~Prologue: Analysis~

It burned my throat so much that I cried. The excruciating pain in my stomach pulsated throughout my body. My hands firmly gripped the rim of the toilet as I hurled once more, leaving that acidic aftertaste. But when the faint scent of coffee entered my nose, I realized Dad was there. I would have turned around to explain how my day came to this pathetic scene, but I threw up some more instead. By now, there wasn’t much left of my throat, nor was there any more acid in my stomach. I stayed knelt on the floor, hands still on the toilet rim, and wheezed.

Maybe if I weren’t so immature for my age, I would have learned my lesson to stop raiding Dad’s liquor cabinet every time things didn’t go my way. This sucked like hell. It wasn’t even that I had just been dumped that I had cried before having the ingenious idea to look through Dad’s liquor; it was the fact that I had been dumped without an explanation, and every time I called her, she wouldn’t pick up.

Dad shook his head, his booming voice causing my body to jolt. “How much did you have to drink, Mike?”

I sighed. “How do you know?”

“C’mon, you know me. With family history in mind, Langleys aren’t exactly quick to realize that alcohol is not the solution to all of our problems. Besides, the liquor cabinet is noticeably missing a few bottles of scotch. Did you get dumped?”

I shook my head, amazed and still queasy. “Seriously, how do you know this stuff? And why do you bother asking?”

“Michael, it’s my job to analyze people.” Dad walked over, laughing, and sat next to me. “Did you use a condom?”

If I believed in it, I would say that Dad was the reincarnation of Freud.

He smiled at me and said, “I remember being your age once--believe it or not. Our reasons are different, but you really shouldn’t resort to getting drunk.”

“What were your reasons?” I gagged on the next bottle of beer that came up.

Dad patted my back. “I guess you could call it an existential crisis, but I lived most of my high school life under a dark cloud and without motivation to do anything. I drank like hell and smoked a lot. My parents were always fussy about the way others perceived their children because that reflected on them. Your grandparents pushed your uncle and I, holding us up to golden standards, until we came to detest each other and just broke. I always did what they wanted, but Tom never did; he was the more rebellious one, and we always fought over the little things. I was a wreck until I met your mother.”

Taken aback by his unusual talkativeness, I asked, “Is that why you don’t like Tom?”

“Your uncle doesn’t understand the meaning of happiness and lives for his own sake.”

I took a piece of toilet paper and wiped the corner of my mouth. “But there’s something else. There’s another reason you don’t like Tom.”

Dad ruffled up my hair and then reached over to flush. “That’s a story for another day. Go brush your teeth. Your breath can knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.”

I leaned against the toilet and sighed. “Remember that girl I was kind of dating for the past few months? She dumped me.”

“A blind, senile old man could have predicted that coming.”

When Dad left and I was brushing my teeth, I took time to think about his story.

Tom never came off as a selfish person. He was always kind to me and Kristin and would sacrifice his life for us. He even spoke highly of Dad, patting him on the back for his achievements. It seemed like one-sided jealousy to me. It was strange, but I felt this wasn’t something I should really pry in to. Even if I were a stupid kid, I still had some sense of where to draw the line.

But it was nice we had a chance to talk like this without it ending in a senseless fight.