Merry Christmas?

Brother, who was sixteen back then, was peacefully sleeping next to me. The only sounds in the room were his rhythmical breathing and the cracking of the burning wood coming from the furnace. Grandma was in the kitchen, preparing the delicious Christmas Eve dinner. I waited for it to be ready with a grumbling stomach - perks of having to fast all day.

The scene was too peaceful, too cozy. A small feeling ran through my mind: something was off. And the most frustrating of it all? I did not have any evidence to justify this hunch that made my heart beat faster. I scolded myself silently for not letting myself enjoy the coziness of Christmas Eve.

The feeling that started as a little hunch progressively grew into uneasiness, and I knew I had to stop it before it grew into suffocating panic.

Intuition is born from subtle little details, missed out by the conscious mind, after all. Fine then, I told myself, let me think through the day, let me find details, hidden signs that make both my mind and heart race right now. I stared off into space with a small frown.

I let the different scenes of the day play out before my inner eyes.

I woke up late, everyone else was up already. Till dinner there was mandatory fasting, Grandma has these religious rituals… Bread for breakfast, not much but I considered myself lucky. Father barely responded to my chit-chat and little jokes I always make to ease the family tension. Maybe it was still early for him. Or maybe he was just hungry.

I wasn’t feeling the unsettling knot in my stomach this morning, therefore I kept on running through the memories of the rest of the day.

A few hours after breakfast the time of decorating the Christmas tree finally came. Father, Brother and I went to the other room to get the decorations. They were stored on the top shelf. Father had to step on a chair to reach them, and when he did so, he lost balance and hit his elbow.

-Fuck it!

I did not comment on it but exhaled the air I wasn’t aware of holding in. I moved away my hand that was covering my mouth. He must be truly aging now, that would be only rational.

We carried on decorating the tree. It turned out magnificent, I would say. There couldn’t be anything wrong. I suppressed all my paranoia-like thoughts.

-Dad, look! I’ve found this Christmas ball, the one I bought you last year. It only needs the string on it. - I told him smiling, with a string in my hand, a few hours after arriving from the graveyard.

-C’mere, I’ll fix it for you.

I watched him closely, as he tried to carefully attach the string. His big, usually so precise hands were failing to obey his will this time. His movements were rough and rushed. I looked away, not wanting to put the pressure of being observed on him. The next moment, when I curiously looked back, the ball was in two pieces. He was trying to fix it.

-Did you break it? - My tone was neutral, and more emotionless than I meant it to sound.

-No, it’s just… - he paused - Yeah, I did, sorry.

-It’s alright. - I mumbled with a small knot in my stomach.

With a small knot in my stomach? That’s the little hunch I was feeling then! All the little details led to Father. The quietness, the rushing… Something was off, not in general, but with him.

Hit by the realization I sat up in the bed. I had to take action before something went bad. I looked at Brother; he slept so peacefully, his mind wasn’t plagued by possible worst-case scenarios like mine. Just before I would’ve managed to leave the bed to check on Father, he had opened the door. His movements were unsteady and his whole face was red. In a second the smell of alcohol struck my nose. He was drunk, again. My gut feeling was right.

Before I could even say anything, Father roughly shook Brother awake. Brother was confused and sat up a little, monitoring the now-sitting Father.

-If this is a joke, then stop it. - Father was slurring his words.

-I don’t know what you are talking about. - My tone was emotionless. It was essential to put aside my increasing anxiety, to keep a cool head. That was the only way to stay in control of the situation, I had learned it the hard way.

-I wanna have a serious… talk. Pay attention to me! Understand? -Brother was still sleepy, he rubbed his eyes before nodding obediently. I just answered with a cold-sounding “yes”. - My documents, my ID and bank cards disappeared from my phone case. - His words were not threatening, but his eyes betrayed some infinite anger, one that I knew and feared. - Is this a joke? Did you two hide them from me to play around? It’s okay, it’s okay if yes. - Father now let out a joyless, forced laughter. The next second, when he spoke up, there was no trace of the previous pretend-forgiveness. - Give my documents back, now!

-We did not steal them. I sure didn’t, and before you accuse him, he was sleeping the whole time. - I had to stay cold-headed. Do not show anger, do not show fear. Think. - Maybe, you had put them somewhere else, or maybe they slipped out? - I tried to come up with alternatives, but he kept denying them.

-Where are my documents?! - His face turned crimson and saliva was splashing through his teeth as he spoke. In his eyes, there was the reflection of something I could only identify as deep-seated madness. I felt as if I was trapped in the middle of an interrogation.

Brother shrugged hesitantly, his demeanor betrayed the confusion and uneasiness he was feeling. Father threw his phone on the desk, then clenched his fists in the air. I instinctively scooped closer to Brother to protect him with my whole body if I needed to and closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them, Father had his fist lowered and was sitting on the chair again. His eyes had that gaze still, the one that showed his current lack of common sense, but he had a different expression, one that was hard to read. He was… crying?

-I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry. - He cried like a small child. I was confused by the sudden shift in emotion but I did not move from my spot. His anger was unpredictable, and both my intuition and past experiences told me, that this hadn’t been his last outburst that night. He wiped his eyes and stopped crying altogether, which made a cold breeze run through my spine.

-I’ll be right back. - He stood up and left the room with thudding steps. A moment later Brother and I could hear him yell.

-Where are my documents?! Someone had to steal them!

-I’m sure you put them somewhere, stop making a scene. - Grandma tried to sound firm, but even in the other room, I could hear how her old voice was shaking. Poor woman, she still was trying to calm her son down, to have a peaceful Christmas. I let that idea go in the moment I smelled alcohol on him.

Brother left the room, and I followed him, not because I wished to get involved in a fight but because I feared his naivety would drag him into one, like always.

The scene felt like a battlefield and the lights from the fireplace and the Christmas tree sooner had me thinking the world was burning down around me than to make me feel cozy. Father’s yelling would not stop, just like years ago before the divorce, and the unwanted memories resurfaced in my mind. I saw myself as a defenseless kid taking the hits, crying, and my instincts were telling me to leave everything behind and run. I clenched my fists in my pocket. Then I felt something unexpectedly cold. My pocket knife, which I always carry around, was hidden in my pocket this time too. I’m not defenseless anymore, ran through my mind, I can protect Brother! But in case I answer a fist with a stab, I could get imprisoned. I am eighteen after all.

-Only in the last case scenario - I told myself as I opened the knife and sunk my hand back in my pocket.

At that moment Father stepped into the hall, yelling incomprehensible sentences, but repeating two again and again.

-My documents were stolen from my own house! If I can’t feel safe at home then I’m leaving! - I did not argue, didn’t even reason or beg. Maybe it was safer if he left, that should be better for us all. I forced myself to breathe evenly and kept my eyes on Brother. He tried to reason with him.

-I don’t think it’s a good idea to drive when you’re drunk…- His eyebrows were raised and his eyes had a light of childish naivety. His voice had no trace of accusation; he was too good.

-Shut up, I did not ask you! - Father made a step closer towards Brother. A subtle tensing of his shoulders and fists was enough for me to grab onto my knife behind his back. When he moved I got ready to attack. But he didn’t hit, didn’t even approach Brother. Father turned away and rushed to the room.

He grabbed his laptop and a pair of pants and tossed them into his bag. He looked like a madman when he threw his bag into the car; bloodshot eyes, reaming mouth, red face and messed up hair.

-Merry Christmas, huh? - The echo of his sarcastic yell was shattered by the slamming of the car door. He drove away.

Brother was stunned, Grandma was crying.

I closed my pocket knife back. My wrist relaxed, and soon every inch of my body did so. I had to sit down. My lungs hurt, and whenever I exhaled it came out as a shaky sigh. My breathing was not as even as it was moments ago. I felt a warm and stinging wetness in my eyes. I did not want to cry, this wasn’t worth crying for, he was not worth crying for. My sight got blurry; I was unable to hold it back anymore. I sobbed like a small, abandoned child. Later I would blame the shameful act of crying on bad memories, or a moment of weakness. But that night the bitter tears would not stop streaming.