Isaac

Nine years old

“Go ahead, Isaac,” my mom calls from the couch. “Your audience is ready.”

I’m hopping up and down nervously on my feet as my brothers, Luke and Caleb, mumble back and forth on the other side of the curtain. There’s a guitar in my hands, and I practice putting my fingers on the right strings to make sure I’m ready before walking through.

When a few more seconds go by, my brothers start cheering for me to encourage me, but it only makes me more nervous.

I feel stupid. What if they laugh? What if my dad hates it?

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” I turn to find Adam kneeling down behind the makeshift stage—which is just my mom’s old curtains we draped over a string we tied from one banister to the other.

“I’m nervous,” I whisper.

He smiles, ruffling my hair. “Don’t be nervous. You’re a natural. I’ve heard you practicing in your room.”

“You won’t laugh at me?”

His face contorts as he looks at me with confusion. “I would never laugh at you.”

My biggest brother is a grown-up now. I miss when he lived here because out of everyone in the family, he’s always the nicest to me.

“They will,” I mumble. I can still hear Luke and Caleb bickering. I’m sure my mom is still waiting patiently and my dad is probably reading something on his computer or some papers from work. He’s always working.

I don’t know if they can hear Adam and me talking, but for some reason, I feel the urge to cry. Then Adam puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me toward him.

“Isaac, listen to me. We’re your family. Even if we do laugh sometimes, we’re not laughing at you. The good thing about family is that we always take care of each other—no matter what. Okay?”

I take a deep breath. Sometimes, when I get nervous or scared, I just think about how confident and sure of everything Adam is. He’s never scared.

“Okay,” I reply, nodding my head.

“Everything all right back there?” my mother drawls sweetly.

Adam taps the front of my cowboy hat and winks at me before he crawls out from behind the curtain. Addressing my family seated in the living room, he says, “Trust me. It will be worth the wait.”

Instantly, my other brothers hush and the room goes quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Adam announces. “For your listening pleasure, we have a real treat for you tonight. For a completely sold-out show, he’s here straight out of Austin, Texas, the best country singer this side of the Mississippi, our very own…Isaac Goode!”

My family starts to cheer. Luke and Caleb holler and woot as my mom whistles. Then, as soon as Adam draws the curtain open, my father bellows proudly, “That’s my boy!”

There are a few lights we borrowed from the church stationed around the living room, and they’re so bright they make me squint. As my family cheers, I smile so widely that I have to cover my face in embarrassment.

Caleb mimics the sound of a crowded stadium as Luke mouths, You got this.

Another deep breath.

Looking down at my guitar, I place my fingers on the right strings and start to strum. The first chord is off, and it sounds terrible.

“Wait, sorry,” I mumble uncomfortably.

“It’s okay,” my mom whispers.

Another deep breath.

I fix my fingers and close my eyes. Then, I strum again.

This time, it’s perfect.

The music plays as I imagine the chords on the paper playing in my mind.

C chord.

D chord.

My mother starts to clap along, and I open my eyes to see my dad smiling.

“I love this song,” he says, and my brothers quickly hush him. “It’s Hank Williams,” he adds, ignoring them. Caleb throws something at him, and everybody laughs. Even Dad.

I just keep playing.

“Heeeeey good lookin’

Whaaaaatcha got cooking?

How’s about cookin’ something up with me?”

My mom sways from side to side as she mouths the words along with me. Adam takes a seat on the recliner and rests his elbows on his knees as I play.

Soon, everyone is clapping along, and I even start to dance a little like Hank does in the videos.

The switch from the G7 chord back to the C is tough but as I get in the groove of playing, it happens easily.

“I got a hot rod Ford and a two-dollar bill,

And I know a spot right over the hill.”

Mom’s smile grows brighter as I continue to put on a show. And no one laughs.

In fact, their encouragement only makes me more comfortable. So I put a little more into the performance, a little more twang in my voice, a little more bounce in my dance, strum a little harder, and even throw in a little yodel.

When the song comes to an end, I sing the loudest and strum one last time before holding my hands in the air.

My family is on their feet in a second. They’re all cheering and clapping.

“Bravo, bravo!” Luke shouts.

“Hot damn, boy!” my dad bellows. “He’s got some talent!” He nudges my mom with his elbow.

“That was so good, baby!” she calls as she crosses toward me, swallowing me up in a hug. I have to reach up to hold my cowboy hat in place as she kisses my cheeks. “You’re amazing, Isaac.”

“Encore, encore, encore,” my brothers all chant in unison.

“I know one more,” I say. Which is a lie. I know a lot more than one.

Quickly, they take their seats, and I put my fingers back on the guitar.

As I play them another Hank Williams and then a George Jones and even a Marty Robbins song, they keep clapping and dancing and cheering me on. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had.

And not once do any of them laugh.

* * *

After I’m done performing, my brothers and I are in the kitchen around the large island. Luke pops some popcorn and Caleb cracks open a Coke. The four of us laugh and poke fun at each other as brothers do.

When I hear my parents’ voices from the living room, I hop down from the stool and walk out toward where I hear the fireplace crackle.

“He’s such a sweet boy,” my mother says.

“He sure is,” my dad replies.

“Where did he get such talent? Certainly not from my side,” she jokes.

I stop in the hallway and listen when I realize they’re talking about me. It’s quiet before he adds, “I think he gets it from me.”

My mother giggles softly. “Since when do you play the guitar?”

“I played when I was his age,” he says.

“You did?”

“I was damn good too. Probably could have been a star.”

A smile stretches across my cheeks as I lean against the wall.

“Oh, Truett.” My mom giggles.

My dad gets mad a lot, sometimes at me and sometimes at my brothers. So when he’s in a good mood, the house feels nice. Everyone’s happy. I wish it was like this all the time.

Tonight, he seems like he’s in a good mood, and I don’t want to miss it. Taking a step forward, I enter the living room to find my parents sitting next to each other on the couch. My mom is cuddled up under Dad’s arm. She has a glass of wine in her hand and he has something stronger-smelling in a short glass.

“There’s the star now,” she says softly as I enter the room.

“Get on over here, Hank Williams.”

With a bashful smile, I cross the room and climb onto the couch between them. My mom strokes my hair and kisses the side of my head.

“You sure did good tonight,” my dad says, patting my leg. “Where’d you learn to play that guitar so well?”

I shrug. Truth be told, the music director at Dad’s church taught me the basics when he passed down his old guitar to me, but the rest I learned on my own. But I want to be humble for my dad.

“I’m so proud of you,” my mom whispers.

“Here, boy. You earned this.” My dad passes me his short glass, and I scowl at it as the acidic stench reaches my nose.

“Truett!” my mom hisses. “He’s nine!”

“So? I was younger than him the first time I had my first taste of whiskey. Besides, he proved himself tonight, didn’t he?”

She huffs and looks away.

“Just a sip,” my dad says, holding it in front of my face.

It smells terrible, like fire and cinnamon. I don’t want it.

But he looks so proud. So I take it.

Just a sip.

“There you go,” he says as he watches me tip it back. There’s a large ice cube in the middle of the glass and it clinks loudly as it rolls around. When I inhale through my nose, it burns, so I try not to breathe as I wait for the liquid to touch my lips.

When it does, I sip a tiny bit of the alcohol into my mouth.

It’s worse than fire. Worse than acid, cinnamon and smoke all rolled into one. It doesn’t just burn; it screams its way down my throat, but I’m not sure it makes it all the way because suddenly I’m coughing like the devil. I end up spitting saliva and whiskey all over my lap.

My dad laughs loudly as he pounds his palm against my back, but it doesn’t help. The fire won’t go away. I want to throw up, but since my dad is laughing, I smile up at him.

“It’s good,” I say, but my voice won’t come out, so it’s just a strangled, raspy sound, which only makes my dad laugh more.

“That’s enough,” my mom scolds. “Isaac, go into the kitchen and drink some water.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply as I climb off the couch. As I walk to the kitchen, my head feels light and fuzzy, and I blink a lot as I reach the room where my brothers are still cracking up and teasing each other.

“The hell happened to you?” Caleb asks.

My eyes are still watering as I shove my shoulders back proudly. “Just sharing some whiskey with Dad.”

“Whiskey?” Luke snaps. He looks angry, which makes me feel bad. Luke hates everything Dad does. But he doesn’t understand. I can still make Dad proud. It’s too late for him. They fight too much, and Luke says stuff just to make Dad mad.

But I saw the way Dad smiled at me tonight. I saw how proud he was. I can still be a good son, like Adam.

I glance up at him to gauge his reaction. As Adam fills a glass of water, I catch a glimpse of concern on his face.

When he hands it to me, he bends over so his face is level with mine. Then he places a hand on my shoulder and stares into my eyes.

“You don’t have to do that to make Dad proud, you know?”

“I know,” I say with a shrug. Taking a sip, I try to act nonchalant, like the whiskey didn’t burn and my brother should have nothing to worry about.

Adam chuckles and ruffles my hair. “You’re a good kid, Isaac. Stay that way.”

My head still feels heavy as I give my brother a smirk.

“We won’t always be around to take care of you.” I glance over at where Luke is resting his elbows on the kitchen island. He picks up a piece of popcorn and tosses it at me. With a laugh, I pick it up and toss it back at him. My laugh turns into a giggle and suddenly, I can’t seem to stop. Maybe it was that nasty drink Dad gave me, or maybe it’s just because I have all my brothers together. Or maybe because acting like a real country star tonight made me feel so good.

“Sure you will,” I reply, looking up at each of them. “We’ll always be together.”

“Of course, buddy,” Adam says as he shakes my shoulder. It doesn’t sound true and it makes my laughter stop.

“You’ll always have my back. You said.” I don’t like the sound of my voice. It shakes a little like I’m about to cry.

“How much of that whiskey did he drink?” Caleb asks with humor on his face.

Luke looks guilty, and Adam is trying to smile, but it’s a lie.

“Drink this,” Adam says flatly as he forces me to take the glass of water and tip it back.

The good feeling starts to fade, and it makes me sad. The lights of the kitchen are bright, and I focus on the black-and-white towel hanging from the handle of the oven. It has a cow on it because Mom loves cows.

As I stare at it, trying to shrink away from my brothers’ attention, I’m relieved when they eventually go back to talking to each other and not to me. Sipping my water, I realize for the first time that my brothers lie, especially to me.

Soon Luke and Caleb will be done with school and move away. Adam won’t come around as much. It’ll be like I don’t have brothers anymore.

And if I don’t have my brothers…then I have to be tough and take care of myself.