Separated At Birth
Oh come on, really? You can't be serious- I mean, I heard her. She said it was 5, not 6. Why do you think she said 6? Cause that's stupid, it's completely idiotic and if it's true then we're completely screwed, ok? Like totally shit outta luck. So why don't you call her or text her or bloody well send up the bat signal and see if you can get her to confirm your story because I am not going to take the heat on this one if we miss the plane. Can you do that? Can you make that happen or do I have to do it for you, like every other single thing in your life. Really. You are unbelievable. A fully grown man and you can't get your shit in order- why are we even having this conversation? Just do it, do something, do anything. DO IT!
Grant studies the phone in his hand, too tired to respond. Every year it's the same thing. Home for the horror-days. He stayed away last year, took extra shifts at the bar and made hand over fist in pity tips from the barflys who have nowhere else to be but on their respective stools, kncking back cheap draft and blended whisky. Much simpler and far less grief. The whole idea of living five provinces away is to create a tangible barrier to ease of travel. No spontaneous family visits, no expectation of Friday night dinners, trips to the grandparents, awkward coffee talks with passive aggressive digs about his glaring lack of girlfriend, indexed pension and potential for grandkids. And that's just his sister.
Grant, did you hear me? Grant. GRANT! Vickie barks at him, causing Grant to snap his head up and fling his phone out of his hand, cracking the screen into a hundred pieces. Perfect. Now he doesn't have to pretend to call their mom to verify their schedule. Score one for the mute twin. It's moments like this he seriously questions their genetic coding. Technically he's the baby, born 8 minutes after her. Fraternal twins born in different years, ring out the old, wring in the new. As a result he ended up either a year behind or the smallest kid in the group. Vickie ruled him from day one. At 17 Grant joined the circus, spent 4 years setting up tents, rigging Russian acrobats and American daredevils. After the motorcycle accident he came back north but stayed out of arm's reach. December looms large with anxiety filling his gut. Two more days then the sweet, sane respite of Toronto where he can live alone in public and disappear. Relief can't come soon enough.
Grant studies the phone in his hand, too tired to respond. Every year it's the same thing. Home for the horror-days. He stayed away last year, took extra shifts at the bar and made hand over fist in pity tips from the barflys who have nowhere else to be but on their respective stools, kncking back cheap draft and blended whisky. Much simpler and far less grief. The whole idea of living five provinces away is to create a tangible barrier to ease of travel. No spontaneous family visits, no expectation of Friday night dinners, trips to the grandparents, awkward coffee talks with passive aggressive digs about his glaring lack of girlfriend, indexed pension and potential for grandkids. And that's just his sister.
Grant, did you hear me? Grant. GRANT! Vickie barks at him, causing Grant to snap his head up and fling his phone out of his hand, cracking the screen into a hundred pieces. Perfect. Now he doesn't have to pretend to call their mom to verify their schedule. Score one for the mute twin. It's moments like this he seriously questions their genetic coding. Technically he's the baby, born 8 minutes after her. Fraternal twins born in different years, ring out the old, wring in the new. As a result he ended up either a year behind or the smallest kid in the group. Vickie ruled him from day one. At 17 Grant joined the circus, spent 4 years setting up tents, rigging Russian acrobats and American daredevils. After the motorcycle accident he came back north but stayed out of arm's reach. December looms large with anxiety filling his gut. Two more days then the sweet, sane respite of Toronto where he can live alone in public and disappear. Relief can't come soon enough.
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