Chapter 21

I guess there are various stages in the scared categories. There’s the minor scare that only gives you a light jolt. Coming in behind that is the scare that causes a person to jump and skip a few heart beats. Last, but certainly not least, there are the big scares.

These are the ones that just scare the living you-know-what out of a person. It can cause them to scream, jump, throw their arms into hysterics and even let loose a little tinkle.

My mother was the kind that was easy to scare. My brother and I would hide around the corner or behind furniture and jump out when she walked by. Mom would let out a little shriek and jump, but hopefully never wet her old granny panties.

Dad just never went for that. One time, I thought it was Mom coming and I hid around the corner. Just as he approached, I jumped out, waved my arms and made a high-pitched yelp to increase the scare tactic.

It worked. I scared him bad enough that he made a little yip like a dog does when you accidentally step on their paw. But instead of jumping back or up, he instinctively threw a punch. He planted his right fist in my left eye.

I was left with a badly blackened, swollen eye for several days. It was at that moment that I decided to retire from the scaring people department. That was one of the few times I ever saw my father worry about me. He didn’t mean to hit me and never did physically abuse me. The mental part worked just fine for him and the only scars that left were on the insides, where nobody else could ever see.

My younger brother, Manny, also gradually got out of scaring people.

Or he did until tonight. As I saw his face slowly emerging from the shadows, it looked a lot like me, if I had a rough life. We always looked a lot alike and could almost pass for twins, except for the size difference. I was two years older and always bigger until he got into high school.

“Hey Bubs,” he said, the name Manny always called me. I screamed, dropped my Coke and jumped back as far as possible. I was pretty sure my bladder held the same level as it had prior to my scare. My heart rate had just tripled and did not seem to be slowing down.

I knew it was my brother, but at the same time, didn’t want it to be. In some ways he looked the same, but I knew Manny wasn’t the same and never would be. He had crossed a line many years ago by doing things that never allowed him to return.

His face was drawn and way too wrinkled. He was two years younger in age, but appeared way older. Manny’s eyes seemed almost hollow, showing nothing of the love for life that one time occupied that area. His nose had been broken sometime over the years and now resembled an s-curve that I never wanted to drive.

Manny’s hair was long and unruly. It was obvious that he and showers were long lost friends. He had not shaved in many a moon. Manny never had a thick beard and all he had were clumps of long hair on his chin, an unruly mustache and a few stray, long hairs along his jaw bone.

His choice of attire was certainly interesting. Manny’s shirt for the evening was an old black concert shirt for AC-DC that looked like some angry moths had attacked. The shirtsleeves were frayed badly, revealing arms that were way too thin. He had nasty-looking sores all over his arms and his fingernails were way too long.

Manny wore an old pair of jeans that were a good four sizes too big. A belt was attached to the pants, stretched tighter than it was intended, trying to hold up the pants. Both knees had seen a blowout. They were dirty with grass stains and I hoped was mud, but could have been blood, stains smudged in several places.

He had on an old pair of hightop tennis shoes that were not tied. The laces were just hanging loose.

“You spilled your drink,” he informed me.

I knew this, but had deposited that bit of information way back in the memory scales. It was hard to look away from him. But I did, noticing there was a big puddle of Coke in the middle of the floor, rapidly increasing.

I grabbed a towel and threw it on the floor. I picked up the can, wiped off the sides and emptied what was left down the sink. The empty can was placed in the trash can. I did all this without turning my back on Manny.

I didn’t think he would attack me, but those were odds I wasn’t willing to wager on. I felt sick. How could my brother turn into this creature? Manny was always such a good kid, made perfect grades and was never in trouble.

My father used to always ask why couldn’t I be like Manny? He had stopped after my little brother turned sixteen.

That’s when the trouble started, out of nowhere. He fell hard for a girl who was bad news. Manny started coming and going as he chose. My parents did not like this, but hoped it was just a phase he was going through.

It got bad enough that my father even asked me to talk with Manny. My brother actually listened, then ignored everything I told him.

But he was still sane until Molly, a girl Manny was crazy about, told him that she was with child. My brother was okay with that, even planned for them to get married and do the family thing.

One day, Molly told Manny that she didn’t want to have a baby and had aborted it, without talking to him about it. That tore my brother up, but when she told him that some other guy had caught her eye, Manny was destroyed.

He retreated to his bedroom and stayed in there for almost a week, hardly eating or drinking. I tried to talk to him but it was like there was some protective shield over him. Whatever I said, and it probably wasn’t the right thing to say, simply bounced away, never piercing the cover.

A few days later, Manny emerged from his bedroom, a new person. He stopped going to school and started hanging with guys who were bad news. I caught him and his new friends smoking pot one day. My brother and I had never fought, until that day.

I told him to get rid of the pot and his friends. He told me to do something to myself that was physically impossible. His friends joined in and I decided that if Manny wouldn’t leave on his own, I would help him.

By that time, Manny was at least as big as me, but much stronger. I was at least holding my own, until a couple of his buddies joined in. They beat me bad that day and it would have been worse until Manny finally got them to quit.

He leaned down next to me as I tried to get up, all covered with dirt and blood.

“I’m sorry, Bubs,” he had said.

Those words had haunted me ever since that day. He continued going down that path until the trouble really started. He graduated to shoplifting and stealing. Manny left one day, breaking Mom’s heart and sending Dad into a rage like I had never seen.

“It’s your fault!” he screamed at me. Our relationship prior to that was not good. It grew worse after that. I would always take whatever he tossed at me until he accused me for whatever Manny had turned into.

That led to our first good fight. It was the summer after my graduation. I had all of my father that I could take and didn’t take anymore.

If he said something I didn’t like, I argued with him and said things his ears had seldom heard, and never heard from his child.

Manny would pop back into our lives every now and then, giving Mom and Dad hope that he was changing. He would be fine for a few days and then would disappear. Or if he agreed to get help, Manny would go off to the rehab places, but never could stay.

If he went without the bad stuff long enough, Manny got violent and would either get sent away or simply leave.

Manny has served some time over the years. I don’t know how much and don’t want to know.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, then turned on the light. Manny looked even worse with the lights on.

“No,” I responded. “Don’t you know the cops are here?”

“They left. Those idiots could never find me anyhow.”

“Why were you staring in the window?” I asked.

“I wasn’t. It was that pervert across the street. I scared him off.”

I finished cleaning up the mess and tossed the towel in the sink.

“Does Mom know you’re here?”

“Not yet.”

“Why are you here?” I asked. It was a blunt question and probably rude, but I didn’t care.

Manny considered the question. He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. I saw he was missing a few teeth and the ones that were left were not in good shape.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Because Dad’s probably dying.”

“That’s what I heard. I don’t know if he would even want to see me, but I figured it would be good to see him one more time.”

I walked over and sat down at the table where we shared many meals over the years. I remember when we were kids, racing to see who could eat their Cap’n Crunch cereal the fastest. I don’t eat that cereal much anymore, but every time I do, that is the memory that comes back.

We both sit in the same chairs we occupied when we were kids. I’m on the side next to the family room. He is across the table from me, next to the door leading outside. Mom sat with her back to the kitchen while Dad sat across from her, to my right. I look at that chair and wonder if my father will ever sit in it again.

Manny’s hands are on the table, slightly shaking. We both stare at them for a few seconds.

“Dad’s in the hospital,” I said.

Manny nodded. He runs both hands through his greasy hair.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods up and down, but his response leaves a lot of doubt.

“When are you going to see him?” Manny asks.

“About five minutes ago.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

I don’t know if that would be a good idea. The old man is in rough shape and I don’t know if he could handle seeing Manny in this condition.

“That would be fine,” I finally answer. “But before we go, you have to clean up.”

Manny starts to say something, sits back and thinks about it for a few seconds, then nods his head.

“It’s going to be rough on him,” I tell my brother. He looks me in the eye for a few seconds, the first time he has done so.

“I know that. But this is it. I don’t have any other clothes.”

“You can wear some of mine.”

They won’t fit that great since I’m so much bigger, but that’s the only choice we have, unless we go by Wal-Mart, a place I try to avoid whenever possible.

There is a question I must ask him, but don’t really want to know.

“Where have you been, Manny?”

He considers his response for a long time. Manny gets up, goes to the fridge, grabs two Cokes and brings them back to the table. He puts one in front of me and opens his.

“Everywhere,” he replies.

“Everywhere?”

“Bubs, I’ve been places and seen things you can’t imagine.”

My heart went out to my brother, although I knew it was a mistake. He was bad news. If I offered him a dollar, Manny would take ten times that much and ask for more.

I have no idea how much money my parents have spent over the years trying to help Manny, or how much he has stolen from them. I haven’t seen him in over five years. One day, he showed up at my apartment, telling me how he was getting his life in order and just needed a place to stay for a few days until he got his feet on the ground.

Within a week, he stole my check book, my credit card, whatever cash I had stashed at my place and pawned whatever I had with any value. I came home from work one evening. My television had vanished along with my stereo, some furniture and a coin collection I had been adding to ever since I was a little kid.

I can’t really blame him for everything. It was my fault also for trusting him. It cost me over three thousand dollars and a lot of embarrassment to get my stuff back and to chase down the forged checks.

Whatever hope I had for my brother died that day also.

“Why do you live like this?” I ask.

“It’s what I do,” Manny answers. He takes a drink of Coke and grimaces. The cold must be rough on the bad teeth. “Not everybody can be you, Bubs.”

Yeah, most people are much better, I want to say, but don’t.

I want to grab him and try to shake some sense into him, but know all his sense left via the exit sign of life long ago.

“You have really hurt a lot of people, Manny,” I say. I used to call him “Bubs” also. This is my brother sitting in front of me, but he isn’t my “Bubs”.

“Yep. A lot of people have hurt me, too. You never really knew what happened to me, did you?”

“You started drinking and taking drugs.”

“No, what happened before that. It’s what messed me up.”

“I don’t guess so,” I replied, hoping it wasn’t anything I had done. “What was it?”

He told me and I have never felt so sick.


Chapter 22