a ball on her high thread count sheets and let her husband deal with it.

  Matthew said nothing and continued staring downward as my father went through all the ramifications of his actions. I half listened as dad listed out what was to come next: a court appearance, license suspension, monetary fines and what seemed to be the crux of his disdain - a sure-fire revoking of his prized football scholarship. Prized in whose eyes I wasn’t sure; it seemed as though the elder Snyder coveted that prestigious award more than the one who’d actually obtained it.

  In any case, so much potential down the drain. That was our dad’s argument; the long and short of it, though he wrapped it into far more lyrical words. There was truth in his position, of that I didn’t doubt, but the execution was lacking. Where was the concerned parent who wanted to know why? Who asked what they could possibly have done better so that the outcome wouldn’t have been the same? Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, but didn’t people normally try to find answers instead of immediately resorting to anger and laying blame?

  I, for one, was blaming myself. Conceding defeat, I tossed the spoon aside and reddened as it clattered loudly against the side of the stoneware dish. Dad’s eyes flitted ever so slightly over in my general direction, my interruption barely registering a pause in his wrath. The nausea in my stomach suggested I wouldn’t be able to eat for quite some time.

  I had been invited to the party last night. Well, maybe not me personally, but Matthew had and so had Chris. By default, I was expected to show up as well. Because of my affiliation with those two, my being places a typical sophomore didn’t dare to tread didn’t even cause people to blink. A group of senior athletic types had gathered at someone’s home to celebrate those who had signed to play in college. Of course, my brother had been one of those stars being honored. Given his outstanding senior season, he’d fielded offers from several schools, eventually signing a letter of intent to play out of state. I couldn’t blame him; I knew deep down he wanted to get away from our parents and this was the perfect opportunity.

  Except that the person who was hosting the party conveniently arranged it for a weekend when his parents would be out of town. And it became less of a celebration and more of an excuse to get totally drunk, among other activities. When I’d heard the buzz about that through my cheerleader friends, I’d soured on the idea of going. Not that I took issue with imbibing from time to time, I just hated the fact that people felt they needed an excuse to gather together and do just that. So basically, it was just like any other weekend any other time, and I was getting kind of burnt out on the party circuit.

  It hadn’t been too hard to convince Chris to share in my opinion. A lot of the time we tagged along with Matthew, but we were also known to go do our own thing. The thought of the two of us being alone together had proven irresistible and we’d taken a rain check, knowing that the next big bash would be just around the corner.

  Lest someone believe that Chris and I were as pure as the driven snow and my brother was the big bad jock, it wasn’t like we went out for ice cream and a movie. Instead of sitting around drinking beers and smoking joints, we’d decided to drive up to a secluded area in one of the many parks around town and have sex in the back of his old pickup truck. What daddy didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?

  And he wouldn’t have found out about Matthew if my brother hadn’t have been idiotic enough to have some misplaced responsibility and try to stagger home to make curfew. On his way back to our house, he’d gotten pulled over. He’d been smart enough to consent to the field sobriety test and he’d blown way under the legal limit for an adult. Since he was underage, this didn’t help matters any and he’d been hauled away to jail.

  Chris had still been at our house when the call had come in. We’d been sitting on the couch in the living room, pretending we’d done nothing more erotic than kissing goodnight. I’d been loath to let him go home, feeling like something wasn’t right. He’d sensed it, too, and I knew he was waiting around to see if his friend made it home safely. We’d tried to convince Matthew to stay there if he got too trashed; facing my dad’s anger over breaking curfew was much favorable to what ended up transpiring.

  As soon as the phone had rung, the bowling ball in my stomach had reared its ugly head. It was too late for a pleasant chat; things of that nature didn’t occur at one in the morning. I’d made a lunge for the phone myself to try to temper the blow, but Chris had placed his hand upon my shoulder to stop me. In the end, my mother had answered. I’d watched her face turn chalky white as she listened to the voice in the earpiece. She’d nodded, then said very little before hanging up. Without another word, she excused herself and retreated to my father’s office, where he was still up doing research on a case.

  Within seconds, we heard raised voices and the sound of something substantial hitting the wall in the other room and shattering. While my mother’s voice had been tinged with fear or possibly concern, my father’s had only been full of rage. Then the outburst had died down. Seconds later, my mother had regained the majority of her composure and returned to where we were seated. Ever the hostess, she bid Chris goodnight before heading off to hide in her own bedroom.

  Chris hadn’t wanted to leave, but I’d convinced him that he needed to go home. I would be fine, which I knew in the back of my head was true. My parents weren’t mad at me. I wasn’t going to bear the brunt of their ire. I breathlessly promised that I would piece together as much of the story as I could and then let him know what was going on when I had a chance. Reluctantly, he’d left me alone.

  Matthew hadn’t come home until the following morning. I’d expected my father to rush over to the jail and bail him out as soon as possible, if only to save face. Perhaps if the high profile attorney snuck over to the holding cell in the cover of darkness, nobody would be the wiser. But no, he’d decided to make Matthew sweat it out and spend the night in jail. Admittedly, his tactic made sense. Sooner or later, Matthew would have to go to court and then everyone would know anyway. Why bother trying to hide something that would have been aired as dirty laundry eventually? And this way, it was an opportunity to show the media outlets that he was holding his son accountable for his actions. No special treatment here.

  If my dad’s attempt at solid parenting helped him to sleep at night, his insomnia was transferred over to me. I’d tossed and turned all nig
ht, thinking of my brother in some dusty, dank cell locked up like an animal. I’d cursed my desire to want to spend some time alone with Chris. If my hormones wouldn’t have been raging, I could have possibly stopped him from doing what he’d done, or at least from getting caught. But I’d been nowhere to protect him from himself.

  Exhaustion had overtaken me about four in the morning or so, and I fell into a dreamless slumber, awaking with a start when I heard movement on the stairs. I knew then that my father was up and about and he would undoubtedly be the one to collect Matthew. Our mother never did the heavy lifting. I’d sprung out of bed and gotten dressed, throwing on a sweatshirt and jeans and tying my hair back into its trademark ponytail.

  As I waited for their imminent return, I’d busied myself around the kitchen, pretending that this was just another Saturday morning and my world wasn’t falling apart. I’d half expected to see the majority of Matthew’s belongings out either on the front or back porch. I’d actually gone to investigate just that and been more than a little relieved to find nothing but pristine concrete staring back at me from the other side of both windows.

  The oatmeal had been a prop, hastily made when I thought I heard dad’s car pulling up our extended driveway. I’d rushed the scorching hot bowl over to the table, nearly burning my two index fingers in the process. I’d sat down at the table just as I heard the door from the garage open and slam shut. Dad had fallen hook, line and sinker for my ruse, bringing the action into me as I pretended to eat my breakfast.

  “Give me your keys,” my dad growled, placing his fist on the table, “you won’t be needing them anymore.”

  Matthew dug into his pocket, slamming the keychain for his vintage Camaro upon the wood. That car was his pride and joy, as much of a wing man as Chris was when it came to picking up girls. Dad had gifted it to him on his sixteenth birthday, and he’d practically salivated over it every day since. I wondered if the cherry red convertible was still impounded, or who had driven it home if not. I was pretty sure that Matthew wasn’t allowed to drive it anymore, or did a suspended license not start until your sentencing? In the grand scheme of things, I supposed it didn’t matter. I did wonder, however, if that car would get passed down to me when I was ready to drive. I kind of hoped so.

  Troubled that I’d resort to finding some sort of upside to my brother’s predicament, even if ever so briefly, I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt at self-punishment. The room fell silent as my dad finished his tirade, and we all stared downward as we became lost in our own thoughts.

  “Get out of my sight,” our father grumbled after a drawn out pause.

  I knew he spoke only to Matthew, but I still pushed my chair back and rose from the table at his command. I collected my partially eaten breakfast and disposed of it in the kitchen. When I came back through, both my father and my brother had vanished. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess where either one had gone. Dad had retreated to his beloved office to drown his sorrows in some kind of legal jargon, and Matthew had slunk up to his bedroom. Without a doubt, I knew who I was going to approach.

  Sure enough, Matthew’s door was closed when I crept up the stairs. I knocked quietly on the six-panel door, hoping he would allow me access. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer.

  “Hey,” I said softly, “it’s just me.”

  I knew he’d been afraid that Dad had flown upstairs in another fit of rage to get the absolute final word in. I’d witnessed enough of their fights to know that he’d done that on several occasions. My suspicions were confirmed when just seconds later, the doorknob turned slightly. I took that as my cue to enter and pushed my way through the small opening he’d created for me.

  Once inside, I locked the door behind us. The click of the latch was reassuring, if not more than a little devious. Dad had threatened to remove the locks on both of our doors at one point, saying that this was his property and he was allowed access at any time to any portion of it. I normally obeyed his rules to the letter; I’d not even locked the door the afternoon that Chris and I had collectively lost our virginity. But today seemed different. Funny how I felt like I needed to hide what I was doing with my brother more than what I was doing with my boyfriend.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He stared blankly at me for a moment, as if he was attempting to gauge my sincerity. In that brief moment of silence, I saw the pain in those blue eyes that gave me my answer. Despite both of us knowing otherwise, he nodded.

  “Chris and I were worried about you,” I said as I crossed his room and flopped down on his bed.

  He joined me. “Well, that makes two people.”

  “I’ll call him later and tell him you’re okay. Unless you’d rather do it yourself.”

  He shrugged. “I just need to get out of here,” he mused, changing the subject entirely.

  I nodded, pretending that I understood.

  “The scholarship was supposed to do that for me,” he continued, “that’s why I chose to play out of state. To get away from them. But now I’ve fucked that up. I’m going to be dependent on them at least until I get my license back.”

  “We’ll help you,” I interjected. That’s how I spoke now. Chris was included automatically in my thoughts, much like one would do with a spouse. I made plans for him, for us, knowing that he’d never turn me down. After his proclamation that he wouldn’t be leaving me to go away to school, I’d felt much more secure in the nature of our relationship. He wouldn’t have turned down the opportunity to help out his best friend anyway, but it further cemented our bond to one another. Somewhere along the line, we’d become our own little family.

  He snorted. “Chris won’t be able to drive me everywhere and you don’t even have your license yet.”

  “You know what I mean.” I folded my arms over my chest petulantly.

  “I do and I appreciate it.”

  “So interspersed between the silent treatment from Dad and the complaining that Mom will do about running late for her nail appointments, you’d actually get to ride with people who like you,” I cracked.

  The traces of a genuine smile graced his features and it was then that I understood what made my brother the big man on campus. Even at the brink of despair, there was something about him that was endearing. A twinkle in those eyes when he flashed them in your direction that made you melt and offer him the world.

  I was about to find out just what I would be willing to do for him.

  Chapter Seven

  (Past Tense)

  The arrest only strengthened my relationship with Matthew. We’d never been close growing up, but never bitter rivals either. We’d just sort of operated on our own orbits until Chris had entered the picture and become a polarizing figure in both of our lives. While most of the community gravitated towards my brother for obvious reasons, he and I had been drawn together by Chris.

  Well, that and the circumstances at hand.

  Many things happened. Like we expected, Matthew lost the scholarship at the school he’d signed the letter of intent with. None of the other schools that had courted him during his high school career cared to pick up the sloppy seconds. If it wouldn’t have happened to my brother, I’d probably have applauded everyone else’s moral grounds, but I found myself wishing that someone would believe in second chances. Then again, I could understand not wanting to be branded as the school that picked up the kid with a proven history of underage drinking.

  With the nail pounded firmly into that coffin, Matthew settled on applying at the local commuter campus. His grades weren’t stellar, but they were well deserving of acceptance even without an athletic deal attached. Given that Chris was also going there, it wasn’t as bitter of a pill to swallow as it could have been.

  The cherry red Camaro was quickly sold to the highest bidder. Dad put a classified ad in the newspaper and within days the convertible no longer took up residence at our home. Even though Matthew’s suspended license was only temporary, my dad wanted to make his position
clear: the consequences of it weren’t. From here on out, there’d not be as many handouts as before.

  Keeping that in mind, Matthew looked for employment anywhere and everywhere. A part time job wasn’t in either of our vocabularies, but the determination in my brother’s ocean blue eyes to obtain one spoke volumes about his intentions to distance himself from our parents. He now had something to prove. Before, our father had only respected him because of his status on the football field; now he was looking for the unconditional love that should have been there all along. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, all he wanted was for our parents to be proud of him. Either that, or he wanted them to get the hell out of his way.

  Matthew was dependent upon someone else at all times now. He and Chris tried to schedule classes at the same time so that they could ride together. When that didn’t end up happening, he typically bit his tongue and asked our mother for a lift. She reluctantly agreed, though she had kept quiet on the whole subject and hidden behind the words of her husband. With the way she conducted herself, it was hard to imagine her having an opinion of her own. She needed to side with our father or else the ramifications wouldn’t be pretty. As much as my brother was unable to operate without the help of others, she personified that tenfold. Without Dad to bankroll her lifestyle, she’d be out in the cold.

  A collective sigh of relief was breathed by all of us involved when I ended up getting my license. For my sixteenth birthday, Dad handed me the keys to a brand new Honda Civic, blue in color. With the benchmark of my brother’s own sixteenth birthday present firmly planted in my mind, I knew that I’d get some sort of vehicle. And Dad had hinted around about it, trying to play coy while he guessed what kind of car I’d really wanted. The most logical thing would have been for me to take over Matthew’s car, but that had been tainted by the whole impounding thing. And the Snyders were big on doing the impractical. So before he gifted me with something over the top, I’d made my case for a method of transportation that was reliable and got good gas mileage. The wink in his eye as he handed me over the keychain upon passing my driving test told me all I needed to know.