Jameson

It's not like Jameson knew whatt he was doing. He was just a little boy. Barely even ten years old. But, our father didn't see it that way. He assumed Jameson did it on purpose, but really he didn't know any better.
Jameson didn't mean to break the bottles. He was just playing. He was just kicking a ball around the house. Sometimes it still feels like it's my fault. I should have told him to take the ball outside, but I didn't. Dad wasn't home; I didn't think it would be a big deal.
I was upstairs doing homework. I almost didn't hear the bottles break as they hit the floor. I did hear Jameson yell for me, though.
When, I got downstairs he was in the kitchen. He was holding his soccer ball against his stomach. He pointed to the broken glass, and the golden liquids that were mixing together on the floor. "I didn't mean to, Hallie," he said, his brown eyes wide.
"Just take your ball outside, Jamie," I snapped. I hadn't meant to be so harsh. "I'll clean it up."
He ran from the house, and I got started picking up the broken glass.
By the time Dad got home, I had the mess cleaned up, but the stench of the liquor was still strong in my nostrels.
I sent Jameson up to my room and told him to stay hidden.
"Girl, what happened here? What happened to my drink?"
I bit my lip nervously. "It was an accident. The bottles got broken, but I have some money saved up. I think I can replace them."
"And, this was your fault?" he asked, pointing to the empty spot where his bottles should have been lined up.
I nodded and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. "Yes, sir, it was."
"What happened?" he questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.
What was I supposed to say? I couldn't tell him that I'd been playing with the soccer ball. He'd never believe that. I couldn't think of a better story, though.
"Where's Jameson?" he asked, when I didn't answer. "He was playing with that damn ball in here again, wasn't he?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He bolted up the stairs and burst into Jameson's room. "Where are you, boy? Don't let your sister lie for you! Be a man!"
"He's only ten, Dad! He didn't mean to!"
He pushed me out of the way and pain errupted in my shoulder as I hit the wall. Dad kicked my door open and looked around. "Jameson Lee, where the hell are you!" he yelled, as he looked in my closet.
"Where is he, Hallie?" He didn't even look at me. He knelt down and peeked under the bed.
In any other house, it would have looked like he was playing hide and seek with his son.
He pulled Jameson from under my bed by his ankle.
I wanted to just close my eyes. I couldn't watch. But, I had to try and stop him. "Dad, stop it!" I shrieked, reaching for Jameson. "I said, I'll replace them!"
"He needs to learn his lesson," he growled, yanking Jameson back by his shoulder.
"He's sorry."
"You won't always be there to fix his mistakes!" Dad yelled.
"No, but I am now!" I'd never yelled back, before. But, this was different. This was Jameson not me. I'd always been able to keep him focussed on me, or at least distract him before he went looking for Jameson.
I reached for Jameson agian, but Dad grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the room. I followed them downstairs, trying to get Jameson away from Dad.

* * *

Jameson's funeral was the first one I'd been to since Gram died when I was six.
My first thought after I sat down was that this was all wrong. Dad shouldn't be there. But he was; right beside me. My next thought was that the casket was too shirt. Jameson was only ten. This was happening too soon.
I look at the picture, surrounded by flowers next to the casket. It was a picture I'd taken. It was on Jameson's last birthday. His mousy, brown hair was ruffled, and his doe, brown eyes were shining with laughter. He had a chocolate cake in front of him, and he was smiling so that you could see that his two front teeth were missing.
Tear welled up in my eyes and I scooted further away from Dad. He'd done this. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him glance at me. He put his arm across the back of my chair and gripped my sore shoulder.
I wince slightly, but I didn't make a sound.
I listened, silently as the preacher prayed and then talked about my little brother. It was just like the funeral's out of the movies. Jameson was kind soul, a gentle soul, and he was just so young, his life had just been getting starting, and so on.
It was so impersonal. I wished I could get up and say something. But, I couldn't not with Dad sitting right there, staring at me.
So, I sat there quietly, with my hands folded in my lap.