Eddie's flight out of Texas had been on time, with no delays and no other issues after landing. It was his layover from Newark Liberty International that had been tricky; someone had reported a salmonella outbreak in the air system of the planes in his wing, and the authorities had taken it seriously. Most people panicked, as they did in New England. Eddie was used to it all, but after spending his last years in the Marine Corps, salmonella was the last thing he had to worry about. His body was pretty resistant to germs anyway, he hadn't been sick enough to see a doctor since boot camp, and before that, he'd gone to the hospital in the 11th grade after his shoulder was dislocated in a rugby match. Eddie was a survivor, and if he was younger, he'd be convinced that he was invincible.
He arrived at Beverly Municipal after the higher-ups of Newark International decided his plane would brave the weather for Massachusetts. The flight was short, or maybe the trip from Texas seemed long; he hadn't thought much about anything during the whole ordeal. He was given his pass back in California and that seemed to be the longest trip of all, having to check out of Bridgeport and hitch a ride to the airport, where they flew to Houston and connected to a Newark-bound 747 that had, somewhere between Denver and Houston, been exposed to salmonella (allegedly). He never heard about it again after they began talking about weather conditions and plane issues and whatnot, but Eddie knew better than to really worry. His mind drifted to thoughts of his family in Massachusetts.
He took a bus from Beverly Municipal to Rockport, where he decided to walk from the station to his parents' house. He'd considered not even coming back, having no real desire to even see the Massachusetts shore again. It's one of the reasons he left, and why he only sporadically showed back up at holidays; he could easily get a transfer to North Carolina or Virginia and be closer to home, but his job in the Marines and his hate of that place demanded he stay in California, a state he hated even worse. People there were so shallow, and most of the civilians around his base were hippies that hated the "military industrial complex, man". The only people he could count on were his battle buddies, the ones he'd been deployed with and, in fact, anyone who had earned the title of US Marine. He didn't really know how much he could trust his siblings or his parents; not as a statement against their character, but in reference to his own changing personality and the way he had fleshed out as a man. He was worried that the person he was would be incompatible with the rest of his family.
He strolled down Andrew street with his Eko acoustic guitar in it's makeshift case. He'd only brought it and a duffel bag, filled with presents for his family and a couple of extra shirts and jeans as well as his Marine uniform, but otherwise, he'd come out with nothing else except the contents of his pockets. He strolled for what seemed like the longest part of the trip down Andrew, taking in the sights and the smells and the few smiles that recognized him. Before long, he found himself standing outside of the house, on the street and among the cars, looking at the house with very specific feelings of contempt. His gut told him not to go inside; his conscious didn't WANT to go inside, and as he wrestled with himself over adding to the carbon and chemicals between the drywall of that home, he discovered that he had an obligation to the little ones to march his butt inside. He kicked around some of the snow at his feet, suddenly reminded of the presence of his sisters, his mother, and Kyla. Every time he showed up last to one of these things, he would get swarmed. Then came the uneasy handshake with dad, who always gave him a half-limp hand as a way of offending him; dad always said that a man who deserves your full respect should get your full grip in a handshake. At least he had his sisters.
He always considered himself closest to McKenna. They were born practically right around the calendar from each other, less than a year, and got to experience the 90s and 2000s as a pretty dynamic duo. He couldn't remember fighting with her much, maybe because they were so alike, but he couldn't really quite figure it out. She was always the one who understood things the way he understood them, and on top of that, she was always composed and stable mentally, which made him respect her. She wasn't a party hunter or a drunk or anything like that, and never seemed to pursue any of those things either. Maybe it was her neat-freak attitude that she inherited from mom; mom was probably a drunk, so maybe dad's genes had something to do with McKenna coming out so normal. Eddie digressed; he just hoped that she would like the
cat clock that he picked up for her, his foresight telling him there would be an inevitable confrontation with Vincent.
Eddie remembered that Emily was quiet when they grew up, until she was 9 or 10. She found her voice in a school play where she had played a mushroom or a ficus or some other nature shit, and she had one or two lines of dialogue that demanded attention. Eddie thought it was her teachers that helped bring her voice to life, but later on, he knew it was less the teachers than something that had previously blocked her from talking. He secretly thought she was scared of people, although she still vehemently denies it and tries to assert that she just didn't like people, but Eddie knows when to let his sisters think he's given up. One thing he DID know about Emily was that she was passionate; whenever she caught something she had an interest in, she didn't let go of it until she stopped liking it. Mom said she was reckless, but Eddie thought she was just looking for something; she held on as long as she could because she was convinced that what she was looking for was inside it, even though it wasn't. This was proven by an incident at 5 years old that she was so convinced her talking teddy bear had a person inside it that she argued the point for days until she convinced Eddie to rip it open so she could find 'him'. Clearly, there was only teddy bear stuffing and a poorly-produced Chinese electrical unit tied to speakers inside, but Emily was so pissed that she wanted to go to the lake and keep looking for 'him'. Whoever 'he' was, 'he' either didn't want to be there or was in Emily's head. For Emily, he wrapped up a
sea otter charm in a bowl-sized box as a, or rather what he considered to be, a 'twofer'.
Eddie felt the repercussions from that incident from his parents, from Emily, and from the newly-toddling Sarah, who loved that bear like another sibling. Sarah complained about it until the 8th grade, when she got one of the new iPods for her birthday. As materialistic as she was (and most of the other girls were), Sarah was the quietest when they grew up. He remembers seeing Sarah and Emily standing together, clutching whatever toy they were infatuated at the time, just quietly looking up at him and everyone else, never saying a word unless asked a question; they really reminded him of the little girls from The Shining, and he once had a nightmare about the whole thing. Once Emily started talking, though, Sarah fell back into seclusion because she had no one to be quiet with her anymore. Whenever she needed something, instead of asking, she tried manipulating people, which disturbed Eddie in the last few years. Sarah was a go-getter, but she had very different means of achieving things, and it bothered Eddie that she thought so differently from the other kids. At the same time, it was pretty commendable, and in some facet, he respected that about her. He picked up a copy of
Taras Bulba, a book that he was fairly certain was some kind of adventure or romance story, and knowing Sarah's love of reading romanticized stories, he figured it'd be cheaper than a car.
Caylee was the funniest of his sisters. She always had these little observations about things that he didn't always catch, and the way she worded it usually made him burst out laughing. Some of his fondest memories were set during these sessions of comedic observation, specifically one instance where farting was the main topic. Their aunt had been sitting on a chair with wood spaced on the seat somewhat sporadically, and when she belted out a big, wine-induced butt puff, Caylee noted after they were done laughing, "Aunt Julie, you just played that chair like a harmonica." They then laughed some more and exchanged more quips about it as Aunt Julie, the lighthearted soul she was, contributed a few of her own self-directed jokes. Caylee was definitely outspoken and the most verbal of his sisters, and she often came across as a stubborn bitch, even to him. She was the one that he fought with the most; mom once said that she would stand her ground in the middle of an earthquake, and Eddie believed it. She was a sweet girl, but she definitely had her shortcomings (or as Eddie liked to call them, her 'improvement points'). Eddie never really knew what she liked that he was able to get her as a gift, so this year, he got her a
plaqued potato that actually opens up and has a roll of twenties inside the hollow portion.
Despite Eddie's absence in her life, he feels somewhat close to Jane. She likes to take advantage of being the "little one" and announces it every time she wants something. Eddie's been in and out of the house since she was about 4, but before that, he remembered that she always loved being bundled up and taken out somewhere to do something. Jane gets excited about everything, even breathing. It's really strange for Eddie to watch her or engage with her; sometimes because he feels distant and uninvolved with her life, but also because he considers himself an old man and unable to comprehend her. He once told her this, and she replied, "You'll never compurhin this littleness." Eddie shrugged and subsequently agreed, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't try. He got her a
teddy bear, despite his worries that she might be too old for one. Essex children were known for growing up fast, and Jane probably wasn't an exception.
He doesn't even know where to start with his parents. Mom did her job, and that was good enough for a glass of white wine for the night. She always seemed contemptuous toward him, perhaps because he wasn't a girl, and often showed affection for his sisters that he never got. It didn't really matter to him, nor did he observe it until much later; he was always out to impress dad. He took up fencing at age 11 and was competing nationally at 17, although his dad didn't seem to care. There was rugby, a well-paying job as a pipefitter's apprentice, his musical prowess, and academic honors galore; nothing fazed dad into giving him credit. It seemed that all he wanted was for Eddie to go into the family business and sell insurance like Grandpa and great-Grandpa did. He was even given their name in hopes that he would carry on the empire, but Eddie never wanted any of it. He didn't care about insurance, nor being a salesman nor being an executive of anything; Eddie often quipped that he had more of Grandpa in him than he had of dad, as he felt closer to the ideals of working with his back than his brain. It was nice to work with one's brain, his time with the contractors showed him that, but he felt at peace and complete when he toiled and broke himself for his paycheck. Eddie had been there for dad's 'career'; it was a lot of arguing, a lot of paper pushing, and lots and lots and LOTS of signatures. In Eddie's eyes, that was cheating the men on the job site who traveled all the way from Vermont to find work on the last of their bank loans. Mom was getting a
bottle of Riesling white wine, but his gift to his father remains a secret.
So there he stood, like a rabbit in a hunter's gunsights, taking a review of all things familial as he fought the urge to go inside the home he grew up in. He looked at the lights and the form of the brick against the December-white sky, and noted how the snow-covered ground and trees were all the same shade of white. This was the Christmas he remembered from his youth, the dead chill of the freezing air on the skin he chose to leave bare, and the steam that came from his mouth when he breathed. It was a just-right amount of steam, too, when it got so cold that your breath looked like the residue of a coffee pot instead of a confused dragon. It evaporated as quickly as it was exhaled, reaching no farther than your nose if you measured. The snow crunched around underneath his boots as he switched the hand carrying his guitar case, feeling the strap of his duffel bag dig into the padding on his shoulder. He recited an old maxim that he made up when he was young, based on another he'd heard when it came to conquering fear and moving forward:
"Over the lips, past the gums....yadda yadda....oh, God."
He marched up the front walkway to the house, feeling his boots slip around when they hit the ice underneath the thick layer of snow that had blanketed everything, as usual. He took comfort in the idea that the weather was still predictable and the same as it'd been every single year of his life, but once he reached the front door, he contemplated the shortness of the trip from the street to the painted wood in front of him. He thought to himself again, wondering if he really wanted to do this; he looked back to the street and took in the sight from the porch, seeing the other side of the madness that he thought was his home. Trees shivered in the slow freefall of the biggest snowflakes he'd ever seen, and somewhere, a car honked.
He scanned the cars in front of the house, and observed Kyra's car parked in front of their mailbox. That was probably a violation somewhere, he thought to himself, but he knew he couldn't leave now. If Kyra asked him, he would have to tell her that he was right there, on the front porch, and stopped himself from coming in because he couldn't handle the situation. She'd get angry; she was there for HIM, and he didn't want to let her down. She was certainly important to him, but he never knew why she kept wanting to come back here, year after year, to socialize with the dysfunction of his family; maybe she was trying to assimilate herself to the culture of the Essex family, perhaps in hopes of becoming one, but that's not the kind of Essex Eddie wanted to be. All he could do was ring the doorbell; he didn't think about it, and found himself standing on the porch wondering if he'd pressed it at all. The tone of the custom bell seemed to resonate through his head, but he couldn't tell if it was from reality or memory. He focused his eyes in and pressed it deliberately, biting his lip as he did, almost wincing at the pain it gave him to intentionally announce his presence to people he had long ago escaped. He took a deep breath and continued reciting his maxim to himself:
"Over the lips, past the gums....yadda yadda...."
