I left Vic in that stinky Syn den to get drunk at Max’s.  But there were even some damned Synners hanging out there too, sitting on the filthy floor around the pool table.

Too wary to drink from an open container (fearful that the bartender would lace my booze with Syn), I stuck with canned and bottled beers.  But frustratingly, I couldn’t get drunk.  (“I drink beer to sober up!” had been one of my favorite boasts.)  By the time I came up with the idea of buying a pint of whisky from the 24-7 convenience store down the street, it was already 4:47pm.  Time to meet my perfect brother, I dejectedly thought, as I slid off the bar stool.

Arriving home, I grimaced as I walked past David’s beat up Chevy Dash (sporting more dents than I remembered) in the driveway.  Opening the front door, I consoled myself that I had at least a steak dinner to look forward to.

But there was no sound of sizzling steaks inside.  No excited conversations about David taking the bar exam.  No TV blaring sports highlights (and no Dad sitting in his living room recliner).  I was met with utter quiet.

Mom, Dad, and my brother were sitting serenely at the kitchen table.  In unison, they all turned to me and smiled.

“Oh fuck,” I heard myself groan.

“Oh Durant, you’re home,” spoke my mom, as though she was concentrating on every word.  She unsteadily tried to stand, then thinking better of it, sat back down.  “Your brother is here.”  She deliberately gestured to David.

“Mom, you told me not to take Syn!” I accused, my voice cracking.

“Well, David said all of his professors assured him that Syn was safe.  Who are we to argue with the experts?”

I was angry and hurt.  Angry because, by taking Syn, I felt my family had betrayed me.  And hurt, because I knew Mom and Dad would never have taken Syn if I asked them.  But since their favored son asked them…

“You should join us and take it, son.”

I couldn’t remember the last time my dad lovingly called me “son”.

“Uh, maybe later.  Listen, I need to check on something in my bedroom.”

I could feel their stares follow me as I ducked into the hallway.

I knew my sleeping bag was on the top shelf in my closet.  But I struggled to remember where the rest of the camping gear was.

In my parent’s bedroom, I delicately shut the door behind me.  From the dresser, I swiped the keys to their station wagon.  I then lifted and moved my mother’s jewelry box, revealing the wad of cash hiding underneath.  Shucking off a few bills, I silently promised my mom that this would be the last time I’d ever do this.

To be continued…

(Or read the story in its entirety in Goddess.)