Twenty
“It was a madhouse. I almost called the cops.”
Nick was doing his best at playing plumber. The leaky faucet was costing us; I didn’t care if it was only pennies, it was money down the drain.
“Because of an overcooked steak?”
“That’s how it started, yeah. The guy refused when I offered to make him another one and then he refused to pay for the entire meal.
His wife lost it on him. Called him a cheapskate.
Then he verbally attacked her. That’s when his father-in-law overturned the table and said he’d had enough and called the guy a deadbeat. Fun times. Where’s the missus?”
Alex left earlier to go and speak with the pharmacist about shoulder harnesses to improve my posture.
I told her I didn’t need one, but she insisted.
It’s come to the point where she’s away more often than she’s home but always takes my cell phone with her.
My fractured mind believes that she’d rather not be around me. I wouldn’t want to be around me either.
“Shopping.”
“Speaking of which... here.”
The wad of bills that Nick pulled from his pocket was bigger than the last wad. “I can’t keep taking your money. I’m the one who still owes you a bar tab.”
“Shut up, fuckface. You’ll still owe me that later.”
“What does Brenda think of this?”
“Um... it was her idea. You’re family and family does what they can.”
“I’ll pay you back,” I mumbled, accepting the cash. “How’s the faucet?”
“Fixed. Never knew I had it in me. Shit, I almost forgot.”
Watching Nick jog to the foyer, I mourned what I’ve lost. My entire identity was destroyed in 0.
8 seconds. Sometimes, I dream that I can walk, and dance, and make love, and when I wake up to the crushing realization that I can’t, and probably never will again, I curse God.
Being a burden to Alex is my worst nightmare.
Nick handed me three sheets of paper, one from each of his kids. “They wanted to do something for you, so I told them to paint a picture of Uncle Pip. And you better fucking like them, because now my dining room table looks like a Woodstock t-shirt. It’ll take me forever to get that paint off.”
My childhood best friend has always been lousy at hiding his true intentions.
When he proposed to Brenda, he had the scatterbrained idea of pretending to break up with her.
After she accepted his apology, and then his proposal, she threw the ring box at his head.
He’s trying to make me laugh, but that part of my brain must have felt the brunt of Scarp’s punch.
“Tell them I love them.”
“Them? Or the pictures?”
“Both.”
“Then they better go up on the fridge. I gotta go fix your side gutter. You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll try not to hurt myself while sitting here.”
Nick sat down on the coffee table so that he wasn’t towering over me. The look on his face resembled the one he wore when he thought he had to close the bar, but a savvy business plan and targeted advertising saved it. “Listen, buddy. I know you think that it’s all doom and gloom...”
“Isn’t it!?”
“No. It isn’t. You don’t even know the extent of the injury. You haven’t been back to the hospital, and I’ve seen your leg twitch.”
“I’m not going back there.”
“But what if...?”
“It’s not you in this Goddamn chair. It’s easy for you. A pep talk, a wad of cash, and then you go home and live a normal life. Do you know what it’s like to mourn yourself!?”
“Okay. I get it,” he said, standing and making me feel tiny. “I guess you’re not a fighter after all.”
The window was open. To save money, I refused to let Alex turn on the air conditioning, but there was no breeze.
There was only stagnant air. The construction noise outside was driving me insane.
They were tearing down the park across the street.
The ghosts of children lingered, and in my head, I could hear their joyful cries.
“Not good.” Nick was at the front door. I didn’t even notice that he was gone. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
This time, there were no bags full of homemade food.
My mother came in bearing store-bought dessert, and ground espresso.
I was fascinated by the way she didn’t greet me.
Instead, she opened the box of cookies and filled the Moka maker with coffee.
She hasn’t seen me since I was a whole person.
I was unsightly to her. A failure. Deformed. A shell of a man.
“Have something to eat.” Ma placed the cookies and a short espresso on the coffee table. Her attire puzzled me. Ever since I could remember, she took pride in looking her best. Today, she wore the smock and open sandals that she normally wore around the house. “Mangia.”
“Not hungry.”
She struggled while carrying a dining room chair a few feet so she could sit beside me. I braced myself for the inevitable, but ma stayed silent.
Time passed. We sat. The percussive tone of a jackhammer filled the room. We sat. I felt the bones in her hand when she reached for mine, but we still didn’t speak. The clock’s hand inched forward, yet there was no sound except that of a foreman who was shouting orders.
I didn’t feel invisible. I felt like there was a gigantic, scorching spotlight on me. I felt embarrassed, and humiliated, and when I began to cry, I couldn’t stop.
“Pippino.”
She stopped calling me by that nickname when I became a teenager.
I cried harder. My mother, the woman who gave me two lives – once when she gave birth to me, and then when she morphed into two parents – stood on her wobbly legs, placed her flabby arms around my neck, and held me for an eternity.
They say a mother’s touch can heal all wounds.
I expected something magical to happen. I expected a miracle. God wasn’t listening.
There was no good-bye. There was only a kiss. After positioning the dining room chair exactly how she had found it, ma made her way to the front door. “Sarai sempre mio figlio.” You will always be my son.
I didn’t wipe my nose or dry my face. The human brain is a complex organ. I was like the man I heard about on the news who had a rare condition that made him impervious to physical pain. I was that man in reverse. All my pain was emanating from my head, and all of it was in an emotional sense.
The construction sounds were muffled by the sound of sirens; absurdly loud and sickeningly urgent. I rolled as far away from the noise as I could. “I just want some fucking peace and quiet!”
God was deaf to my prayers.