Something in the sauce

A decade is often not long enough. Jackson Porter spent the previous ten years of a peaceful existence hearing nothing from his father. Since the age of six, he had considered his grandparents to be the only parents he ever had. Until the call came in from a hospital a few days after his twenty fourth birthday. Andrew Porter was laid up in a small hospital room suffering the repercussions of a scarred liver from years of alcohol abuse. Only a matching section of liver from a donor would get him out of that hospital. As if karma forced the hand of the hospital, neighbors refused to volunteer to be tested for matches.

Andrew refused to give his doctor's the details needed to find the sons. Jackson was listed in hospital records along with his brother William, but no one was able to track down a William Porter, Jackson was the first and best chance to save his father's life. The doctor asked Jackson if he would be willing to fly back and have some tests to see if he would be a good match to donate for his father.

An hour into the flight, the Sky Mall catalog drifted to the floor from Jackson's hands as he slipped off into his past. His childhood flooded over him punctured by the many images of his father's constant drunkenness washing away the pleasant memories of life with his mother still alive. When his early youth memories flitted away, memories of his life living with his grandparents took hold. Years of schooling in upstate New York through high school and coming home to his grandmother's baking and his grandfather's pipe filled him with a feeling of nostalgia. The smell of the sugar cookies baking took hold even while watching the smoke from his grandfather's pipe fill the air. The plumes of smoke wafted in the living room twisting and forming shapes. The build up of smoke did not concern Jackson as only dreams can both calm and shock from moment to moment. Surprise did not even fill him when the smoke formed into the shape of a man yelling and stumbling around the living room. A smoky finger pointed at Jackson accusingly as his grandfather walked to the front door to escort the smoke out and away as he so often had done with Andrew Porter on his rare appearances.

In waking to the pilot's voice, Jackson was left with the certainty that he could not think of a less deserving person in his life to sacrifice a part of himself for, but he also knew he would have to rise above his father as he had all his life. With a thump mirroring the nerves in Jackson's gut, the plane touched down in Lexington, Kentucky.

Jackson Porter's father was a belligerent drunk. He would explain that many people are belligerent when they are drunk, but not everyone is drunk on most days at most hours. His father, Andrew Porter, grew up in Birmingham, Mississippi which, Jackson would dead pan, is why he was named Jackson. His father, Andrew, and he, Jackson, made up a "fine southern president" as Andrew liked to say when Jackson was young.

Andrew had been a good father and supporter when Jackson was young. He worked double shifts at the local plant on Saturdays to help make ends meet while Jackson's mother, Beth, was taking care of their son. When Jackson came to be old enough for school, Beth took a part time job during school hours allowing Andrew to cut his weekend hours and allow the family to have family events on the weekend.

On one of these weekend, Beth had brought a bottle of wine on a picnic to let Andrew know that she was pregnant again. Seeing as she was pregnant at the time and Jackson was 6, Andrew ended up drinking the entire bottle by himself. As gladly as Andrew would have embraced his forthcoming son, William, he could not get past the thought of going back on extra shifts at work to make ends meet. The new twist would be that Beth would not be able to supplement income again until William would be old enough for school. Additionally, Andrew would have to work even more hours to support his oldest son now needing more food clothing and school costs than as a baby as well as the new baby.

His merlot soaked brain did not have a filter for this information and, at two thirds gone in the bottle, he let this information be known. He blamed Beth for not thinking of the consequences of having more children when they could barely afford the one. Jackson would remember this clearly, even at six years old, as the moment he stopped respecting his father.

Nearly nine months passed from that day and Beth had just quit her part time job to prepare for the coming baby. Andrew had given up on the family weekends after that day's outburst and began working double shifts on Saturday and Sunday as well as picking up a part time job bar tending in town on week nights. This allowed him to stockpile income for the coming stringent times in a two child household. It also allowed him to drink for free on the job and come home on most nights drunker than the clientele.

It was on one of these fateful nights that Beth brought up that Jackson had been given information about a summer camp that would allow them to ship him off for a month and a half while Beth took care of their coming son. The idea was to ease the burden on both of them, but Andrew scoffed at the idea of spending more money. He accused Beth of taking the easy way out of her responsibility while he was working double shifts and double jobs to pay the bills.

Beth argued with him that she was hoping it would ease the stress on both of them. Upon suggesting she might invite her mother to stay and help for a few weeks, Andrew went to the liquor cabinet. As he reached for the plastic bottle of vodka, it slipped to the ground as Beth turned to leave the room not wanting to witness her husbands alcoholic demise. Her heel caught on the rolling bottle and she tumbled back wards hitting the ground hard.

Two hours later from the hospital, Andrew would learn that the fall had caused Beth to bleed internally putting the baby in jeopardy. They would explain that they were able to save his newborn son, but his wife did not survive the surgery. When Andrew punched the doctor, security handcuffed him to a chair and brought him coffee to sober him up to make a decision on what to do with his wife's effects and let him know to contact them when he had made funeral arrangements.

A nurse approached him unaware of the events of the day or Andrew's current status asking him to give his newborn son a name. Without pause, Andrew told her to name him William after General William Sherman, "the man that entered the south in good health and left it in shambles." The name William would stand, but the last name Porter would not. Andrew instructed the nurse to have the child given up for adoption and that no one was to mention to his wife's family that the baby survived.

Jackson had arrived at the hospital with his neighbors to see his mother when he walked into the cafeteria overhearing his father's orders. He would see his father only sporadically after that and always drunk. Andrew sent Jackson to New York to live with his grandparents.