ONE LAST MIDNIGHT

When my sister Mecca told me “The only way to avoid getting caught was to stop time.” I thought she had figured out some universal secret, mentioned in one of her comics. She was older, cooler, smarter at being nerdy when it counted and mattered. And in my family it always mattered.

She planned her life out in stages and stuck to it. Rare form for kid her age- so we were told from adults who seemed somber and regretful. Former high school popular stars who became shift managers of futures they swore to escape. My sister had journals, vision boards, detailing her dream career. She knew where she would settle down, the architecture of her dream home and interior design. She would always say “Brotee, (one day I wore one of her t-shirts without realizing. Those deep v necks that showed off more cleavage- than my push-up for beginners’ workout had formed.) Anyways she would say “people age but thoughts don’t.” “You will remember this when I’m gone.”

That was the first time I felt a shock of sadness. I didn’t feel that much hurt when she started closing her door at the sound of my voice or footsteps. And she only said five words to me at- most, her entire senior year; “could you PLEASE be less annoying!”

I know that’s six words, but I made her add in please. It was my way of being tough. God, she sure was and always told me I had to be.

Every Friday, since I could remember, we ate pizza and watched movies until midnight. Even though it was the weekend, we had to be up before 10am the next day. That early bird catches the worm-old world type of nonsense young people don’t adhere until it’s too late and their trying to fix life with self-help books and cliché metaphors.

Senior year was confusing. My parents thought Mecca needed time to adjust to whatever parents think their children need to figure out. They gave her space until she disregarded their boundaries. She broke midnight curfew and came in at 2am. She said it didn’t matter because the next day was senior skip day, and they were lucky she even came home. Mom took her phone; Dad took her car keys. All this happened after they smelled her breath for alcohol. But she was angry at adolescent independence- not drunk.

Our parents gave us their best lifesaving speeches. And I had to sit and listen as if I was an accomplice.

“Your promising future…Mistakes like this…Turn into a life of failure… You want to be one of those bums on the corner begging for money? And the ultimate fixer “You know what happened to your Aunt Karen!”

Mecca listened and waited, until our parents’ youthful energy and adrenaline that came with disciplining and giving drawn out prophetic speeches to their troubled children-mixed with enough caffeine to explode a heart, wore off and they crashed. Then she snuck outside and drew big fat penises on their cars.

My parents left for work before sunrise, so they missed the confusing pleasure of a kid discovering porn. But some point during the day they must have noticed the stares, searching eyes, and expressions big fat penises give, because hey were pissed when they got home. But instead of cleaning them off, they drew matching penises on Mecca’s car and forbid her to clean them. I never seen my parents laugh so hard. Mecca must not have seen that coming.

She said, “fucking great, now everyone is gonna think I’m some slut who loves big dicks.” My mother laughed so hard she didn’t see my dad leave. When he came back my sister’s car was spotless. He slept on the couch that night, but not before having a movie marathon with my sister until midnight. That night I realized “someone has to lose for someone to win.”

After my sister graduated from high school, my parents told us they were getting divorced. We were used to cold weather, but not inside our house, and that gave us a surprising chilling that comes with the flu or fear. One night, it was Christmas eve quiet, we were supposed to be sleeping when we heard angry whispers. I had been sneaking into my sisters’ room almost nightly. My five-star accommodations made of a sleeping bag on top of fluffy-down bedcovers on top of a vacuumed floor and memory foam pillows was comfortable enough to help me silently cry myself to sleep without body aches from depression. But that night after we heard Dad tell Mom, “Now you can ride around chasing as many dicks as you want!” My sister got down on the floor next to me and cried herself to sleep on my chest.

That entire year my parents had planned to drive Mecca to college in our camper and tow her car on our trailer. Their divorce altered our universe. Scattered our brains. My sister turned into a mad genius. She started leaving half empty alcohol bottles- filling our parents with panic. They scheduled interventions forcing renewed care for someone other than themselves. Empathy pumped them full of love. It spilled out like sickness. My parents coddled Mecca, as if she was a newborn. Watching each-other from the edges, waiting for a chance to prove themselves like ex-lovers or cons.

If they were anyone else, I would have reported them. Sneaking, peeking around corners. Listening through doors for a comfortable silence that encouraged breaking and entering. Then, startled- after they caught a glimpse of an occupant other than my sister- they would jump back or run out. Eventually the visits became a necessary part of their daily routine, like a kiss, a but grab, playful gasp or retaliatory love tap before saying “not in front of the children!” who, whether hidden or in plain sight learn their routines from those moments.

My sister splintered our parents like that demon wormwood, from that C.S. Lewis book- screwing a feeling that forced them to run to each other for help. Then eventually, after she began smiling more than lying, crying, and moping, the tape holding them together loosened and my mother began separating.

Now that I think about it, midnight had always been a time for us to separate in peace. Ending our movie nights, occasional game nights-AND impromptu dance parties-saying our goodnights and although under the same roof-going our separate ways. It’s strangely disturbing how a person can reminisce and always find symbolism signaling the beginning of the end.

Unless they were traveling on business, my parents never came home after midnight. EVER. The first time my mother did, it was five minutes after. It wasn’t mentioned because five minutes in the adult world of bladder, and family issues was on time. Then a week later, she did it again, but this time she fell up the stairs and knocked out a tooth.

Dad told her” You look exactly how you’ve been acting-like a child.”

After her dental surgery, she started coming home during what my sister called “well after midnight.” And said, “Mom is digging a hole she can’t cry her way out of.”

But this time, it was our dad who cried, on the Saturday before she was supposed to leave for college, Dad woke us up and told us he was moving out.

My sister asked, “can I have one last midnight?” He sighed, looked over his shoulder at mom, who seemed angry that he hadn’t already gone and stared, for an answer.

Abusing the moment, my sister blurted “I’ll take care of everything. Snacks and all.”

Dad would usually take us to get the snacks that time of year because he didn’t want us driving through fog and icy roads. He used to say, “These roads and that weather are a recipe for disaster in small towns like ours”, and “Nobody ever grows up the way they should around here.” I never knew what that last statement meant. I wish I still didn’t.

My dad put on one of those- one more day until vacation smiles-determined not to have any lingering regrets and said, “Sure honey.”

Mom grumbled “Goddammit.” Then tantrum walked away and slammed her bedroom door.

Dad kissed us and said, “I’ll be back tonight.” He walked out and we listened to his slow hesitant footsteps. Hollow and lingering like he was trying to hold onto the joy and life that was escaping him.

My sister sat up and said “There’s nothing worse than a dream you can’t wake up from. And the only way to fix it is to make everyone live your nightmare.”

Mecca had a natural beauty. I used to think it was weird to think of my sister that way, but she really was beautiful. She was perfectly proportioned, her skin was smooth as ironed linen and her teeth were bone white, almost blinding and fake looking, like a celebrity's. People used to approach her all the time about modeling. I used to joke with her that she could be one if she wore make-up.

She would say “ Naw Bro-tee, people need to see what their getting. It’s a lost art.”

So that night when I saw her putting on make-up, I asked. “What the hell are you doing?”

She said, “Whoa Mom, I’m putting on my happy face for tonight.” She finished with her lipstick, gave me a sticky kiss on my forehead, laughed at the red lip-print and said, “No one can ever say you don’t think before you speak.”

While she was out, she called and asked Mom if she wanted anything special. I only know this because it was the question she always asked while browsing the aisles on snack runs. And I heard my mother’s response, “no. Just my usual”, which was Boston Baked Beans and a Pepsi. That was at 3pm, so I knew she would be home around 4pm so we would have enough time to finish our full line up of movies.

When she didn’t show up, we made all the usual phone calls. Friends; old, new, and ex. None had seen or heard from her that day, but all gave the standard “let us know any way we can help”, parting statement. We called her therapist, then finally the police department. The police told us we had to wait 24 hours before a person could officially be considered missing. But in our small town, help and advice is given even if it isn’t wanted, and the impromptu search parties organized by the town jumpstarted the investigation. The Police put out descriptions, last time seen, what she was wearing, age-they even passed out pictures.

The last thing I heard Dad say was “KAREN!” Before he flew out the house, and sped, skidding towards to the pond that would be frozen by midnight. Aunt Karen was our father’s sister who drove her car into the pond on the night weather forecasts said it would freeze, which was also the night after her parents said they were getting divorced.

My Dad froze to death trying to open Mecca’s car and pull her out. They both were pronounced dead at midnight.

Grizzly Gentleman.