The Beginning of the End
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. The clock says it’s only five pm and I realize I must have fallen asleep doing homework again. I check who’s calling and sigh as I realize the mess I’m about to have to deal with.
As soon as I answer the phone the operator begins the same monotoned speech as always, "this is Dawson County Police Department. Inmate, Merle Dixon would like to speak to you. To accept this call, please press one. To speak…” I don’t even allow the voice to finish his spiel before I press the required button and wait to hear my brother’s voice come onto the line.
“Amber!” Merle cries, very clearly intoxicated by his slurred speech, “I knew you’d answer. You always come through for your big bro.” I roll my eyes and try to sound as little annoyed as possible.
“What’d you do this time Merle?” I ask, the annoyance clear in my voice regardless of my attempt to hide it. He chuckles, “they got the wrong guy I swear it. I would never do these crazy things they’re accusing me of.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I sigh, “how much is bail?” He’s silent for a little longer than I’m comfortable with. “Merle….” I start. “It’s nothing crazy, don’t worry.” Every time he tells me not to worry I can feel my blood pressure rising.
Merle has been in and out of jails his whole life. He’s been a bit of a problem child ever since he could walk. I don’t blame him though, not entirely. Our childhood hasn’t exactly been a fairytale. We’ve all had our fair share with the police, Merle just more frequent than my other brother Daryl and I.
Our mother died when I was a little under a year old. A fire she caused with a bottle of wine and a lit cigarette almost killed the both of us, but the fire department arrived in time to save me. My mother wasn’t as lucky. It hurts that I never got to know her but from my brothers’ stories I don’t think I missed out on much. They say she was always either drunk or high and if she wasn’t either, it was best to just leave her alone entirely.
My father isn’t much better. He’s a hardcore drunk with the occasional drug use thrown in. The more he drinks the angrier he gets, and since Merle has left, it’s just been Daryl and I dealing with his wrath.
My brothers and I have a pretty large age difference. I’m only eighteen, whereas Daryl is thirty-three and Merle is thirty-nine. Daryl has only stayed home as long as he has because he doesn’t want to leave me behind to deal with our father alone. In all honesty I’d rather see him go off and find his happiness, but no matter how many times I suggest it he shuts the idea down as soon as it's brought up.
“Merle, please just tell me the damage so I can start figuring out what to sell.” My emotions get the better of me and I feel myself getting choked up a bit from my own words. I love my brother with all of my heart, but he doesn’t understand the after-math of our father finding out when I bail him out of jail. Especially when the majority of the things I need to sell to get Merle out, are things of my fathers’. I’ll take a beating for my brothers any day, but it’s something so avoidable that sometimes I contemplate leaving Merle to deal with his own consequences.
It’s a while before he answers me and when he does he no longer has that cocky air in his voice. “It’s twenty-thousand. I- they think I stole a car.” I sit upright, leaving my heart still lying on my bed.
“Please tell me that was a very poorly timed joke,” The desperation evident in my voice. He went back to silence and I could no longer contain the pain I felt deep in my chest. The tears flowed down my cheeks and I put my hand over my mouth to try to contain my sobs.
“I’m sorry.” Merle quietly says, breaking me out of my own emotion. I take a moment to collect myself before I respond, “I know you are Merle,” I say gently.
I think my brother could commit arson and I’d still find a way to forgive him. All he has to do is say he’s sorry and my heart just aches to help him. I know better than anyone the pain Merle feels that drives him to these extremes. If I could take away the years of misery both of my brothers have suffered I would sacrifice anything in the world, myself included. They mean more to me than life itself.
I take a deep breath and stand up. I begin to pace, knowing it won’t really help me think, but there’s no way I can stay seated any longer.
“Listen,” I start, “I’m gonna talk to Daryl and see what I can figure out. Don’t worry big bro, I’ll find a way.” I hear him sigh over the phone and I can’t tell if it’s of relief or sadness.
“I love you little sis,” he finally says. “I love you more.” I respond, and hang up the phone. I throw it onto my bed and try to compose myself. If my dad were to see me upset he’d find a way to get me to fess up that Merle’s made his way back into jail.
I grab a tissue off my dresser and dab my eyes as practiced hundreds of times before. I’ve perfected the art of covering up my misery. I’ve only been doing it for eighteen years now.
