Dirtbag: Epilogue

New Year’s Eve

Setlist:

Bird of a Feather: Billie Eilish.

“He’s here!” my daughter yells from the living room.

“Who? Pannah?” I yell back from the kitchen.

The dog skitters across the linoleum floor to see if whoever just arrived will pet him.

“No, it’s Cassander!”

“Who?”

“My boyfriend, Dad. Get the net.”

I choke on my beer, and it drips from my nose into the casserole I just pulled out of the oven. Oh well, no one will know. Where did she get that attitude? I shake extra cornflakes from the box onto the casserole and turn the oven off. She greets whoever is at the door.

“Come on in. Oh, it’s so good to see you,” my daughter says.

I peek into the living room and see a young man with a Clark Kent chin.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Cassander.”

I walk forward and offer my hand. Cassander steps forward, and we shake.

“Welcome to our home, Cassander. Happy New Year,” I say. With your Superman-looking ass.

“Happy New Year, sir.” Cassander shakes long black hair from his eyes, then lets go of my hand and sets his folded coat on the couch.

“I brought something from home,” he says, patting his pockets. He pulls out a small twisted paper package. “These are tradition in my house for the new—”

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

I step past him and open the door to Koeh and Pannah.

“You passed your drivers test?” I say. Koeh smiles, and I dap him up. “Good s**t, kid!”

“I passed last week.” Pannah pats his son’s head but has to reach to do it. I collect their coats, and they step into the living room. “Yeah,” Koeh continues, “and with the advance from the record company, I was able to buy a new car.”

“That’s yours?” I peer through the frosty window.

“Dad still hasn’t fixed the van, so I guess I’m his chauffeur.” Koeh rolls his eyes. “He has the money now, stubborn old man.”

“Lay off, kid. Maybe he likes spending time with his boy.”

Pannah sits on the couch, and the others make their way into the kitchen for drinks and snacks. I plop next to Pannah on the other end of the couch. Not much to say, I think. I want to ask him if he’s happy that his voice is on the radio, that his album is rising up the Billboard Top 100. Not having the means of communication can be frustrating, but moments like these are fine. His cheeks are red, and his eyes squint into happy slits. My daughter hands him a small plate of cookies and a mug of dark black coffee. He takes a bite, dropping crumbs on his old worn corduroys and smiles up at his handsome son. I start to think I know what he’s thinking.

The night hums by in comfort and ease. We play a party game Cassander insists is the best game he’s ever played. I want to judge him more than I do. My daughter is smiling, looking from him to me; she smiles deeper.

Family filters in, and by 10 p.m. Cassander and my daughter are cuddling on a couch watching a music video. Billie Elish bats witchy eyes on the TV. I pass through the living room as she sings:

“…Might not be long, but baby, I

Don′t wanna say goodbye.”

and into the kitchen where Koeh, Pannah, and my wife are playing clubs trump. I’m distracted. D major B minor, Christmasy—I think. E minor A major— why does this song remind me of—

It hit me. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart..”I hum the rest to myself in subtle satisfaction. I don’t have the heart to tell my daughter that every song is just another song.

At around 11 o’clock, my brother arrives with his family.

“Pretty late to show up,” I say. “Wasnt sure you were going to make it.”

He chuckles and ushers his harried-looking wife through my front door. His two teenage children follow behind holding tablets.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, coming in for a hug. “Happy New Year. We’re late because of Jessica’s office party.”

His wife takes off her coat and smooths her hair.

“Yeah, sorry it went long,” she explains.

“She’s trying to curry favor with her new boss.” He takes her coat and tosses it on the growing pile on the couch. “It’s not like you even need that job.”

“Oh, don’t get me started,” his wife rebukes, walking away from the conversation and into the kitchen to greet the others.

My brother drops to a knee to pet our new dog. “Cute, we have doodles too.”

I get my brother and his family a plate of food and sit down for small talk and catch-up. It’s almost midnight, and I’m craving a cigarette so I throw on my shell jacket and try to creep away unnoticed.

Outside in the cold moonlight, I light up and inhale deeply. Peaceful.

The springs of the back door creak open, and I curl my fingers into a claw around my cigarette, just in case it’s my daughter. It’s just my brother. I blow out a smoky sigh of relief.

“How ya doing?” he asks again.

“Fine,” I say. He steps under the porch light next to me.

“Sorry we couldn’t cut you a better deal for the record. I had my best lawyer on it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply—and to my surprise, I mean it. “I’m not pressed.”

“That’s good,” he says. “You seem different.”

He grabs for my cigarette, and I pull it away. He’s testing the water between us.

“I feel different.”

“That’s good, bro,” he says. “I was worried. You were kind of spiraling.”

I inwardly sneer. What would he know about it? I think. I decide not to pick a fight.

“Yeah, man, I just think… I don’t know. Life…” I draw deep from my cigarette and hold it in front of my face, watching the white turn to orange, then gray.

“I can’t really articulate it.”

He snatches the cigarette from in front of my eyes and takes a drag.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m glad you’re happy again.” He holds his breath for a second, then exhales. His voice sounds deeper with the smoke in his lungs. “I’m glad you’re making music again, man. I always thought you had a gift—don’t get me wrong, there were times I thought you were just being pretentious and making s**t up.”

He leans against the siding of my house and looks up at the moon. “Another year,” he sighs.

I take my cigarette back from him and throw it into my now-empty beer can.

We go back inside, and everyone is gathering together to sing Auld Lang Syne. I’m between my daughter and Pannah. I hold their hands. Pannah doesn’t know this song, so we all sing it.

And as we drone the last note out, we all smile and shout, “Happy New Year!”

There’s a loud pop behind us, and confetti rains down from the ceiling.

We all turn to see Cassander smiling, handsome-faced, holding the husk of a party popper.

I feel Pannah’s hand squeeze mine.

I look to him. His other hand is grasping his chest, and he’s convulsing. His eyes flutter, and he falls to the ground.

I’m still holding his hand.

“Someone call an ambulance!” I scream.

I’m still holding his hand.

The ambulance arrives and takes him to the hospital.

I’m still holding his hand.

My fear is confirmed as they hook up his monitor. His dead heart hums a B-flat. Perfect pitch.

I’m still holding his hand.

I’m still holding his hand.

THE END.

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