#1: My Brother's
Funeral
I'll never forget the day my
brother gave me a stroke. Of course, being that he was my little brother, a
stroke should've been classified a recurring condition by then. Instead, the
most he had ever given me was a chronic eye twitch, which, now that I think
about it, may have been an indicator of an on-coming stroke. But, yes, it was
definitely a stroke I had when Benito (I always called him Benny) came over
that day to tell me he was getting married.
My brain blew a short and my
whole body went numb. I think, at one point, the world before me was engulfed
in a white flash, and then somehow I ended up on the floor. When I finally got
the feeling back in my jaw, the only thing I could muster to say was: "Are
you a moron?" The clear answer was "yes." He was a moron.
Getting married? Was he out of his freaking mind? Oh, hell yeah! Let's put
aside that he was only 19, not even old enough to drink, for god sakes; let's
put aside that he'd only known the girl for 6 months, at most; let's even put
aside how annoying the girl was and how I couldn't stand her. Why in the hell
would he want to hang himself like that? Had he forgotten that marriage is
basically a prison? Had he not paid attention to all the disaster stories I'd
told him? Broken marriages from all around the table, starting with our parents
and going all the way to our grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, to damn near
everyone else we knew. It all ended the same: divorce, the blissful release
from a life sentence.
"Why, Benny, why?"
"Oh, Bea, don't you even
start," he retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't want
to hear your putdowns on marriage…again. I've heard them over and over and
over."
"Well, have you heard that
marriages basically suck the big weenie?"
"I believe I did hear that
from you, yes."
"Well, then tell me why?
Why the fuck would you do something like that!?" Oh, I could feel my poor
blood pressure rising. Good grief, the boy was going to give me a heart attack.
I tried taking in a few calming breaths, but the whole thing was basically
useless. I was in total freak-out mode. "C’mon, Benny, tell me, please,
because I'm not understanding here. What, did she pull that voodoo-hoodoo crap
on you? Did you crack your head on something? Have you just completely lost
your mind? C'mon, you gotta give me something here."
With an easy shrug, he said,
"Oh...you know."
"No, I don't know!" Okay...one, two, three...breathe. I shot
him a stern glance and asked directly, "Did you knock her up?"
He looked at me accusingly, his
dark eyes narrowing. "You would
think that, wouldn't you?"
"Well, I don't know what
else to think."
Benny shook his head with a
petulant eye roll. I know that eye roll. It's the same one he pulls whenever
someone tells him to pick up his socks or wash his hands. In a huff, he simply
stated, "No. I didn't knock her up."
"Then why?"
"Because she's
just..."
"What? Say something."
"You know..." At a
loss for words, he paused then added, "she's just so...you know...great."
A literary master at work here. "Great? What's so great about
her?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"That's a good
answer," I inserted wryly.
"Well, I can't think with
all these questions," he snapped.
"I'm sorry, do you need a
minute? I mean, I know I'm throwing really hard questions at you. Worse than
poking your nose or scratching your balls, evidently."
"Why you gotta be like
that, huh?"
"Hey, I'm not the one
ruining my life here. I'm not the one going after those little titties."
Pulling his "talk to the
hand" gesture, Benny turned to walk away.
"Furthermore," I
continued, following on his ass, "she calls you forty times a day, she has
you running to her every time she cries at all hours of the night, and she's
dragging you to all these girly places you wouldn't be caught dead in, even if
you were dead. Plus, she's annoying,
she's rude, she's just plain crazy. Face it, she's nothing but a big, bi—"
"Okay, Bea, that's
enough!" he yelled, twisting around to face me. For a long time, he stood
there staring down at me, his nostrils flaring, his jaw tightening. I could
tell he was getting pissed. What guy wouldn't? I was basically pointing out
that his girl was wearing his huevos
like a necklace.
"Look, bottom line: she
treats you like a slave. She will ruin your life. She's gonna suck you dry 'til
there's nothing left of the old Benny. Seriously, get out of this thing and go
live your own life. C'mon, before it's too late."
He stood there in brooding
silence for a moment, his gaze lingering on his sneakers. Then, looking back up
at me in resignation, he said, "She really wants this."
"What do you want?"
"I want to make her
happy."
"But what's gonna make you happy?"
Biting his lower lip, my brother
shifted awkwardly, his head hung low. He had no words.
"Benito!"
"She's already started
planning with her mom," he shot out, tearing his eyes from the floor.
"Who cares!? Just don't do
it."
"But I already told her I
would."
"Oh, god!" My frustration had mounted to unbelievable
heights. Oy, there go those chest pains again. The boy was definitely killing
me here. But what else could I do? I swear he was as loyal as a dumb dog, and
he was bound and determined to live out his days with his tail between his
legs. I knew then that he wouldn't back out on her for any reason. Not even if
she was kidnapped, I don't think (although that was an idea that crossed my
mind.)
I stood quiet for a moment,
taking long calming breaths. Then I looked up at him, disappointment drawn on
my face, and said, "You're making a big mistake."
That day I told my brother not
to expect me at his funeral.
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