March 14, 2005

It’s been a year and a half since we buried Mom. I moved in with Uncle Jonas and Aunt Margo the day after the funeral. They said it was inappropriate for a child to live by himself, even with a household full of servants. They said I needed to be around my family. They said I shouldn’t be alone. But I am alone. I am as alone now as I was the day I swept the hair away from Mom’s already cold cheek for the last time.

I left everything behind except for my clothes, Dad’s books, and Mom’s photo albums. With Mom and Dad gone, there was nothing left in our house that I wanted, nothing except for Mom’s locket. But it’s not there anymore. Aunt Margo has it. She wore it for the first time at my fifteenth birthday party. When I asked her where she got it, she told me that Mom had given it to her, and the look in her eyes dared me to contradict her. I didn’t.

They bought me a Jag for my fifteenth birthday. Mom had only been dead for a couple of months and they bought me a Jag. I wasn’t even old enough to get my license, so it sat in the garage for a year, but at least I could tell my ‘friends’ that I owned a Jag. Appearances are everything.

Aunt Margo gave me a huge room, in this impersonal mansion that masquerades as my uncle’s house. And she stocked it with every electronic gadget she could find, Pentium X 15Ghz computer, high speed internet connection, Sony Play Station with more games than I could play in ten years, big screen TV, DVD player etc. etc. What do I need all that stuff for? To ‘entertain’ my guests? I never bring my friends here. I soon learned that I was given the room and the ‘toys’ for a reason. They aren’t prepared to accept another ‘child’ into their family, and aside from obligatory appearances at predetermined times, they prefer that I play with my toys and stay invisible. I have no idea why they insisted I move in with them. Maybe it was from some sense of duty or, more likely, a desire to maintain appearances. The caring aunt and uncle take in their poor orphaned nephew. They are masters at maintaining appearances.

We have the perfect household with perfect children. You would never know that there were four boys in this house. The silence is deafening. No wonder Bennett spent so much time with Mom and Dad and I. He had to get away from this place for a while. I’m surprised that Bennett and his brothers aren’t nuts. I guess the fact that they spend more time with the Nanny than with their parents is a good thing. Bennett is such a great kid. All three of them are. Bennett and I had so much fun together in the old days. He would copy everything I did. He even told me straight out, "I wish I were you, Logan." He’s thirteen now, but he still acts like I’m his idol. He doesn’t realize that I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone. I am grateful to have him, though. If it wasn’t for him and Mike and Joe, I would have walked out the door long ago and never looked back.

Jonas said I needed a guardian, but I’m beginning to feel more and more like I’m the guardian. I find myself wanting to protect Bennett and his brothers. I do my best to steer them clear of Margo and Jonas. There’s no way I want any of them sharing a martini evening with Jonas. So far, I’ve managed to deflect Jonas’ attention away from them and onto me. One thing I know for sure, better me than them.

I made the mistake early on of telling Uncle Jonas that I liked english and history.

"Why are you studying history? Focus on math and science. Technology is where it’s at. If you’re going to take over the business, you need to understand that and forget those soft classes."

That’s when our career planning sessions began. Uncle Jonas insists that I meet him in the study every day after his drinking buddies leave. He calls them our accountability sessions, but I call them the ‘Lets Tell Logan How Much He’s Screwing Up’ sessions. With his usual martini in hand, Uncle Jonas talks about his plans for me, about how he will groom me to take over Cale Industries some day.

"Junior, we can’t have the future president of Cale Industries pulling anything other than straight A’s. And we can’t have you playing too much basketball, wasting your evenings and weekends on the court. It’s never going to be your career." He doesn’t care that I have a good chance at winning a scholarship. It’s not like I’ll ever need one.

"Junior, we can’t have you hiding for hours in your room, writing God knows what. You should be out socializing, making contacts, and not with your basketball buddies. They aren’t going anywhere. You should let your aunt introduce you to some fine young men, men you can learn something from." Sons of Uncle Jonas’ business associates, of course.

"By the way, where were you at the last dinner party? I wanted to introduce you to some potential clients. It’s never too early to establish contacts. When will you get a sense of responsibility?"

I can hear the intro now.

"Joe, I’d like to introduce you to Junior, my brother Logan’s son, the irresponsible one."

Uncle Jonas has never once used my name in the course of a regular conversation. He is polite to a fault, but when he calls me Junior, I know that I am not measuring up to his standards. Then there are the nights, after he’s polished off five or ten Martinis, when he does use my name. Those are the nights I wish I never heard my name again.

"Logan, I don’t know why your father decided to give you his name. You are nothing like him. I doubt that you will ever be able to fill his shoes." Despite the alcohol, or maybe because of it, it’s during these times that I know he isn’t hiding how he feels. I want to tell him to shut up, but I never do. I just sit there, accepting one demeaning comment after another, while he drinks his way into an alcoholic oblivion.

The next morning when I deliver his Bloody Mary, it’s like it never happened. "Good morning, Junior. I trust you slept well." He says with his perfectly modulated voice, the previous night completely forgotten.

I’ve tried my best to please Uncle Jonas. I let Aunt Margo introduce me to those ‘fine young men’, and he was right. I learned a lot from them, mostly about fast cars and girls. I learned that if you want to maintain your status, then the appropriate vehicle is a necessity. If you want to catch a girl, just drive the right car, push the right buttons, turn on the charm, and she’s yours. I’ve certainly perfected that in the past year.

I even took Uncle Jonas’ advice and loaded up on math, physics and computer science this semester. I’ve only got one soft course left on my schedule, English, and that one’s there only because it’s mandatory. Science is fascinating, I’m pulling A’s, but I can’t help feeling that I’ve somehow made the wrong decision. My English instructor says I’ve got a talent for writing. He thinks I should be writing for the school paper. He even suggested that I consider studying journalism in college. That would go over like a lead balloon with Uncle Jonas. I can hear him now. ‘Muckraking is not an appropriate career for a Cale.’ How am I supposed to make these decisions? Sometimes, I feel like I’m losing the person that I’m supposed to be. I’m trying so hard to please Uncle Jonas, but I can never get it right. I’m either doing too much or not enough. I feel like my priorities are all screwed up. I have no idea what is right anymore. I’m finding it hard to believe that Mom and Dad were ever proud of me. How could I have made them proud when I’m not even sure what they saw in me? I wish I could talk to them for even a few minutes.

Uncle Jonas would tell me that I have everything I could ever want, good looks, charm, the fastest car in the neighborhood, a beautiful girl to party with, and three more lined up waiting their turn. And don’t forget the family business that brings in more money than I can ever use. Maybe Uncle Jonas is right. Maybe I don’t have anything more to give to the world. But I can certainly make what I’ve got seem like enough. I’ve also become a master at maintaining appearances. I’m always happy. I’m always enthusiastic. Everything is perfect in my life.

Why would Mom say that the universe is right on schedule? What’s right on schedule about losing your Dad before you even got a chance to know him? What’s right on schedule about losing your Mom at fourteen? What’s right on schedule about living in a household brimming with false affection? My friends think it’s cool that no one’s on my back to finish my homework or keep a curfew. But they have no idea what they have. I would gladly give up the cars and the girls and the partying if I could have Mom back for just one more day.

I shouldn’t be wasting my time wishing for a family, hoping that by some miracle I’ll get my parents back, or that somehow my aunt and uncle will begin to love me. I should know by now that things don’t turn out the way you want them to. I just have to deal with the consequences and move on. But I just can’t shake the feeling that this can’t be all there is. There has to be more to life. There just has to be.

Logan Cale