Liquid Sugar

          Jamie was dressed like a model from one of those classy vodka commercials.  As Clyde swung his lean legs out of the car door, Jamie strode outside to greet him.  The two embraced just as brothers do.  Jamie attempted to conceal his innate joy, but Clyde's wide grin permitted reciprocation. 

          Sarah emerged from the car after Clyde.  "Sarah, how are you?" said Jamie. 

          "Not too bad, Jamie.  How's life as a single man?"

          "Nothing feels better."

          Sarah looked down as if to disagree.  Jamie looked past her and into the back seat.  "Oh my goodness," he exclaimed, "is this the newest member of the Jennings clan?" 

          "Yep," replied Sarah, "Rachael."

          "She's great isn't she?" Clyde asked.

          Jamie neared the window and peered in. 

          "Sure is.  Three kids is a lot to handle, Clyde."

          "The beauty of having children far outweighs the costs, Jamie," Sarah interjected.  Jamie took a step back and casually placed his hands in his pockets.

          "I'm sure it does."

          Clyde looked at Sarah and Jamie and took a step towards the house.  "Shall we go on inside?" he asked sheepishly. 

          "Why of course," said Jamie as he brushed a fleck of dust off his suit.  Jamie started up the front steps as Sarah made her way back to the car for the kids.  Clyde, placing one foot on the front steps and the other upon the tarmac, made his way hesitantly up the steps. 

          Jamie pushed open the front door and stepped gracefully inside.  Clyde followed.  The interior was anything but underwhelming.  Immediately in front of them, on the Italian marble flooring, sat neatly arranged contemporary furniture.  Two intricate, winding railings decorated with carvings of roaring lions and Victorian patterns accompanied an impeccably white staircase.  The staircase hovered over a small, artificial pond inhabited by a rather large family of Koi fish.  A small waterfall flowed into the pond, the rush of clear fluid glistening against rays of sun seeping in through the glass dome above.  Far across the room, opposite the front door, was a towering wall of glass that overlooked the ocean and just past it sat a sunken hot tub.  An array of tree branches adorned with white and lavender blossoms leaned quite dramatically in the direction of the bubbling water, seemingly yearning to bathe as Jamie did.  The maze of inessential rooms which comprised the first floor seemed to stretch for miles to their left and right. A steady gust from the shore met the steam emanating from the tub in a picturesque collision of which Jamie seemed completely unaware. 

          "Nice house," said Clyde, "definitely an upgrade from the last one."

          Jamie smiled widely.  "One could even say that I reap the benefits of being a working bachelor."

          "Listen, Jamie, just don't bring up that whole bachelor thing with Sarah around.  She hates it."

          Jamie chuckled and opened the refrigerator.  "Yeah, I can tell," he muttered.  "What is it with her?  This is the way I live.  Can't she respect that?"

          "She respects you, Jamie, but I think she wishes you would..."

          "You want a drink, Clyde?"

          "Uhhh, yeah...coffee would be nice."

          "How do like your coffee?"

          "Cream and sugar."

          Jamie pulled a bottle of cream out of the refrigerator and turned on the coffee-maker.  The machine's intricate controls flashed and its silver body shook lightly until steaming brown liquid began to trickle into the pot below.  Sarah walked through the door.  "This is quite the house, Jamie," she hollered from the front door. 

          "I'm aware," bellowed Jamie proudly,  "you and the kids can go and enjoy the beach if you want." 

          "I'm sure they would love that!" she exclaimed as she peered through the glass wall.

          "Well then head on out whenever you're ready.  Clyde and I are gonna' be right here catching up a bit."  Jamie turned to Clyde in search of approval.  Clyde grinned and nodded at Sarah.  She smiled and herded the children outside.

          Jamie swiveled his head around to ensure that Sarah and the kids had left.  When he was certain that they had, he stood up and trotted to the coffee-maker.  He removed the pot.  Warm brown liquid continued to trickle onto the counter.  Clyde felt an urge to say something, but he sensed that Jamie was aware of the rapidly widening brown puddle.  "How's life?" asked Jamie while he poured coffee into the first of two mugs. 

          "It's going smoothly.  The kids are healthy.  Sarah got a job at the school down the street.  Business is steady at the firm.  I can't complain."

          "That's good, man, that's good."

          Silence floated into the room and Jamie felt the urge to broach his own affairs.

          "The boss bumped me up in the order of things so I got a little pay raise" said Jamie.  He smiled in satisfaction and pulled a tall bottle out of the cabinet above his head.  He tilted the bottle and a syrupy, clear liquid flowed through the top.

          "What's that?" asked Clyde.

          "Liquid sugar.  They have it at a coffee shop downtown and I thought it might come in handy.  I don't even have to wait for the sugar to dissolve."

          It wasn't exactly the kind of thirst for efficiency that Clyde expected from his brother.  Clyde turned briefly towards the glass wall.  For a brief moment he thought he saw wisps of the younger Jamie drift towards the sea with the steam from the hot tub. 

          Bits and pieces of their childhood assembled loosely like grains of wind-exposed sand.  Vague visions of competitive races around the back porch and long, warm days on the beach appeared on the grass, rising and falling like fluctuations on stock-market graphs.  One vision melted into another until one final memory slipped away and descended into the ground.  Clyde felt his heart sink a little.

          "When did you buy this house?" muttered Clyde. 

          "About a year ago," replied Jamie, "cost me a large sum but my salary could cover it."  Clyde looked back at Jamie. 

          "Well I guess we're both rich men now," said Clyde, smiling. 

          "You aren't rich, Clyde."

          "Sure I am.  The firm pays me a pretty hefty salary."

          "You're happy, Clyde, not rich.  There's a difference."

          "Oh yeah?  What's the difference, Socrates?" asked Clyde through straight lips. 

          "Rich men think they're happy, and happy men think they're rich."

          "So you aren't happy?"

          "I never said that," uttered Jamie, passing the second mug to Clyde.  He sat down carefully.  "You are though." 

          Clyde smiled, shifted in his seat, and turned his eyes up towards the ceiling.  "Yeah...yeah I guess I am," he said.

          "You see," uttered Jamie, "I look at life like a constant trade-off now.  In order to attain something of greater value, you must sacrifice something else of equal value.  Hell, do you really think I would be able to have all this if I had kids?" he asked, motioning towards the expanse of marble and glass that comprised the kitchen. 

          "Well sure," retorted Clyde.

          "Well, you could definitely have all of this, but you sure as hell couldn't enjoy it."

          Jamie inhaled and surveyed the kitchen intently.  He eyed his seemingly endless collection of expensive wines and the tropical fruit that accumulated in his favorite white bowl.  He slid his finger tips across the counter as if to broach the sweet substance of life.  Clyde looked into Jamie's bright, energetic eyes and saw streams of hedonistic pleasures flowing into his cornea.  He absorbed his lavish surroundings with a sense of purpose that Clyde had never seen before, even in the greediest of men.

          "So is happiness what you sacrificed for all of this?" inquired Clyde. 

          "Absolutely not!  I certainly gave up your brand of happiness, but not mine."

          "Oh yeah?  What is your brand of so-called happiness?" demanded Clyde defensively. 

          "You know, Clyde, it's...it's.  Just look at it this way: you emotionally invest yourself in a lot of what you do right?"

          "I suppose so, yeah."

          "Happiness, in my opinion, is consuming things that are physically incapable of consuming me.  Take my Cadillac, for example.  That bad boy takes me places, but it can't take anything away from me, and I don't owe it a damn thing in return.  Sarah, however, expects a whole hell of a lot from you.  I mean, she expects a lot from me, and I only see you three times a year!"

          "Sarah is certainly not demanding."

          Jamie raised his eyebrows at Clyde, his incredulous expression boring into Clyde's dishonesty. 

          "She isn't man...really," insisted Clyde.

          "Say what you want, man, but she is demanding.  You might as well have forfeited your masculinity at the wedding."

          Clyde shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "Don't talk about Sarah like that" he snapped, "she's my wife and I love her.  She's hardly even rude to you, Jamie.  She's been nothing but kind." 

          "Kindness doesn't nullify her impatience."

          Clyde clenched his fists and took a long gulp from his mug.  "Listen, Jamie," he began "let's just drop this, okay?" 

          "Fair enough.  You want some more coffee?"

          Clyde looked down into his empty mug.  "Yeah, but I can get it myself."

          He stood and walked to the counter.  As he picked up the coffee pot, he felt his muscles ease up.  He loosened his grip on the pot, set it down, and clutched the bottle of liquid sugar.

          "Clyde," blurted Jamie.

          "Yup," said Clyde without turning around. 

          "I have cancer."

          Clyde's muscles seized up again and the bottle hurtled towards the marble floor.  Glass burst like spilt marbles and pelted the lower cabinets while Jamie's liquid sugar crawled across his glossy white floor.