No Sad Songs – Part I

Annie:

The call came in the night. Like all bad things. When it is dark and still. I found myself driving northeast, toward Boston. On the long drive, I had time to think and remember. My brother was dying. My thoughts were only of him and us and the family.I barely acknowledged the freeway signs as they pointed me toward his sick bed. His final days. Our last meeting was years ago, in the winter. We saw The Rocky Horror Show; a movie where the audience called out the lines with the actors on the screen and threw bread and toilet paper up into the air. Fascinating and revolting. Later, we went to a pub where there was no ladies’ room and I was the only woman. It smelled of beer and anticipation. Oddly, I felt at ease there, as if in a sea of big brothers who would protect me from harm.Then nothing. I called but he didn’t call back. I wrote but the letters came back, unopened; stamped in red, “return to sender, addressee unknown.”A month before ‘the call’ I had nightmares in which I was forced to watch Paul’s murder. Unable to do anything to stop it. I had no voice, only eyes. It was God’s way of telling me. I despised my intuition sometimes.

“Why? He doesn’t give a damn about us. Why are you going?” my father asked as I fought with maps and suitcases. His voice was angry but his eyes betrayed his grief.

“I go because I can,” I said and hugged him.

My motel room was clean but its dark, somber colors depressed me. It didn’t matter because I was there to see Paul. It struck me funny that the hospital was on Fruit Street or was it Avenue? I wondered if they had a big psychiatric ward. My mind spun.

My Denny’s breakfast churned in my stomach as I rode the elevator to the third floor. The doors opened and I trembled as I stepped out.

The green walls screamed, sickness, to me. My shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor as I journeyed to the nurse’s desk. Bleach and antiseptic couldn’t mask the smell of death.

The desk nurse was on the phone. “Anyway I told him I wasn’t going to work any overtime…if you know what I mean…” she prattled on.

“Excuse me.” I tried to be polite.

“And do you know what he said? He said…” She ignored me because I was just another lost soul there to see a dead person.

“I said, excuse me! For God’s sake, my brother is dying and you’re on the phone gossiping!”

She hung up hurriedly and tried to calm me. She took me to his room, smiled poison and walked away.

Paul was alone in his room. He didn’t know I watched as he picked up a mirror from the bedside table and looked into it. Did he see what I saw? A haggard face that once was beautiful. Thinning hair and skin as pale as spring lilies. Like Tom Hanks, in the movie, but this was real life.

When I came into the room no recognition came into his eyes. I was afraid he thought I was the magazine lady or the new dietician.

I put on the cheer. “Hey you. You mean to tell me after seven years you aren’t happy to see your own sister?”

His eyes sparked, like the old Paul. “Annie!” He sang my name like it was a song. “Give me a hug!”

I rushed to him and hugged him. Gladly. “Oh Paul,” I cried.

“I’m glad you’re here, sis.” Paul cried with me.

Then silence. All the questions that I wasn’t allowed to ask hung in the air.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You wasted your time. Nothing you can do for me, sis.” The sadness made him the old man again.

We both knew why I was there. Unfinished business. “It’s about your kids,” I blurted out.

“My kids?” Paul was alarmed. “Are they sick? Are they hurt?”

“No, no,” I reassured him. “They’re back.”

“Back?” It was territory Paul didn’t want to visit. He looked away. I had to plow forward though and make him deal with it.

“Yeah. Just showed up about a year ago. Like nothing ever happened.” That wasn’t exactly true. “The point is…”

“The point is what, sis?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Pauly. I know you’re sick and … well, they hate you. I tried to talk to Jane. She’s still bitter.” I didn’t know how to say it but straight out.

“And?” he asked, knowing there was more.

“They suspended Robby from school because he and some others beat up a kid they thought was gay.”

Paul looked like I’d slapped him. Hard.

“It gets worse.” I said. “When Dad asked him why he did it, he said he pretended it was you.”

“I’ve really made a mess of things, huh?” Paul didn’t want me to answer but I did.

“Yeah…you have.”

“Guess I had that coming,” he said.

I lost it. “Damn right you did! How the hell could you do that to your family? Why did you have to tell them? I begged you not to. They didn’t have to know. Things could have been different. But no! You gotta announce to the whole fucking world that you got a new lifestyle. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I had to tell the truth,” Paul defended himself as if I held a gun.

“Why?”

He sighed, “Because I was tired of being ashamed of what I am. Who I am.”

I cried without shame. “It hurt them. So bad. Dad goes crazy if I even say your name. Now you’re, you’re…”

“Say it!” Paul screamed.

I reeled. I was in a battle with my soon-to-be-dead brother and I couldn’t stop. “No! I won’t. I won’t!” I screamed at my sick and defenseless brother.

“Say it! Say it! Say it!” He taunted me like we were children again.

I dove straight into my grief. “You’re going to die, you son-of-a-bitch!” I had to leave. I ran out of the room, down the stairs and out of the building. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to go home. Instead, I got into my green Volvo and drove back to the motel. (to be continued…)

copyright 2006