It was the third time in the last two weeks I'd found Mom crying alone in the house. This time, she was standing in front of the washing machine, silently weeping to herself, wiping her eyes as she placed towels and washcloths into the washer. She didn't hear me behind her, but as I watched, she finally broke down into a full cry as she closed the lid of the washer and turned around to see me standing there.
"What happened this time?" I asked. Although I didn't have to ask, I knew my little brother, Bobby, probably had something to do with her tears.
"Your brother took my car keys again, Sandra." Mom said, wiping her eyes. "He just took them..... right out of my purse without asking me..... and walked out. He said something about meeting some of his friends."
Bobby had done stuff like this before. His increasingly bad behavior toward Mom and me was something we'd tried to talk to him about numerous times, but, it never did any good. Ever since Dad died, Bobby had been on a downhill slide -- skipping school, lying, stealing money from Mom's purse and mine, too. Mom and I knew Dad's death was rough on Bobby -- it was rough on all of us, but Dad's passing seemed to affect Bobby in a way none of us understood. He turned into an inconsiderate, mean kid, harboring some kind of resentment and bitterness toward our mother, and it eventually spilled over to me, too.
It was a shame, because Bobby had always been such a loving child toward Mom. He used to cuddle with her when it was cold in the morning, and fall asleep with his head in her lap when we watched TV. He was her little buddy, and he was initially so protective of her when Dad suddenly died. But then, something happened and he started being cruel and mean, and no one could figure out why.
So, when I graduated from college last May, Mom asked me in desperation to move back home, at least for a while, thinking my presence might help us get back to being a family and getting my little brother straightened out.
It was wishful thinking, I realize that now, but I tried. I tried to do things with him, tried to talk to him, even tried to get him to go to family counseling with Mom and me, but, he wouldn't even discuss it. He just assumed he was the man of the house now and he could do whatever he wanted to do, regardless of how it impacted us, or, who it hurt. Bobby had turned into an insensitive, disrespectful, eighteen year old punk with a potty mouth who saw both Mom and me as his personal servants.
That night after dinner, Mom and I sat out in the living room and talked. I told her I was fed up with his bullying and his attitude. I warned her that I'd call the police the next time he took something out of my purse or out of my room, but, Mom begged me not to.
"He'll grow out of it." Mom said. "He just needs some time. He's rebelling against the world for taking his father from him, that's all."
About that time, we heard a crash coming from the garage and Mom and I both ran out there. I was completely livid to find my brother slumped over behind the wheel of Mom's car and the front of her car smashed into the back of my car.
Bobby smelled like alcohol, and when we shook him to see if he was okay, he finally opened his eyes, pushed us away and stumbled out of the car. Mom tried to look at him to see if he was hurt, but, he shoved her away and told her not to touch him. Mom and I both stood there shocked as we watched him stagger into the house and turn toward his room.
Mom and I spent the next hour backing her car down the driveway and checking over the damage on both our cars. The damage wasn't really that bad -- mostly the plastic pieces at the front of her car and scratches on my back bumper. But, I was still furious and almost called the police, but, Mom talked me out of it, promising me she'd take steps to end his behavior and assuring me my car would get repaired right away.
I went to sleep angry that night and I woke up in a bad mood the next morning. After having a quick shower, I found Mom in the kitchen making breakfast -- the whole house filled with the aroma of coffee and bacon. She was in a remarkably good mood, smiling and singing along with a song on her favorite classic rock radio station when she saw me.
"How come you're in such a good mood?" I asked. "Did your car repair itself last night while we were sleeping?"
"No." Mom said. "Better than that. I made a decision about your brother...... uh.... what to do about him, I mean."
"Really?" I answered. "Are you going to call the police? He was obviously drunk last night, Mom, and he's underage. Maybe some time in jail is exactly what he needs."
"Sandra," Mom said, turning to look at me, "calling the police and sending your little brother to jail isn't the answer and it's not going to fix anything. The problem is that he doesn't respect us..... and he doesn't have any male influence to correct him or set an example."
"So?" I said. "And you think you know how to change all that?"
"I think so." Mom said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I know one thing for sure; I don't have the strength to fight with him anymore. I know this is all happening because your father isn't here, so I'm going to try one last thing and if it doesn't work, he'll just have to move out and do the best he can on his own."
I saw tears build up in Mom's eyes as she told me this. I knew it was hard for her to say those words, and, she must have had a tough time arriving at this decision. And believe me, I knew she'd walk across a bed of hot coals for him, so to hear her say he might have to move out, I knew this was serious.
"Sandra," Mom said, looking up at me, "go knock on your brother's door one time and tell him breakfast is ready. Tell him I'll dump his plate in the trash in five minutes if he's not at the table."
Stunned to hear her finally begin to take a stand against Bobby's behavior, I happily walked down the hall and knocked once on Bobby's door. When he didn't say anything, I spoke up, saying through his door, "Bobby, your breakfast is on the table. If you're not there in five minutes, we're throwing it in the trash."
Smiling to myself as I retuned to the kitchen, I helped Mom pour us all some orange juice and set out the silverware and some napkins. When the table was ready, Mom and I sat down and we started to eat. Mom kept glancing up at the clock on the stove, telling me she wasn't kidding - she was really going to dump his plate in the trash if Bobby didn't join us before the five minutes was up. Judging by the look on her face, I believe she would have done it.
But, Bobby finally came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that smelled like it had been soaked in beer. He sat down without even looking at either Mom or me and started shoveling food into his mouth. Smacking his lips and using both hands to feed his face, I bit my tongue as my pig little brother ate his breakfast.
"Bobby," Mom said, setting her napkin down in her lap and looking over at him, "I've got an envelope of money to give you."
Mom's comment immediately caused Bobby's eyes to pop open and he looked up at her. I was even more surprised, feeling like she'd mislead me about her resolve to do something about my little brother's attitude, and I started to get a little mad. Looking over at my mother angrily, she disregarded my stare and spoke to Bobby again.
