Elizabeth Finn: Brother's Keeper

The scholarship is for the University’s School of Music, Theatre and Dance— “dance” being the operative word in my case. And it is all subject to my achieving high academic marks during my senior year of high school. Sara naturally refuses to own any interest whatsoever in a possible career path of her own, destined to worry her parents into an early grave. But were they paying attention, they might find it just a bit too convenient that the University of Michigan has a strong medical program, and they happen to have a daughter more than capable of going down that path. When it comes to Sara, there is never any way to know for sure. She is determined to pave her own road, and I have no doubt that she will pave it in gold; like I said, it is just her style.

I still think of myself as a plain Jane to Sara’s radiant personality. And while the continuity and comfort of her friendship have allowed my once introverted personality to emerge into what has become a more outgoing sarcastic persona, she is perhaps the only person in the world who sees me as anything other than the same shy and plain girl of seven years prior—the sarcasm and wit saved for our ramblings alone. At least I dress in clean and somewhat fashionable clothes now.

My father is still knee-deep in the love of his life—drink. But at least he is bestowed with the honor of town drunk to show for it. And with his prestigious title come the drones of wannabe inebriates. This means when he comes home drunk and mean, he often doesn’t come home alone. He brings home the drunkest and meanest soul mates he can muster in this small little town of ours. And it is times such as these when the ever-present pseudo-family becomes my lifeline. I have taken to spending many nights at Sara’s house these days. The Harringtons know of my father’s drinking habits—as does anyone within a fifty-mile radius of town—and they never mind my company, even when I don’t get there until the late hours of the night.

Logan now lives on his own in an apartment building his parents own in downtown Allendale—one of many real estate investments they are part of. He commutes to Michigan State University in Grand Rapids, which is to be his Alma mater . He is, of course, still very crushable. He’s chosen to walk in his father’s footsteps and is now in his third year of law school after graduating magna cum laude in his undergraduate studies. He is still top of his class in graduate school as all little Harringtons are, including his younger sister. And he is even interning with the DA’s office in Grand Rapids. He is already receiving a great deal of interest from law firms across the country, but it is Brighton and Brinks in Denver, Colorado where he intends to plant his roots. They extended an early offer and Logan didn’t hesitate to accept. The contract has been signed, sealed, and delivered, and our little burg will have to suffer the loss of our most handsome resident little more than a week after he completes his graduate studies. He has always intended to move to Denver after he graduates, and the offer from Brighton was too good to pass up. They are a well-respected and prestigious firm; Logan will fit right in. He only knows how to succeed. He is driven in a way most people could never imagine. It would be easy for Logan to rely on his good looks and charm to get him through life, but he cares little for anything so trivial and focuses all his energy on his education and, moreover, his career. His focus is singular, and it will be the thing that elevates him quickly in life; of this, I have no doubt.

His girlfriend, on the other hand, is a different story. Amy. She is the anti-Christ and everything self-conscious young girls dread. She is blonde, blue eyed, voluptuous, and curvy in all the right places. I may have the blue eyes, but nothing else about me comes close to her physical perfection. I am boyishly built, undersized in all the wrong places and have the most boring, plain, reddish-brown hair. I keep it perfunctorily long to make it easy to pull back in a bun, but otherwise there is nothing impressive about it. Amy’s personality is the complete opposite of Logan’s. She is good at playing nice with people, but that’s all it is, playing. She's selfish, and if I were guessing, she likes Logan more for the way he looks on her arm than who he is. She sees him as a ticket to the sweet life, somewhere bigger and better than she can achieve on her own. It is impossible to see why he likes her so much; well, actually, from his point of view, it is quite obvious what he sees in her. Sara can’t stand the idea of having her as a sister-in-law one day and loves making snide comments behind her back, which I am always more than happy to second.

Sara is also kept busy with school herself and helping her parents around their lake house at nearby Spring Lake. They are restoring the neglected property and pay Sara top dollar for her help. I occasionally go with her to help out but have a weekend waitressing job that limits the time I can spend there. And it is on an Indian summer weekend two months into our senior year of high school I find what is to be my new sanctuary.

Working the weekend shift at the Little Tuscan Bistro is how this poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks keeps herself in decent, albeit generic, clothes. That being said, this is no ordinary bistro. There is nothing Tuscan, little, or bistro about this place. But as is the case in small town USA, a title can go a long way in convincing us that we really do have the finer things in life.

On Friday nights, we usually finish up around ten or shortly thereafter, and this night is no exception. At ten fifteen, I duck out the back door and begin the short bicycle ride toward the mobile home park that my father and I live in. Riding a bicycle isn’t my first choice of transportation, but it is the only means I can afford. I try to convince myself I look like every other health-savvy suburbanite by choosing the green alternative over the oil-sucking monster that is the automobile, but quite frankly, I’d take a car any day over my old bent-spoke, sad-looking bicycle with its over-worn seat that threatens to impale my tush should I hit a pothole. But alas, I am a bike dweller. And while I may be well on my way to owning my own car, thanks to good tip money, unfortunately, “well on my way” isn’t the same thing as “there”. On occasion, my father will allow me to take his car when he doesn’t need it, but that is never on a weekend night. His old beat up car is reserved for his recreational drunk driving only on weekend nights. Fortunately, Sara has a car, and I’m not forced to show up for class on a bicycle too often. Though I must admit, I wear my best exercise costume on those days when I must to drive the point home; I’m not poor, people, just healthy, damn it!

When I arrive at our trailer, it is dark and empty. There is always concern upon arriving home to our old, ugly trailer that my father will be there, spewing venom for words and ready to hate me for being alive. It is early, though, and often on the weekends, he feels the need to congregate with his folk until at least midnight. I’m tired and filthy from playing waitress for the night; after all, it is Friday and spaghetti a la tomato paste was on the menu. After showering and changing, I crawl into bed for what I hope will be a quiet, uneventful night.

I have become very adept at dodging my encounters with my father. He hasn’t landed a blow for years, and while I’m sure many have suspected him of physical abuse, they’ll be hard pressed to prove it by me, and I will be no help to them. I have no relatives, at least none who would claim my father, and I know full well that means a juvenile home for me if his little temper ever surfaces to meet the public eye. Not even Sara understands how truly violent he can be. She knows as much as I tell her, which is little. It’s no secret that he is a less than great man. Fortunately for him, cuts, bruises, and even the occasional concussion can easily be explained away—if he can just remember to pace himself. Social Services has a short memory, and active young girls have accidents all the time. Besides, he is a surprisingly good liar when it comes to talking with Social Services.