Deidra Alexander's Blog

June 13

I pulled a box down from the top of my closet. I found my birth certificate, yellow with age, two little black foot prints. I found a copy of Logan’s birth certificate, social security card, my will and life insurance policies. All the important stuff, along with birthday cards, childhood drawings and macaroni art. Maybe I should think about keeping my legal papers separate from Logan’s art. After all the art was really important, irreplaceable. It should be in a fire proof box. I could always get copies of legal documents.

I noticed an old Christmas card in the pile, a cheery, red nosed Santa. As an adult I began to think Santa needed a little nip now and then to keep the stress under control. It was a card from Grandma to Bryan on his first Christmas. Mom must have kept it all those years.

I remember when we were kids, one Christmas Bryan and I tried to stay up all night to see Santa. We snuck out of bed and hid under the big, blue sofa. I fell asleep waiting. By the time I woke up, Santa had come and gone. I never knew if Bryan was able to stay awake. Did he discover the secret that night? I don’t know, I might never know. I’ve been thinking a lot about that little boy, the boy I grew up with.

Before Mom got sick, we were inseparable. We spent our days running through the fields together, playing hide and seek, and commanding the seas from our old tree fort. We built our secret fort from odds and ends of left over wood and castaways. One wall was composed almost entirely of old dresser parts.

It was Bryan who made me feel safe during thunderstorms. Was he the one who could make me feel save now? I want so desperately to feel save again.

I haven’t seen him since we sold Grandma’s house. I’d been told that dividing estates always causes some sort of rift, but I didn’t believe it. Grandma’s house hadn’t been worth much to anyone but us. It was built in the thirties, when city codes and inspections must have been lax. Her sewing room and another bathroom had been added in the forties. The whole addition sloped several feet. We were told the bathroom was just sort of hung off of the back, without any foundation. The whole thing seemed to be falling off.

I had wanted, not just wanted, needed to continue living there with Allie. She was still in high school and I was already working full time to support us, going to college at night.

Bryan wasn’t helping us. He started drinking when Mom became ill. By the time Dad died, he was on to stronger drugs. He disappeared after that. We didn’t see him again until Grandma died. He’d sobered up by then. He needed the money. I guess he saw Grandma’s house as his opportunity.

He forced us to sell, even threatened me with attorneys. After he collected his money I never saw him again. I hated him for a long time after that. How could he do that to me? I was only nineteen.

How could he betray us? How could he just not care? I had dreams. If he had stayed and helped out, I could have continued going to art school, become a painter. Who knows I might even have my work in galleries today. Instead I gave up my dreams to take care of Allie.

I wonder if he even knows what he did, what he cost me. Would he even care?

Charlie found his address for me. I’ve just been holding on to it. Perhaps now is the right time to get my answers.

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