Max Booth III - We Need to Do Something

“We’re too far away to get a hurricane, sweetie,” Mom says.

Despite all his fear, my brother looks disappointed by this answer. “Really?”

“Yes, baby.”

He shrugs, never defeated. “It could still be an EF5.”

“Okay,” Dad says, in no mood to hear us talk, “that’s enough, Bobby.”

“But I’m just saying—”

“I said knock it off.”

Bobby slumps his head, momentarily beaten, then starts shuffling through his board game collection again. “Can we play Exploding Kittens?”

The three of us answer in unison: “No.”

“Oh, come on! Please?”

“That game takes too long, baby,” Mom said.

“Yeah,” I add, “plus, you don’t even know how to play.”

“I do, too.”

“You can’t even read.”

“ I can read! ”

Dad lets out a growl behind us. It sounds inhuman. “Guys…”

“Mom, tell her I can read!”

“Mel, your brother can read.”

“ See? I told you.” He sticks his tongue out at me, which I respond with by flipping him off. He gasps. “ Mom did you see what Mel— ”

Dad slams a fist against the sink. “— ENOUGH —”

Thunder booms again, rendering us all quiet for a while.

Once, when Bobby was much younger and refusing to eat, Dad grew so frustrated he threw Bobby’s plate across the kitchen. It exploded against a cabinet, SpaghettiOs and shards of plastic flying every direction. We all sat at the table, watching him standing in front of the mess he’d created, breathing heavy, reeking of shame. The silence that followed then is similar to the one that follows now.

Mom takes several deep breaths. A fish gulping for water and only swallowing air. “Okay,” she says, “why don’t we all play Crazy Eights?”

“Not Exploding Kittens?” Bobby says, on the verge of whining again.

“Not right now, honey. But we’ll play Crazy Eights, if you want.”

“Okay…”

I squeeze my fists and dig my nails into my palms until it hurts. I don’t want to play any dumb card game. I don’t want to be here in this bathroom with my family. I don’t want to be trapped here listening to them bicker every couple minutes about things that don’t matter. It’s not my fault they’re unhappy. I didn’t tell them to get married. I didn’t tell them to have children. If they hate each other so much, they should just kill themselves, do the whole world a favor.

This sucks. I need to call Amy. She hasn’t responded to any of my text messages since I got home and worry has started consuming me whole. Everything that has happened… we can’t let these memories exist only in our heads, otherwise we’ll go insane, we’ll lose our goddamn minds. We need to talk about what happened. We need to have a discussion.

I need to know she’s okay.

“When can we leave?” I ask, wondering what would happen if I got up and walked out. Would they try to stop me? Could they? Or would they simply allow me to disappear into the storm, swallowed up by lightning?

“Soon,” she says, zero confidence in her tone. “I bet, by the time we finish this game, the storm will be mostly done.”

“Unless the tornado picks up our house and carries it away,” Bobby says.

“Bobby, shut up,” I say, not quite believing such a thing could happen, but at this point my mental state is open to just about any possibility.

He sticks his tongue out at me again, the little bastard.

“That only happened in TheWizard of Oz ,” Mom says, trying to calm us down.

“It could happen here, too.”

“God,” I say, sighing with exaggerated effect, “you are so dumb.”

Dad takes a swig from his thermos next to the sink. “Goddammit, what did I tell you about talking to your brother like that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Let’s just play this game, okay?” Mom says.

Dad considers, then shakes his head, disgusted. “I ain’t playing shit.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to play. You do whatever you want to do. Bobby? Mel? Come on.”

“Do whatever I want?” He laughs, then keeps laughing, getting louder and louder until he has to double over, nearly spilling the contents of his thermos. “Do whatever I want. Whatever. I. Want. ” He wipes snot from his face with the back of his hand. “Tell me, babe, what is it you think I want to do?”

Mom ignores him and motions for us to join her as he continues laughing.

None of us understand the joke.

We sit on the blanket next to Mom as she shuffles a deck and deals the cards out to each of us. Dad remains leaning against the sink, taking short sips from his thermos, watching our game with absolute disgust. He keeps smacking his lips together. It sounds disgusting. Like something from a swamp discovering life.

Outside, the storm rages on. The rain has gotten so loud we have to shout to make ourselves heard. Wind screams. Every time thunder cracks, we flinch—except for Dad, who no longer seems to care about what’s occurring beyond our house. All of his hatred is focused on my mother. This is not a foreign stare, but never before have we all been confined to such limited quarters while rage inhabited him. None of us could possibly guess how he might lash out.

Come to think about it, I can’t remember a time all four of us had ever found ourselves in the bathroom together. What reason would we possibly have had, except for tonight’s tornado warning? Residential bathrooms like this are built for one person at a time. One door, a shower/tub combo, a toilet, a tiny trash can, a sink and mirror. All of us crammed in here together, the room has never felt so small. The reality of its size burns into my skull. Once sweat locates my flesh, it wastes no time in overextending its welcome. There’s not even a fucking window in here, which might be a blessing considering the storm outside. My stomach spins in knots as I visualize shards of glass flying across the room and entering my flesh.

“Can you please check the weather again?” Bobby asks, about halfway through our first game.

“In a minute.”

“Mom, c’mon, please!”

She sighs, set down her deck of cards, and scoops up her cell phone. She stares at the screen for a moment, without responding, looks at Bobby, back to the phone, then lays it on the floor with the screen facing down. “It says it’s almost done.”

“Really?”

“Yup. We just have to wait a little bit longer.”

Bobby smiles, total relief washing over his pale face. “Whew. I thought it was gonna be an EF5 a second ago.”

“Nope. Just a little thunderstorm, baby. Now, are you going to keep playing or not?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s your turn, dummy.”

Bobby focuses on the cards. Meanwhile, behind him, Dad pulls out his own phone and concentrates on the screen, then clears his throat. “Weird. The weather app on mine says something completely different.”

Bobby whips his head around. “ Is it an EF5? ”

Dad shrugs. “I don’t know about that, but it certainly doesn’t look good.” He licks his lips, enjoying the attention. “There sure is a whole lot of red on the map. Oh, boy…”

Bobby gasps, drops the cards, and hugs his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. “Let me see, let me see, let me see…”

Mom casts Dad an ugly stare. “Goddammit, Robert.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

He smiles. “This is pointless. You think this bathroom’s gonna save us if a big ol’ tornado comes swooping through? You think it’s gonna make any fuckin’ difference at all?”

Bobby points at the bathtub. “But Dad! You’re supposed to take shelter in a basement during tornados and if you don’t have a basement then you’re supposed to hide in the bathtub! We don’t have a basement so that’s what—”