Week 7: A Thing I've Never Seen

I met her five years ago, not knowing how much she would take from me, only dreaming of how much she might give.

Jake came home from the craft store that day, white poster board in his hand and cluelessness on his face. I took the board from him.

“Let me handle it,” I said.

From the pink and purple flower bouquet Jake had bought earlier, I gathered those were her favorite colors and set to work with matching Crayola markers. I drew her name in an arc across the top half in alternating pink and purple bubble letters, pausing to ask Jake, “Danielle with two L’s and an E at the end, right?” He nodded, eyes glued to the Formula 1 race he was watching with Dad.

“Hoco?” went on the bottom half of the poster board in bubble letters again, but this time outlined in red with blue diagonal stripes inside. Mom gave me purple butterfly stickers to put in the corners. The pièce de résistance.

When the time came, Jake and I stood in the closed garage, me with the sign, him with the flowers, waiting for her. His eyes went wide every time we heard a car pass.

She was twenty minutes late (apparently it runs in her family too), and when she pulled into the driveway, Mom opened the garage door to reveal the two of us. She was supposed to be surprised, but I don’t think she was.

Her face lit up when she stepped out of her car and saw Jake, but I caught the falter in her steps when her eyes landed on me. Perhaps I was the bigger surprise.

“I made the sign,” I blurted. She smiled and nervously twisted her dark hair around her finger. I remember she wore skinny jeans that day, and they made her legs look really long and thin. I wondered if Jake noticed them too. Her legs, not the jeans.

When he handed her the flowers she said, “Aww, thanks Jake!” and stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck even though she wasn’t that much shorter than him. I just stood there, still holding the sign. I’d never seen my brother hug a girl before.

.  .  .

Only five of us sit at the table for raclette. We added the extra plank of wood to make the table bigger for when guests come over, but we probably wouldn’t have needed it.

Dinner passes almost in silence. Usually, Dad and Jake talk or the Grandmas ask Jake about the job he’s starting in Pennsylvania once he graduates next year or Mom talks about how exciting it is that Jake and Danielle can finally move in together. But they’re in New York with her family, not here, and I don’t have a job or a girlfriend, so we all sit and burn our tongues on potatoes and cheese.

When we finish, I help Mom clean up the table, and Dad opens the champagne. We all go downstairs to watch Dinner for One, the same procedure as every year, except this time it’s not.

Grandma changes the channel to the countdown in Berlin. One hour left. I start to drift off on the couch. We go back upstairs and play cards to pass the time and stay awake. The other Grandma hasn’t played this one before. She wins with five minutes to spare before the new year.

We all go back downstairs and count down from ten with the man in Berlin, but it’s live TV, so it lags, and we miss the real new year by several seconds.

After we clink glasses and Mom drinks my champagne, Dad goes outside to light the single box of fireworks we bought at Aldi the day before. We usually have more, we always have more, but Dad didn’t want to do the rockets without Jake. It’s safer with two people, and none of the rest of us know how to do it.

The Grandmas stand on the patio while Mom and I go up-upstairs to watch from the bedroom window. We can see the whole town from here, the sky above lit up with streaks of green and gold and red, our ears filled with the cracks and squeals of rockets. It sounds like a warzone. When the fireworks fade and the smoke they leave behind blocks the neighboring houses from view, it will look like a warzone too.

Mom takes a video of the chaos to send to Jake even though their 2020 doesn’t start for another six hours.

“Tell him happy New Year from me,” I say before she hits send. She looks up, the light from her phone illuminating the grim smile on her face. We both realize the same thing at the same time.

We’ve never seen a new year without my brother before.

*Disclaimer: Jake and Danielle are pseudonyms