Chapter 19: A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Saturday, December 25, 1971

I drove over to the house at eight on Christmas morning. Once again I was thankful I lived south of the Mason-Dixon Line. A white Christmas sounds awfully nice, but believe me, it’s not. Snow causes accidents and people die because they can’t handle it. I spent fifty years in upstate New York, where it snows six months of the year, and is chilly another four months. The last remaining months are July and August, which is when the mosquitoes breed and grow to a size able to carry off small children and pets. We routinely got eight-plus feet of snow a year, and some parts of the state got much, much more!

I let myself in through the front door, to find most of the family already waiting. Of course, Suzie was only ten, so she had made sure everybody got up. My mother, Nana, and Suzie were sitting in the living room, Dad was preparing to cook breakfast, and Hamilton was downstairs in his room. I had several bags filled with wrapped gifts, which Suzie grabbed out of my hands and spread around the tree. Mom called Hamilton up and Dad came in and greeted me.

We had a few traditions around the Buckman household, and the Christmas tree was one of them. It went up the first weekend of December and would stay up until the first weekend after New Year’s. Once you had bought somebody a gift, you could wrap it and place it under the tree, a sacrosanct region. Nobody was allowed to cheat and peek, on pain of a loud and horrendous thumping, and the loss of the present. You were, however, allowed to pick up the present and shake it and make guesses.

When I was twelve, a large box appeared under the tree on the first day after we set the tree up, addressed to me, from Ham and Suzie. It was large and heavy, and something was rattling around inside it, thumping against the sides of the box. It was right there in the middle of the living room, so no way could I cheat and not get caught. For almost a month this thing intrigued me, and it was the first thing I grabbed and ripped open that Christmas morning. I have no idea where they got it, but my siblings had managed to scrape up a ten-pound lump of coal! My parents almost died of laughter, and my brother and sister were inordinately proud of themselves. Well, okay, they earned it. I was the butt of jokes every Christmas after that for the rest of my life.

The other major Christmas tradition, at least regarding presents, was that you had to get Hamilton two. Believe it or not, the little asshole’s birthday was December 25. Today was his 14^th birthday. The rule was that we would have Christmas presents in the morning, around the tree, and birthday presents in the evening, after dinner, at the table. Also, you had to buy him two presents. There was no cheating allowed; you couldn’t say that one present cost extra, so it should count for two. Nope, one in the morning and one in the evening. He didn’t get squat the rest of the year.

Almost the whole family was like that. My birthday was in November, and both my parents were in January. Only Suzie was smart enough to be born in June and get stuff every six months.

As soon as we were all in the living room, Suzie went to work, grabbing presents and handing them out. I just sat there on the couch, waiting for a few, but nothing came by. Well, I knew enough probability and set theory to not worry about it. I’d end up with a giant pile at the end of things. After a few minutes, however, even my parents were starting to wonder where my presents were. They even told Suzie to find mine, so I didn’t just sit there. It never occurred to any of us that they wouldn’t be there.

But they weren’t. There was absolutely nothing under the tree for me. I looked over at Mom and Dad with a raised eyebrow, and they just stared back at me in horror. “Where’s Carl’s presents?” she asked.

For once, at least, nobody could blame me. Dad and Mom and Suzie just started squawking, and I sat there wondering what was happening. That was when we all realized that the only person not speaking was my brother, Hamilton. I looked over at him to see a ghost of a smile on his face, an expression which completely disappeared when my parents started asking if he knew where my presents were. He just had a look of superiority on his face. “I don’t know where his presents are!” was all he said.

My parents continued quizzing everybody else, including Hamilton, and the din became quite loud. It took me about thirty seconds to figure it out. Dad was looking at me when I told Hamilton, “You little shitweasel. You really did it this time, didn’t you?”

“What was that?” demanded my father, waving everybody else into silence. His head was swiveling between me and Hamilton.

Hamilton simply gave us an innocent look, and repeated, “I don’t know where his presents are.”

“No, you don’t...”, I agreed, “ ... because you don’t know where the dump is. For once in your life, you’re actually telling the truth. I am almost impressed.”

My father was stunned, and my mother simply gasped in disbelief. “Carling, take that back! Hamilton wouldn’t have done that! He couldn’t have done that!”

I just smiled at her. “It would have been simple. All he would have to do is sneak up here at night, the night you put out the garbage. All he has to do is take any presents for me and take them downstairs and rearrange everything so that it looks normal.”

Even my father couldn’t believe Hamilton could do that. “Impossible! We’d catch him!”

“Really? Who takes the garbage out now that I don’t live here anymore?” I leaned back on the couch and crossed my arms. It was actually sort of clever. As I’ve said before, Hamilton is not exactly the criminal mastermind, but for once he actually managed to pull one off. He could grab anything for me, stuff it into the garbage cans, and then deliver it to the curb himself. I wondered what I had gotten that I wasn’t going to get now.

My father simply stared at me in horror, and then slowly turned on my brother. I wondered if Hamilton had finally burned his last bridge with my dad. Nana was sitting there very confused. Suzie was crying, because she had knitted me a small scarf; Nana and Mom had taught her how to knit. My mother continued to protest Ham’s innocence.

Ham might have gotten away with it, but he decided to push his luck. Most criminals talk their way straight into jail, and he was no different. “People who don’t live here don’t get presents,” he announced.

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess they don’t.” I stood up and went to the closet. I grabbed my coat and pulled it on. “I’ll see you guys around.” I was out the door before they could protest. Mom ran out of the house after me, in her robe and slippers, but I just waved good-bye and took off. I found a Denny’s that was open on York Road in Timonium and had breakfast there. When I got home, I found the message light on the answering machine lit but didn’t bother. Another call came through, and it was my mother pleading for me to call, but I ignored it and unplugged the phone.

In 1971 answering machines were primitive. In the future, in the digital computer age, voice mail and answering machines would become commonplace, but that was twenty or more years from now. In those days, an answering machine was a small tape recorder, and you had to wind through your messages. I had a very bland greeting on mine, simply stating we weren’t home, so leave us a message. In case Jeana’s parents ever called, they would think it was my parent’s number.

It might have been the loneliest I have ever been. I won’t lie about it. I cried. In some ways it was even worse than when Marilyn or Alison died, because then I had family around me. Now it was my family which had abandoned me. I just sat there in the apartment until early afternoon, wallowing in my sorrow, and then decided the hell with it. Being miserable is only good in small doses. I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and went on with my life.

The first thing I did was plug in the telephone and listen to my messages. With the exception of one of them, they were all from my mother. The only one which wasn’t was from Jeana. I called her back. I didn’t tell her what Hamilton had done. We talked briefly and I told her I would come to dinner on Sunday. If I had told her about today, she would invite me for Christmas dinner at her house, which would raise far too many questions from her folks.

I didn’t call my mother back, and I continued to use the answering machine to screen my calls. Later, that evening, after dinner, my father called. I answered him. “I’m here, Dad.”

“Where have you been all day? Your mother’s been calling all day long. She’s very upset.”

“Well, gee, Dad. I’m really sorry to hear that. I’d hate to think that my actions have been the cause of all the family’s problems today.”

He didn’t respond to my sarcasm. “So, where have you been?”

“Right here. It’s Christmas. Where else would I be? Nothing’s open, remember, because it’s Christmas.”

“Carling, please, I’m sorry. Don’t be like this.” Dad doesn’t do contrite very well. The fact that he was trying said a lot.

“Why did you call, Dad?” I wasn’t in a forgiving mood. I had finished off the Chardonnay and was now at work on the jug.

“I just wanted to let you know that Hamilton confessed. It was just like you said. We’ll get you replacements for what he destroyed.”

I sighed. “Yeah? How are you going to replace Suzie’s scarf?” He didn’t answer that. “Listen, Dad, do what you want, but I just don’t care anymore. Save your money. I won’t keep it.”

“Carling, don’t be like that.”

“Like what, Dad? Like my brother? I’ll make you a deal. Get me whatever you want. I won’t throw it in the garbage. I’ll give it to the Salvation Army. How about that? Is that a good deal? We’ll both get to feel good then. Anything else, Dad? Or can I hang up now?” I asked.

“We’ll talk later in the week. I’m sorry, Carl.”

“You and me both.” I hung up the phone and disconnected it again. I poured some more wine from the jug. I was going to have a headache in the morning, but right then I just didn’t care.

I woke up the next morning with a fuzzy head and a fuzzy tongue, a useful reminder of why you shouldn’t drink to excess. It wasn’t the worst hangover I had ever had, not by a long shot, but is there such a thing as a good hangover? I swallowed a glass of water and a handful of Tylenols and took a shower. Advil would have been better, but it was 1971, and it was still prescription only. After the shower I took another load of Tylenol with some OJ and sat down at my typewriter. I put some paper in it and sat there for a moment.

I had spent much of yesterday afternoon and evening thinking about this letter. It needed to be written, and if I didn’t, and something happened, I would never forgive myself. The cover letter came easily.

Dad,

I want you to give the envelope inside to Suzie. I can’t simply mail this since he is reading all the mail in the house. You might not want to agree with me, but you know it’s true. I don’t know if he’s reading your mail or Mom’s, but I know he was reading mine.

There is nothing secret about this letter, but it is Suzie’s not yours. If she wants you to see it, it’s her business. I’ll be talking to her, and I’ll ask her to make sure she got the letter. Don’t tell Mom about this, it will just cause problems. Thank you.

Love,

Carling

That was the easy part. The tough letter was next.

Dear Suzie,

I am very sorry about what happened to the scarf you made me. I am sure it was very nice, and I know you put a lot of time into it. I would have been happy to wear it if I had gotten it, and if you ever have a chance, I would love another one. I’m sure it would have been very warm and comfortable.

I wanted to write about why I moved out a few weeks ago. I know it is very confusing, but it is something I needed to do. I know you don’t understand what is happening, so I am going to try and explain what I can.

Our brother, Hamilton, has a sickness, a disease, but not of the body. He has a sickness of the mind. I don’t know all that much about this sort of thing, but I do know that it’s real. Mom and Dad will say it’s not real, but even they must know something is wrong. I don’t know why he is like the way he is.

What I know about psychiatry can be written in a matchbook, but I knew something was wrong with my brother. I thought he had some form of schizophrenia, which is just a five-dollar word for believing things that aren’t really true. What the sufferer thinks and what really is don’t line up. Since he was so much against me, I wondered if it was paranoid schizophrenia, but I just didn’t know. I do know that in future years, after I went off to college, his behavior got even stranger. What would happen now, I just couldn’t guess.

For years now he has been becoming very aggressive and dangerous towards me. This is only the latest thing he has done. Someday, when you are older, we can talk about this, and I can explain it better. Believe me when I say that the only reason I left was because I didn’t feel safe around him anymore. If I was to keep living at home, sooner or later one of us was going to end up hurting the other. It was safer if I left.

I don’t know what is going to happen in the house now. With me gone, Hamilton might settle down. However, I have to warn you, be careful around him. I know this is awfully hard on a young lady like yourself but watch him. If you ever think you are in any kind of danger, let Dad know. If you can’t find Dad, call me and I will come and help you. Trust Dad or me; don’t trust Mom, at least not about Hamilton.

Hamilton snoops around the house. If you have a diary, he has already read it. If you get mail, he will read it. He has gone through your dresser and closet. You should get a box like I did and a lock and keep anything private in it and locked away. Ask Dad to help you buy a footlocker. If he says no, call me and I will buy you one.

Ask Dad to install a latch on the inside of your bedroom door, and a doorknob that locks. Again, if he says no, call me and I will help you. I want you to be safe.

I won’t be coming around the house much in the future, but I am still in town. You can call me whenever you want to. I have included several of my business cards. Keep one in your wallet or purse. Give one to both Aunt Peg and Aunt Nan and tell them I have moved out. Mom and Dad won’t like that, but tell them anyway, and give them a card. You won’t get in trouble.

After I had moved out, I had gone back to the printing company and had new business cards printed up, with my new phone number and my post office box address included. I also knew my parents would be loath to admit I had moved out. This would be considered airing our dirty linen in public, and Buckmans just didn’t do that!

Remember, I’ll always be your big brother. If you ever get scared, or need help, or just want to talk to me, call me. We can talk on the phone, or I can come and meet you. I know this is confusing, but as you get older, I think you’ll understand a little better.

Love,

Carl

PS: Take care of Daisy. I miss her, but I know you love her and will take good care of her. Thanks.

I pulled my letter out of the typewriter, read it several times, and edited a line or two, and then retyped it. I enclosed some of my cards and sealed it in an envelope, which then went inside a larger envelope with the cover letter. This I mailed to Dad at his office, marked ‘Personal.’ I would give Suzie about a week before I called her and made sure she got it.

By that time, my headache was mostly gone, although I had a very sad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was abandoning Suzie to her fate. Hamilton had never shown any hostility towards our sister, but with me out of the way, would he settle down, or turn his anger towards her? I just didn’t know. Back on my first trip through, he had always been good towards her and her boys, and was the favorite uncle, which my mother proudly proclaimed. He was always taking the boys to the movies or down to see the Orioles play. One time she even told Marilyn that he would have made a great father. Marilyn had stared at her in disbelief, and then said no, he would have been a lousy father. A good father is somebody who is there at the bad times, not just the good times. Mom didn’t have much to say in response to that.

I had a late breakfast of some more juice and a big piece of fruit cake. Yes, I know all the jokes, but we actually like fruit cake at the Buckman house. I had even picked up one at the store for myself. I am sure that my mother had gotten me one for Christmas, and it was now at the dump. Afterwards, I dressed and drove over to Jeana’s for Sunday dinner.

Jeana’s parents welcomed me warmly. I dodged the inevitable questions about what I had gotten for Christmas, by simply going with an innocuous ‘clothes and stuff for school’. Jeana was wearing the necklace I had given her. I don’t think I had seen her since the night of the dance without it! We had talked in school since the dance, but her parents wouldn’t allow us to go out on school nights. I know I was feeling rather horny, and she had whispered to me several times in school that she wanted to be alone with me again.

Mind you, I simply smiled at that. Whispering back, I said, “Tonight, when you’re in bed, take off all your clothes and touch yourself.”

Jeana had given me a very shocked look. “I can’t do that!”

I just grinned at her. “What? Take off your clothes? Why, do you wear pajamas?” She had blushed and simply nodded. “So, take them off. Who’s going to see?”

“Oh my God!”

“And then touch yourself in all the places you want me to touch you,” I told her.

“Oh my God, you’re so bad!” Jeana had scurried off at that and refused to tell me later if she had done what I told her to do. I just laughed at this. I knew she would, but I also knew she would never tell me, not unless I got her alone, and started doing those things to her again.

Today was no different. There were a few minutes when her father was out of the room and her mother was in the kitchen, and I whispered in her ear, “So, still wearing your pajamas to bed?” Jeana had turned beet red and jumped up, to go help her mother. I laughed and trailed along.

Unlike the Buckman house, where WASP tradition ruled, there was no turkey for Christmas dinner. Christmas was an all-Italian feast, and we had lasagna leftovers. We also had an antipasto with meats and anchovies, fresh garlic bread, hot peppers and greens, and some Chianti. Mr. Colosimo gave me the eye before pouring me a glass, and I promised to behave. It was a very nice meal.

Afterwards, as stuffed as if we had been eating turkey leftovers, we all lazed around the family room in the basement, until the early evening, at which point I took my leave. Jeana walked me to the door, while her parents stayed downstairs. It gave us a little privacy.

She looked at me hopefully as I bundled up. “You’ll be coming over tomorrow, right?”

Oh, yes, I was coming over! The cats were going to be away, and the mice wanted to play! “Absolutely! When should I come over?”

“They’ll be gone by eight.”

“I’ll be here by nine, just in case they get delayed,” I said.

She nodded. “If you see the car in the driveway, don’t even stop. Just keep going and call me.”

I kissed her quick and opened the door. Turning back, I grinned. “Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Wear those pajamas I keep hearing about.”

That earned me a squeal of outrage, and a swat on the arm, and I went out into the cold. I laughed all the way down the driveway to my car.

I was outside of Jeana’s house promptly at nine the next morning, and there was no car in sight. I parked and walked up the driveway, and then up to the front door. I knocked and the door opened immediately. Jeana must have been waiting for me, but I didn’t see her as the door opened. “Jeana?”

“Hurry up! Come in!” came a muffled voice from behind the door.

Curious, I stepped inside. Jeana was hiding behind the door. She was barefoot and wearing a bathrobe. “What are you up to?”

“I can’t just open the door up in my bathrobe! Definitely not if somebody sees you coming in! Now hurry up and get inside!”

I laughed. As soon as I was inside, Jeana slammed the door shut. She nervously looked at the picture window facing the front yard, and then skedaddled off into the kitchen on the backside of the house. The window in the kitchen was much smaller and you couldn’t see anything out there expect the back yard. Once there she relaxed. I could see an empty cereal bowl and a juice glass in the sink. She saw me looking at her and quickly turned away and rinsed the dishes off and put them in the dishwasher.