It no longer seemed of much importance. He could do it, and the knowledge of his initial success was of more worth than continued success. Norm decided to move home.
The divorce had left my brother with half of a house and, in certain respects, half of a life. It was necessary at the time to prove to himself that he could live alone. Therefore, Norm paid for a house and refurbished its interior; he performed all domestic functions while working a 40 hour week; he found mental stimulation through books and occasional personal interaction with friends. Such accomplishments provided a sense of satisfaction; the gradual rebuilding of Norm's physical world complimented the restoration taking place within himself.
Once Norm had finalized his basic dreams in the material sense, however, it grew obvious that the inner rebuilding which still clamored for completion could not be done alone. He was the sole spark of life in a house from which the cobwebs of deceit could never be wiped. But for an attic full of worn out memories, his was an empty house. Houses, of themselves, do not indenture the heart; thus, without regret or apology, Norm came home.
January was the coldest it had been in years, or so it seemed. To brighten the blustery evening, Norm had invited me to share a pizza with him at his house. I gladly accepted the invitation and spent several pleasant hours staring at a lively fire and talking. I departed feeling very content, never suspecting his oppressive loneliness. Norm had concealed it from everyone, and it came as somewhat of a surprise to see him standing at the door so soon after saying good-night; loneliness pooled in his eyes and I realized it had filtered deeper than any cursory glance could have perceived.
Personally, I was elated at the prospect of sharing the upstairs with my brother, especially if living at home was what he truly wished. Several years earlier the arrangement would not have succeeded; then he sought to free himself from the constraints of youth through establishing his own credibility as a functioning part of society. Now he had tasted life's offerings, the sweet and the bitter, and knew that he could alter his happiness through certain changes on his part. Loneliness was one pain which he had the power to alleviate; his return was a matter of choice, not defeat, and with a clear conscience regarding his desire, pursued his intent. After assuring his welcome, he and I drove to his house so he could secure a parcel of clothing and other necessities for the night.
As one household began to dissolve, the family home eagerly digested the other's former occupant and his belongings. It took several months for Norm's house and major furnishings to be sold, but those objects that he wished to retain were loaded unceremoniously into sacks and stashed in the attic or placed hastily about various parts of the house. A microwave found its station on the basement counter, and shelving provided a haven for his stereo equipment. A handsome recliner stole a living room corner and became known as NORM'S CHAIR; if he entered the room to find HIS CHAIR occupied, he didn't quite know where to sit. It became evident that this home was his home and, with an ample dose of personal interaction and companionship, the emotional wounds had begun to heal.
School was actually fun for me after my tongue lost some of its shy inhibitions and I was able to joke and carry on conversations before classes. I joined no extra-curricular activities, however, since I valued free time and generally wished to go home or to a friend's house directly following school. Moreover, I entertained the idea of finding a part-time job, and did not wish to spread myself so thinly over those undertakings which I had deemed to be worthy of my time; I was still a perfectionist, and that ruled even the most rebellious of my whims.
That autumn I obtained employment at a fashionable store in a local shopping mall. I was notably excited since the job promised to be better aligned to my interests than either of my other jobs… babysitting and a two week stint at a fabric store. The former, I decided, demanded too much of my tolerance and felt I should quit before I was jailed for child abuse. Actually I, the sitter, was the abused party; I would return home after an evening of utter turmoil clenching three dollars in my hand.
On the worst occasion, I was to sit for two children at the end of the avenue. Soon after my arrival I discovered I was sitting for only one child; the other a monster. Inside of three hours he managed to reduce my state of mind to that of a murderess. He disobeyed every request, every order, every threat. He ignored his mother's dictate that specified he could eat no more than two candy bars. After consuming five, the bag of candy went on top of the refrigerator, the sole place in the house which he was unable to reach. The monster, outraged, then proceeded to unshelf every toy he owned and move it into the living room. Afterward, he decided to hide in the closet.
For a brief moment, I was relieved. Seeing this action had an adverse effect on me, in his opinion, he came out, wielding the vacuum cleaner, and tore about the house like a wild thing. His next move, unfortunately, was to raid another closet, from which he carefully selected a bag of rubber bands. These he pinged across the room, firing joyously, until I impeded his efforts. The rubber bands found themselves on the refrigerator.