My cousin Doug and I have three things in common: A set of grandparents, a last name, and the fact that we both breathe air. Those three common denominators do not add up to a whole lot of common ground and on those two or three times per year when I am actually forced to be in the same room as Doug our excruciating conversations tend to be stilted with many long, awkward pauses. I don’t feel too badly about this because my younger brother, who can converse with a stone, can’t talk to Doug either, mainly because Doug simply does not speak.
At family gatherings Doug is already hammered when he arrives and he stares moodily into space, obviously wishing he were dead. He answers manufactured questions about his well-being with monosyllable and continues to drink through dinner, rapidly progressing from silent to sullen and passing out before dessert, at which point several family members pour him into the backseat of his car and his wife drives him home.
Doug’s usual pattern is so well established, and so ingrained into the lore of our family, that no one really thinks about it, let alone discusses it, anymore. But then at a recent family gathering Doug’s personality was so different, and his mood so expansive, that we had no choice but to discuss it.
My brother and I were standing on the back porch playing “Fetch” with my new puppy. Since it was lunchtime he was drinking Diet Pepsi and I was drinking Diet Coke and, as we do, we were trying to convince the other of the superiority of our respective soft drinks. That’s when Doug bounded onto the porch and gave me a bear hug, so startling me that I instantly went rigid, not knowing how to respond.
My brother reacts to these events way better than me, so when Doug hugged him, he actually hugged back. This led to an extended hug with much manly backslapping. My brother looked at me, and mouthed, ”What the fuck?” as he extricated himself. I shrugged, mesmerized by the unlikely scene.
As my brother tried to back away Doug grabbed him with one hand and then caught me him with his other hand and dragged us both in for a group hug. “So good to see you guys,” said Doug, still hugging. My brother and I exchanged a glance and instinctively we both leaned in to sniff Doug’s breath but we did not smell Jack Daniels. Now it was my brother’s turn to shrug.
“I wish we were closer,” said Doug, letting us go. “I want you two to think of me as the big brother you never had.”
“I have a big brother,” I said shortly. “I have two,” said my younger brother. Doug reached over and tousled my hair. “Don’t you have room in your life for another?” he asked, beaming.
Just then the puppy ran by; Doug has never been a Dog Person, an unforgivable sin in our family, but today was different. “What a darling puppy!” said Doug, kneeling down. “Has da widdle doggie woggie got a kiss-wissy for her Cousin Dougie wuggie?”
While Doug was French kissing the puppy my brother and I excused ourselves.
“‘Darling’?” said my brother? “‘Dougie wuggie’?”
“I don’t think he’s drunk,” I said. “he usually reeks of Jack Daniels.”
“Maybe he’s medicated?” said my brother wonderingly.
“If he is, I want some,” I said.
Just then my Cousin’s wife walked by. She looked tired. “He’s switched to Vodka,” she said shortly, divining our unasked question. “He mixes it with Red Bull.” She shook her head. “It’s exhausting,” she said. “I want my other husband back,” and she walked away.