ANTICHRIS_

By Chris Garvey

I started drinking shortly after I’d woken up. It was Sunday and hopes for gloomy weather had been ruined by sunny skies. After walking around for an hour or so, I went into a Barnes & Noble, not for a book, but a bathroom.

Inside, people sipped lattes, anguished over which bookmark fit their personality best and navigated aisles with double-decker Scandinavian strollers. I was envious of them—they seemed like normal people doing normal things. Normalcy is subjective, of course, and it may not even exist, but some activities must be a bit more normal than others: a morning jog, brunch with a friend and an afternoon shopping for a new book, or one spent alone drinking whiskey?

You see, I don’t go on ski trips with old college buddies, make breakfast in bed for a girlfriend or play pickup games of Ultimate Frisbee in the park. And I’ve always been more than OK with that. But I’m thinking it may be time to join a chess club or something. I’d just have to learn how to play chess first. And learn how to enjoy being around people for periods of time. And learn how to spend those periods of time without imbibing. Shit, that’s a lot.

The other day I heard something, made me think. Two guys were walking down Desbrosses Street having a seemingly normal conversation. I was sitting on a sliver-of-sun-covered stoop having a smoke. “He’s like a second father to me,” one said. “Yeah, I hear ya,” the other one replied.

I heard him, too, but didn’t understand. I don’t know from one father, let alone two. But it did make me think of my old man and the activities we did together. Besides smoking cigarettes and not talking, there weren’t too many. He wasn’t the type of dad who wanted to do anything with you. He wanted to be alone, and he got his wish when I was twelve.

So now here I am, 20 years later, a man (of sorts), one who isolates himself, whose manic social spurts are usually followed by spans of crucial seclusion. I’m aware of this proclivity that’s probably equal parts ‘nature’ and ‘nurture,’ and I guess that’s a good start, but I still wonder how can I prevent this cycle of less-than-social behavior from overtaking me?

Well, Thanksgiving is at my house this year, so tomorrow I will take some steps. I will sit down with my family: my mother, my brother and his wife, my sister and her boyfriend, her French Bulldog and another bulldog she will be dog-sitting. I will be grateful, for the food we’re bound to receive but for more than that as well. Up until a few weeks ago, our Thanksgiving had been more or less cancelled due to familial fighting. These issues have been, if not fully resolved, slightly mended, so now it’s back on and I’m thankful for that.

As for my father, he won’t be there, not in body or spirit but, unfortunately, in un-fond memory. And soon that’s all that will be left of him. In 2010, he’ll further isolate himself by retiring to Guangzhou, China, where he’ll live with his Chinese wife and spend the rest of his days doing what he does best—smoking cigarettes and not talking. (She knows little English, he knows zero Cantonese).

I guess his departure could pass for some closure, but I’m pretty sure closure requires a resolution. That’s not coming, but the New Year is and I’ve already chosen my resolution and I’m pretty excited by it—never enter a Barnes & Noble again.