Evening

Slouching over the plate of spaghetti balanced between the knees of her crossed legs, Alice intently watched "Spin and Marty" while her older brother, Bruce, wiped up the last of his spilled milk and headed toward the kitchen for a refill. As he jumped over the coffee table and walked in front of her, Alice, mouth stuffed with buttery pasta, waved her empty glass and mumbled a barely discernible "Me too".

"You can get your own; you ain't crippled. Besides, why should I do you a favor? When d'ya do me any?"

Still waving her glass: "Pretty please?"

"What a pain," Bruce muttered as he snatched the glass from her hand, stomping off, calling over his shoulder, "Promise you'll holler if Annette..."

"Promise," Alice said, automatically crossing her heart. "Hope to die."

When Bruce sauntered back into the living room he carried one glass of milk; Annette and Bobby were finishing their "Cartoon Time" introduction. Passing behind Alice, he yanked loose her ponytail ribbon and snarled, "I knew you wouldn't call, you rotten little shit."

Pretending not to notice anything except Bruce's return, Alice reached across the table, smiled, and took the glass of milk. Saluting him with it: "Thanks brother."

"Like hell!" Bruce bellowed as he lunged to retreive the booty, causing Alice to jerk her hand away, spilling milk all over the table, dislodging her plate, and sending butter sauce dripping down her calf into the back of her tennis shoe, soaking the heel of her ped.

"Now look what you've done," she whined, her chin beginning to pucker. "You're mean. You're a big mean..."

"Shh. You'll miss the whole cartoon." And Bruce tried stifling a laugh that persisted and came out his nose.

As she licked the tears from her upper lip, Alice picked up the few remaining spaghetti strands and flung them as hard as she could at Bruce's face, grazing his ear, landing one on his shoulder, another on the front of his clean plaid shirt. She let out a sharp, forced laugh and turned to run.

"Real funny, Alice," Bruce fired, diving across the table, grabbing her ponytail, pulling her cheek into the milk. "You never know when to quit, do you. Say uncle. C'mon...say uncle."

Alice screamed and cried as she beat frantically at Bruce with her small, hard fists, rarely connecting because he held her at arm's length and danced from side to side. When she finally broke loose and sank her teeth into his shin, he pounced on top of her and slapped her plump thighs until they were red and fingerprinted, until their father came in from the patio to pull him off.

"Jesus Christ Bruce," he said as he grabbed the ten year old by the back of his belt and hauled him into the air, the boy's legs dragging, his arms straining to get in one last slap. "When the hell are you going to grow up? Go to your room and think about..."

"But Dad it wasn't..."

"Don't 'but Dad' me. I don't want to hear another sound out of you except your footsteps leaving this room."

"But it..."

"NOW!"

With head down and shoulders slumped, Bruce obeyed his father while Alice, wiping tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands, walked toward her father's comforting arms.

Later in the evening Bruce crept back into the living room where his sister, mother, and father were seated around the television, not watching: sister coloring, mother doing her nails, father playing cards. Stepping in front of his father he tentatively offered, "It really wasn't all my fault."

"Makes no difference whose fault it was; you're old enough to know better. Why make me tell you this over and over again? I really don't want to have to tell you again: leave your sister alone. For Christ's sake, grow up!"

For a long moment Bruce stood struggling with an argument that would vindicate him, only to have all logic overwhelmed by a pitiful "It just ain't fair", which he blurted out before flopping on the floor directly in front of Alice. She looked up from her book and, after a minute or two, leaned forward, put her hand on his shoulder, and whispered "Sorry". Bruce shrugged her hand away.

The room was quiet except for television chatter and the sounds of cards being shuffled and tapped on the table. Bruce silently watched Life of Riley while his mother filed and buffed her long nails; Alice sharpened her stubby crayons and colored flowers while her father cheated at solitaire. Every few minutes Alice looked up and stared at Bruce's back. Finally, she asked him to move.

"You ain't watchin'. Why you always buggin' me Alice?"

"I'm warning you Bruce: don't make me talk to you again. Start up and you can march right back to your room."

"You know dear," Alice's mother said to her, "It really wouldn't hurt you to move, now would it. After all, you aren't exactly watching. Why don't you just go back to your coloring and leave Bruce alone. Be nice."

"But there was absolutely no reason for Bruce to sit right in front of her-- was there Bruce--except to be annoying. So Bruce, you be nice: move out of your sister's way."

"Honey, you really shouldn't always take Alice's side. You have a tendency to do that you know. It's just not fair to Bruce, now is it, if you always assume he's in the wrong, and you do always assume..."

"Well he's old enough..."

"But by always taking her side you're spoiling her. It's really not good for her to think..."

"I don't spoil her; you just won't let Bruce grow up."

"Now Doug, you know you always jump to her defense as if she could do no wrong, as if Bruce..."

"The boy is old enough to know better. He doesn't even try. Christ, if I left it up to you..."

"What do you mean IF you left it up to me? You know I..."

"OH FOR CHRIST'S SAKE JANICE."

"There's no reason to raise your voice; I'm right here."

"Well goddammit, let's not go through all this again. I'm fed up with..."

"Daddy, I'll move. It's okay. Bruce don't have..."

"You stay right where you are! Listen Janice, I'm getting damn sick and tired of this same old routine. I get two goddam nights off and I don't want to spend them listening to you harp about..."

"I'd like to know why whenever I have something to say it's harping but when you..."

"I'm just tired of hearing what a lousy father I am. Christ, you're like a goddam broken record. I'm sick of hearing how you gotta work 'cause..."

"I didn't say a thing about..."

"You would've. I saved you the trouble."

"Next time--don't bother. I mean it. Don't do me any favors, not that you usually..."

"Oh shit. Here it comes."

"Well it does wear a little thin Douglas, you always acting like you're the only one who has a right to be tired, the only..."

"Jesus, give it a rest Janice."

"Why do act like you're the only one who does anything around here when you know I work just as hard as you AND take care of the kids with..."

"I'm warning you Janice--NOT TONIGHT."

"Don't threaten me; I don't like it. And I don't like your attitude. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know."

"I'm telling you--I'm NOT in the mood for..."

"I don't really care what you're NOT in the mood for. I mean it. You grace us with your presence when it damn well suits you then you expect everyone to bow and fetch like you were royalty or something. Well I..."

"You're the one who acts like a friggin' duchess for Christ's sake."

"I can't work all day and come home to this. I just can't. I wasn't put here to wait on you hand, leg, and..."

"When the hell did you ever wait on me? Shit. You spend more time doing your goddam nails than anything else."

"I carry more than my share around here. You know I do."

"Yeah, sure. One of the great martyrs of the century, that's you. You're so goddam overworked. Sit on your ass all day drinking coffee and call..."

"I work damn hard and you damn well know it!"

"I'd sure as hell trade."

"Any time Douglas. Feel free."

"I wish to Christ I could," Douglas said, folding his arms across his chest, shifting his attention from his wife to the cards laid out on the table. "I wish..." but he left the thought unfinished when he noticed the nine of hearts up, the ten of clubs open.

"I said you're welcome to trade any time Douglas."

"I heard you," Douglas remarked, taking out the five of diamonds and scanning the cards for other moves. Finding none, he shuffled the remaining cards, went through them three at a time, reshuffled, went through them two at a time until he found something to play.

Janice watched him: watched as he lightly tapped his index and middle fingers to his tongue twice with each card he turned over. "If you think my job is so unimportant," she said, rolling a bottle of nail polish between her palms, "I could always quit. I mean, if you think we could get along on..."

"Dammit!" Douglas snapped, slapping the cards down on the table. "We'd get along just fine if you didn't spend money like it was going out of style."

"I earn..."

"You spend my goddam money like it grows on trees then act like I'm some friggin' cheapskate because I can't afford to get Bruce a..."

"If you wanted something for yourself you'd find the money."

"Bullshit! And don't waste your breath feeding me any more garbage about your great sacrifices for the kids. You don't spend your evenings sitting around the house playing tiddlywinks with Alice."

"You have no right to..."

"Your goddam mother sees more of your kids than you do."

"That's not..."

"So just don't bother with the set-upon wife and mother routine with me-- I KNOW BETTER."

"You know nothing Douglas."

"Try me Janice."

Janice glared silently at Douglas for a moment then looked at the nail polish held tightly in her hand. "You think there aren't things I could say?" she said as she set the bottle on the end table and began arranging her emory board, orange stick, Q-tips, and cuticle scissors in a neat line. "You know there are. But let's leave well-enough alone."

"Go ahead Janice, try me."

"I don't want to try you Doug," Janice said softly, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "I don't want to."

They both sat motionless for a few minutes, not looking at each other, then Douglas reshuffled the deck for another game and Janice began carefully applying the first of several coats of pale coral nail polish while Bruce sat rigid in front of the television and Alice, trying extra hard to stay within the lines, colored the bearded iris in her North American Flowers coloring book.