If You Have an Uncle Gage

If you have an Uncle Gage, then chances are you live a couple blocks from the local train tracks. Your home is likely a gaunt three-bedroom saltbox situated on the western outskirts of town tucked away on a barren cul-de-sac that’s been tagged with a plain name like Mill, Willow or Hilltop. It appears most of the houses on your street require some basic repairs—blistered siding, rotting window frames and mossy shingles. Odds are your two-syllable surname is either painted or glued on to most of the mailboxes rooted along this nondescript street. In all likelihood, you can see right into Uncle Gage’s screened porch from your kitchen window.

Though your town shares its name with several other lacklustre settlements peppered across any Rand McNally map, yours is fortunate enough to be cradled by a healthy hardwood forest. As a result, you are inclined to spend your free time exploring the dense woods that back on to your yard. Years of trekking in this wilderness means you helped shape the landscape, fashioning it into a homemade playground filled with fortresses, lean-tos, and secret paths.

You probably know how to fish using a fresh cut maple stick baited with balled up pieces of lean white bread. From your collection of extended relatives, it was likely Uncle Gage who woke up an hour early each Saturday morning in the summer months to take you down to the nearby unnamed river. Most days the two of you would probably take shelter beneath the rail bridge where Uncle Gage would show you his favorite shoreline spots to hook creek chub. Your Uncle Gage enjoys spending time in the backwoods and relishes the chance to teach you how to read the animal signs on the trail, whistle to the lonely partridge and smell the air for rain. He will often praise you for your efforts, which tends to make you try harder.

It is also conceivable that you have a little sister, and given the single parent statistics in the area, it falls upon you to watch her after school and on weekends. In typical little sister fashion, she follows you everywhere, wears purple rain boots and loves to play hide and seek. Perhaps you hear others discussing how lovely your sister is, complimenting her button blue eyes and infectious laugh. This sister is often named after a spring month or a dead aunt, such as April, May or Rowan. Given your young age, you act annoyed by her lean shape trailing you around the street and woods, but in truth, you love her more than anything. You never tell her this fact because strong emotions are confusing; they tend to make you feel silly, bloated or sad.

If you have an Uncle Gage, it’s not uncommon for this type of uncle to help with family chores. Your all-time favorite is when he sings lumberjack songs in a silly British accent, while stacking wood for the coming winter. Despite exhibiting above average intelligence, it is customary for an Uncle Gage to put his efforts into the trades—mechanic, plumber or carpenter. After years of hard work, the ridges of his calloused fingertips are as clear as ink prints. Defining physical features include tidy brown hair, moody blues eyes, and a narrow nose prevalent in northern European ancestry. He is often tall and muscular, with a steady, almost confrontational gaze. The rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt are tight around his muscular arms. Several small yet defining facial scars confirm his stories of reckless teenage behavior and poor choice in high school friends. Such uncles have a profound fondness for vintage Ford F150s, acoustic guitars and classic rock. Though lacking any real opinion on politics or sports, Uncle Gage enjoys following both on the local radio.

If you have an Uncle Gage, then there’s a good chance that five of your six cousins have joined, or are about to join the army. Like other working-class families in your area, current economic realities have pushed your adolescent relatives away from the impaired manufacturing sectors and towards the nearby military base. With each passing laundry day, crisp camouflage slowly replaces the faded blue coveralls hanging on the clothesline.

Typically, it is Uncle Gage who first enlisted and felt compelled to tell heroic combat stories during Sunday family dinners. Perhaps talk at the table flips from local union grievances to strategic deployment operations to passing the roast chicken. You might sit quietly, listening, as obscure acronyms buzz around the table. Somehow this exotic, adult conversation makes the breaded drumstick on your plate taste a little bit meatier.

In reality, not every cousin who enlists is armed-forces material. Between all your army-bound relations, the soldierly sun seems to shine the brightest on Gage’s eldest boy, christened Troy, Malcolm or Connor. The military’s imposed grooming standards protect this cousin like ancient armor. His hair is the true tell: an army-issued flat top, clipped to microscopic perfection. Unlike the rest of your family, you tend to be less impressed with this cousin’s appearance, considering that the bristles on his head remind you of an unused toilet brush.

Uncle Gage’s first born, normally several years older than you, only makes it home for Christmas and hunting season. This cousin tends to be your grandmother’s favorite, as demonstrated by his oversized helping of her infamous strawberry rhubarb crumble. Her apparent concern for his continued growth supersedes that of her remaining grandchildren. In contrast, your granny’s piebald cat, named Mittens, Boots or some other article of clothing, seems unimpressed by the baseless favoritism and hisses at this cousin (Troy, Malcolm or Connor) whenever he passes the sofa with a plate full of coveted dessert.

Uncle Gage is also prone to rituals. For example, on early Thursday evenings, without fail, you will find him sitting alone in his heated porch listening to the radio while meticulously cleaning an assortment of hunting rifles. Sometimes while polishing the gun base with wood cleaner, your uncle gets a strange look in his eyes. You have likely been asked by your father not to bother your uncle when he exhibits this fugue state. Unlike his oldest son (Troy, Malcolm or Connor), an archetypal Uncle Gage tends to experience foreign wars first-hand, which can make these uncles shut down on occasions, notably after public holidays such as Veterans, Labor or Memorial Day. On these nights, your father tends to call in sick from work. Uncle Gage is often the older brother of your father, who you nickname Pops, Pappy or Dah. He is usually the less successful of the two brothers, regularly forced to pick up whatever odd, backbreaking jobs are available within walking distance—mostly night shifts, minimum wage, generally seasonal.

Due to his strong sense of family, Uncle Gage, without hesitation, would volunteer for some the fundamental parental activities absent in your life. With his own children grown up, your uncle seems to enjoy reading you bedtime stories or helping your sister rehearse lines for the school play. Your sister often bestows your uncle with many tight hugs, which he appears to appreciate. He often tells her how smart she has become, and you try not to appear jealous. Lately, you may hear people say that your sister is blossoming into a pretty, young girl, looking more and more like your absent mother (name withheld). This fact usually awakens your protective side. Likewise, Gage’s eldest son (Troy, Malcolm or Connor), back for the autumn deer hunt, also senses the hormonal evolution within your sister. And on this certain visit, you will notice how this older cousin spends too much time openly inspecting her small frame. You find yourself sitting at the dining table wondering why no one else in your family has taken offence to this cousin’s lecherous examination of your sister’s elfin form—pulling her hair back to whisper in her ear, while calloused hands explore under her small arms—this inevitably makes you weak with nausea.

In contrast, your sister (April, May, or Rowan) remains oblivious to the encroaching danger, unaccustomed and overwhelmed by the dubious attention she receives from her older cousin. Maybe you clench your fists because you feel helpless, particularly on the quiet afternoon when she ignores your cries beckoning her home to watch cartoons. The sickening realization that you are powerless, as you watch this cousin take your sister to your granny’s backyard on the false promise of playing hide and seek.

You likely grow numb when the hours pass and there’s no sign of either one of them. You might close your eyes, hoping to hear your sister’s steps crunching on the rocks or that she remembers the better hiding spots deep within the forest. In a desperate attempt to will her home, you will squeeze your eyes shut and tense your body, trying to reach her with your thoughts, until your hands shake from clenching and your teeth ache in your jaw.

Your granny will invariably get tired of seeing you perched on her back fence, she will curl her crooked little finger, and in her gravelly voice, tell you to piss-off home. Your stomach will ache in defeat. The only one who appears to notice you walking home alone is your granny’s cat (Mittens, Boots, etc.) yowling and wrapping itself around your legs in hopes of securing a piece of ham, cheese or fish from your fridge.

The following morning, you may detect an immediate change in your sister. It might be little things, like she wears her shirt inside out, kicks the dog dish out of her way or cowers when you help her with her jacket. You may even notice how the light in her cornflower eyes dims when she tries to stomach a spoonful of cereal.

It is also reasonable to presume that this older cousin’s satisfied grin makes you vomit into your hands. Chances are you notice alterations in his behaviour as well. Perhaps he helps himself to the twenty-five-year-old Islay single malt tucked away in your grandmother’s personal collection, mocks your father in his janitor’s uniform, or rubs his hands across his faded jeans whenever he catches sight of her purple rain boots.

It is common for members of your family to surround your cousin with adoration. They tend to dance like bees when he enters a room. For reasons you cannot fathom, he has managed to snake charm the rest of your relations into thinking he is bigger than the sum of his parts. Perhaps you blame your family’s ignorance on their inherent myopia. You might stare at each member of your spectacled family to try and diagnose this generational malaise, reaching inconclusive results. Despite any corrective eye problems, there is a clear familial pecking order, and you are fully aware that you sit on the bottom rung of this domestic ladder. To avoid getting caught staring at your cousin, you sneak away from the table, while he pours himself and your grandmother another glass of whiskey, their cheeks flushed red, telling everyone about their ice fishing escapade for the third time.

It is because of this clearly defined social ranking that you find this cousin (Troy, Malcolm or Connor) naturally intimidating—he is taller, leaner—but mostly because he corners you in Granny’s bathroom and threatens to drown you in her soaker tub if you ever tell anyone. You are shocked because this cousin has ignored you in the past, however, he appears to be acutely aware that you cannot be blinded by his subterfuge.

And in the nights that follow, you find yourself awake and sweating, because you feel responsible, but you know if you tell anyone—aunt, father, grandmother—they will scoff and snarl at such sickening accusations. Any attempts to return to a regular routine will fail. Instead of playing outside after school, you will often find your sister in her bedroom, crouched beside her bed, next to her purple rain boots, trying to make herself smaller.

Often, during times of despair, you are oblivious to the activities going on around you. For instance, say your Uncle Gage notices the same changes in your sister. Uncle Gage is a vigilant man. Perhaps he notices his son corner you or sees your sister recoil every time she walks by this cousin. Perhaps your uncle recognizes the destructive grin his son wears. And if you know your Uncle Gage, then you might have detected the suspicions burrowing into his skull. You might have witnessed your uncle spending more time in the background observing his son—the way he stalks your sister in the hallway, the way he pushes you aside at the barbecues—and getting more enraged by the hour.

Perhaps it all came to light on the day your uncle took you aside, got down on one knee so he could look you straight in the eyes. Odds are he got so close you could smell coffee on his breath. Perhaps he noticed how tired you looked, how you avoided his gaze, or how you feared his proximity. You might never understand what took place, but when your uncle releases you, he curses under his breath and his shoulders start to shake.

After the incident, you may notice your uncle spending less time fishing, and more time cleaning his favorite hunting rifle, the one he used to snag the ten-point trophy buck everyone still talks about and has cached away in their freezers. His actions would seem real peculiar to you because it wasn’t Thursday.

If you have an Uncle Gage, then you may have noticed him taking his oldest son out hunting that Tuesday morning, just the two of them hiking into the reclaimed forest. This incident likely seems out of the ordinary, and you might have thought to mention the scene to your father, but other things weighed on your mind. Maybe the last image you have of your Uncle Gage is his neon orange safety vest disappearing into the woods.

And the next day, when the police arrive on your street (Mill, Willow or Hilltop) and news about the incident reaches your house, you might have felt sorry for your aunt, who is named Willa, Edna or Darla, having to go to the morgue to identify her son’s body. You might have to watch your father shrink when the officers explain it was his older brother who left the big hole in the boy’s chest. Despite signs of struggle, local authorities will fail to provide your family with a clear picture, forcing them to huddle in small, confused groups. Not one of them will recall the last time they saw Gage or his son. Family dinner will be cancelled indefinitely.

At this cousin’s funeral, you will likely sit in the back pew with your sister. To help her through the service, you will whisper to her, tell her she is safe. You might sense in yourself a growing freedom, like you could finally protect her. Maybe the only thing you remember about that day was how her small sticky fingers grasped your hand and never let go.

If you have an Uncle Gage, then you know he is an expert woodsman, and when the entire town turned out to search the forest, you might think it odd that everyone neglected to consider his former military background. Consequently, extensive air and ground searches would find no traces. You would know in your heart and from experience how easily he could slip away into the hemlock canopy. Chances are you will neglect to inform the police about your wanted uncle’s special fishing spots.

Since your Uncle Gage’s disappearance cannot be easily explained, he quickly shifts into local folklore. Some of his former classmates might suspect that grief led him to jump off the railway bridge. Others, who served in the same regiment with Gage, might surmise he slipped off into the night, resettling far away, someplace isolated like Alaska, Newfoundland or Corn Island. Any offbeat news reports about mad hermit sightings or ransacked cottages are immediately attributed to your fugitive uncle. Despite the hyped media reports and seasonal weather warnings, you know instinctively that he is out there and that he is okay.

In the weeks that follow, you will attempt to focus your attention on school. You might try to finish your homework but find yourself distracted. Chances are your sister calls you from the front door, beckoning you outside, using a freshly raked pile of leaves to coax you away from your textbooks. This will likely make you smile. Your father will spend more time with your aunt (Willa, Edna, or Darla) helping her with groceries, yard work, and car repairs. Since you are accustomed to his prolonged absence, this change has little impact on your daily routine.

Your family, along with the entire town, would come to scorn this estranged uncle, spit his name in a curse, label him an outcast, but you would know the real reason behind his hiding, his exile. And you would have liked to thank your Uncle Gage for everything. You would have liked that a lot.