My cousin Doug and I have two things in common: A set of grandparents and the fact that we both breathe air. Those common denominators do not add up to a whole lot of common ground and once or twice a year when I am forced to see him our stilted conversations are punctuated with many long, awkward pauses. I used to feel bad about this until I realized that my younger brother, who can converse with a stone, can’t talk to Doug either, mainly because Doug does not speak.
At family gatherings Doug is usually hammered when he arrives and he sits in the corner drinking Jack Daniels and staring moodily into space. He answers manufactured questions about his well-being with monosyllable and continues to drink through dinner generally passing out before dessert, at which point several cousins 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 our family’s pattern, that no one even comments on it anymore. But then at a recent family gathering at my house Doug’s personality was so different, and his mood so expansive, that we had no choice but to discuss it.
My younger brother and I were in the backyard playing “Fetch” with Ali. As is our habit he was drinking Diet Pepsi and I was drinking Diet Coke and we were trying to convince each other of the superiority of our respective soft drinks. That’s when Doug bounded into the yard and gave me a hearty bear hug, so startling me that I instantly went rigid, not knowing how to respond.
My brother reacts to awkward social situations way better than I do, so when Doug hugged him, he was ready. This led to an extended hug with much manly backslapping. My brother looked at me, and mouthed, “WTF?” I shrugged, eyes wide, mesmerized by the unlikely scene.
As my brother tried to back away Doug gripped him with one hand and then caught me with the other and dragged me 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, still hugging.
“We couldn’t be,” I said finally extricating myself.
Doug finally released us. “I want you two to think of me as the big brother you never had,” he said.
“I have a big brother,” I said shortly.
“I have two,” said my younger brother.
Doug slapped my back. “Don’t you have room in your life for another?” he asked, beaming.
Just then Ali ran over; Doug has never been a Dog Person, an unforgivable sin in our family, but today was different. “How’s my darling Ali?” said Doug, kneeling down. “Has my favorite doggie woggie got a kiss-wissy for her Cousin Dougie wuggie?”
While Doug was French kissing Ali my brother and I excused ourselves.
“‘Darling’?” I asked
“‘Dougie wuggie’?” said my brother.
“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.