Brothers, Boyfriends & Other Criminal Minds

by April Lurie

  I was startled to noticed a band of bruises on his upper arm. Five purple fingerprints. “Matt,” I said, pointing. “What are those?”

  He looked at the bruises like he was seeing them for the first time. “I don't know. After the moron elbowed me, he must have dragged me off the gym floor. I was seeing stars at the time, so I don't remember.” He took the last bite of the pop and tossed the stick into the trash. “Look, Ape, I've got a dress rehearsal tonight, and I need to sleep this thing off.” He handed me the bag of pops. “Get out of here now. And tell Sammy to be quiet.”

  “Sammy's not here,” I said. “He's at Brandi's.”

  “Perfect.” Matt stood up and flopped onto his bed. “Now shut off the light and go away.”

  The house was eerily quiet. I looked at the clock ticking in the hallway. My parents wouldn't be home for another hour and a half. I ran downstairs, grabbed my bike from the garage, and took off for Thirteenth Avenue.

  It was a beautiful afternoon, and lots of kids were outside in sweaters playing hopscotch, jump rope, and stoop ball. When I reached Thirteenth Avenue, I saw that the vegetable stands were speckled with bright orange pumpkins and purplish red pomegranates. A group of high school kids waiting for the bus had swarmed around the counter of Tony's pizzeria for a quick slice or a bag of zeppole. As usual there was a funeral going on, but for some reason today it didn't seem so morbid. When I arrived at Moe's candy store, the bells of St. Bernadette's began to sound. I took it as a good sign.

  I locked my bike to the parking meter just outside Moe's and stuck the key in my pocket. I could see Moe behind the glass, smoking and shooting the breeze with some guy at the counter drinking coffee and eating a slice of pie. We locked eyes for just a moment, but since I wasn't in the mood for his nosy questions I quickly ducked away. I took a deep breath and pressed Dominick's doorbell firmly. After a minute or so I expected to hear something— footsteps on the stairs, maybe a window sliding open above me—but there was nothing. Total silence.

  Another minute went by, and Moe stuck his head out the candy store door. “Hey, I thought that was you.”

  I waved unenthusiastically. “Hi, Moe.”

  He pursed his lips. “If you're, uh, looking for the kid who lives upstairs, I don't think he's home yet.”

  Moe was such a busybody. Worse than the old ladies who read the gossip columns in the beauty parlor. It was amazing he was still in business. “Oh, okay, well, thanks.”

  “Probably has detention again. That's my guess, anyway. You can wait inside the store if you want. I've got pie.”

  I was not about to be interrogated by Moe. “Oh, no thank you. I think I'll just ride around for a while.” Quickly, I unlocked my bike and hopped on.

  “All right, but tell that cute little brother of yours we have a new flavor of Blow Pops. Raspberry.”

  “I will. Bye, Moe.”

  I rode up and down the avenue, hoping I might spot Dominick on his way home. When I passed the florist for the third time I heard someone call, “Hey, Goldilocks!” I turned and saw Pee Wee and Ronnie. They were talking to some girls outside the store.

  I waved hello but didn't dare stop. Better to let them think I was riding around for exercise instead of stalking their buddy, who'd apparently stood me up. The only thing I could think to do now was park in front of St. Bernadette's, pass some time inside the church, and try Dominick's doorbell a little later.

  It was pretty empty inside, but there was a priest at the altar burning incense for Friday-night Mass. I took a seat in one of the back pews and looked around. I'd never been inside St. Bernadette's without Brandi, and for some reason it seemed spooky sitting there alone. An unseen organ from the balcony started to moan, which really gave me the creeps, so I got up and walked around.

  As I strolled among the statues of martyred saints, I came to one I recognized—St. Christopher carrying the Christ child. Surrounding him were many candles. There was a box of matches sitting in a little brass cup, and a small collection box for change. I dug in my pocket, pulled out three quarters, dropped them into the slot, and lit three candles—one for Brandi's sister, who'd died at birth, one for Uncle Jimmy, who'd died in Viet Nam, and one for Matt. He wasn't dead yet, and I was hoping to keep it that way.

  “Hi, babe.” My stomach plummeted as a shadow loomed up beside me. An arm in a black trench coat reached out and lit a candle next to my three. I turned and saw Frankie the Crunch. “You know, it's kind of funny,” he said, “most people think St. Christopher is my patron saint because he's supposed to help guys in the automobile industry. But actually, that's not the reason.”

  My heart thumped unsteadily. “Oh, no?”

  He shook his head and pointed to the statue. “No. I'll tell you why. You see how he's carrying the Christ child on his shoulder?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, there's this story about St. Christopher. He was a strong guy, built, kind of like me, and he used to help all these people get across the river. Anyway, one day he's about to carry this little kid, thinking it'll be easy and all, but it's not. For some reason the kid weighs a ton and St. Christopher can't figure out why. But when he finally gets to the other side, completely exhausted, he finds out he's been carrying Christ. All the sins of the world have been on his shoulders.” He paused and sighed deeply. “That's how I feel sometimes.”

  Slowly I turned and looked at Mr. Consiglione. His eyes were shut now and his mouth was moving silently like he was praying. Very carefully, without a sound, I slipped away, splashed myself with a few drops of holy water for good measure, and ran out the door.

  Thankfully, Dominick was outside Moe's, digging in his pocket for his keys. In his arm was a stack of albums. I hopped on my bike and flew across the street, dodging a taxicab. “Hey, Dominick! Wait up, it's me!”

  He pushed open his door and turned around. When he saw me riding toward him, a big smile spread across his face. “April! All right! I knew you'd come!”

  I hoisted my bike onto the sidewalk and chained it to the parking meter for the second time. Meanwhile, Moe stuck his head out the door. He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew two streams of smoke from his nostrils. “So, you came back.” He looked at Dominick. “It's not nice to keep a young lady waiting, you know.”

  Dominick's eyes widened. “Waiting? Oh, shoot, I'm sorry. Were you here before?”

  “Oh, it's no big deal—”

  “Yes, it is,” Moe said. “A very big deal. Dominick, this lovely young girl rang your doorbell”—he glanced at his watch—”almost an hour ago. And you weren't home.”

  Dominick hung his head, and I thought it was strange that he didn't mouth off at Moe and tell him to mind his own business. I mean, Moe was just the guy who owned the candy store downstairs. “I'm really sorry.” Dominick held out the albums. “I borrowed these from a friend, and I guess I stayed a little too long at his house. I didn't realize—”

  “Well, next time, you better realize,” Moe said. “The problem with you, young man, is you take things for granted. Don't even know when you've got something good.” He shook his head. “Run along now, and behave yourself.”

  “Don't worry, Moe,” Dominick said, “I always do.” He held the door for me and led the way upstairs. It was dark and musty, and the walls leading to his apartment were covered with graffiti. I tried not to notice.

  “So, what's with Moe?” I said. “He acts like he's your father or something.”

  Dominick laughed. “Yeah, well, he practically is. My mom split when I was five and my dad's not around too much. He works all day and plays at the jazz clubs in the Village at night. He's a saxophonist.”

  “Wow, that's cool. I mean, not that you don't see him, but that he's a musician, like you.”

  “Yep, we get along pretty well, and we've got a lot in common. Anyway, here we are.” Dominick flicked on the lights and ushered me inside. The apartment wasn't exactly dirty, but it was cluttered, mostly with instrument cases, piles of sheet music, albums
, eight-track tapes, and cassettes. Posters of Muddy Waters, B. B. King, and other musicians I didn't recognize decorated the walls. He set down the albums he'd been carrying, searched through the stack, and pulled one out. “Look at this,” he said, brushing his fingers across the album cover like it was made of gold. “Slowhand. Eric Clapton's latest. Wanna hear it?”

  “Sure, only …” I looked around for a clock on the wall but didn't see one. “I can't stay too long. It's getting late.”

  “Oh, okay, just have a seat and I'll put it on. It won't take long.”

  I pushed aside a pile of clothes strewn across the sofa and sat down while Dominick lifted the lid of the turntable. Behind me was the window overlooking the avenue, and I saw Frankie the Crunch walking out of St. Bernadette's. I guessed he'd made his peace with God and was off to work again. “You know, it's pretty awesome how you can see everything from this window,” I said. “The church, the funeral parlor, the pizzeria, and look at that, you can even watch a guy getting his hair cut in the barbershop.”

  “Yeah,” Dominick said. “I write a lot of songs sitting in front of that window. Actually, I've got enough for a whole album. When I get it all together I'm gonna call it Livin Atop Moe's Candy Store.”

  “I like that. I didn't know you wrote your own songs.” He nodded. “Right now our band is only doing covers, but I'm hoping to teach the guys some of my own stuff.”

  He set down the needle, and the album began to play. It was kind of weird because the first song was a heavily guitar-driven tribute to cocaine, but if you listened closely to the lyrics you could tell it was actually an antidrug song. Kind of a satire. Something my parents would totally not understand.

  Dominick sat next to me. “Do you like it?” I moved my head around to the beat. “Yeah, I do.” “Clapton's one of the greatest guitar players ever. You know why they call him Slowhand?” “No, why?”

  “Well.” He stood up, his face suddenly animated. “You see, in concert, he plays so fast and so intense that he always breaks a guitar string. And instead of taking another instrument, like most guys do, he puts on a new string, and while everyone's waiting they do a slow-hand clap. Like this.” He clapped his hands a few times. “Get it? Clap-ton. Slow-hand-Clap-ton. And the irony is that he's so fast.” I smiled. “That's pretty cool, how'd you know that?” “My dad told me. He's even met him. Next time Clapton's on tour he's gonna take me to one of his concerts.” When the song finished, Dominick opened the lid of the turntable and flipped the album to the other side. “Now, you got to hear this one. It's amazing, and it reminds me of you.”

  “Of me?”

  “Yeah, come here, I'll show you.”

  He set down the needle and held out his arms. The music was soft and the guitar played in this really beautiful way. I stood up and walked toward him; he put his hands on my waist while I placed both of mine around his neck. We swayed from side to side. After a while I leaned my head against his shoulder, closed my eyes, and listened to the words. It was a love song about a guy who had a girlfriend with long blond hair, and how wonderful she made him feel. After a while I raised my head.

  “So, what do you think?” Dominick said.

  “It's nice. I like it.” He brought his lips to mine and we kissed until the song was over.

  Outside an ambulance wailed, and when I looked out the window I realized it was getting dark. “Listen, I better go.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I'll walk you downstairs.”

  Dominick gave me one last kiss as I unlocked my bike. “Will you come back and see me this weekend?” he said.

  “I'm … not sure if I can.”

  “Well, okay, but I'll definitely see you Monday, right?”

  “Yeah, Monday for sure. Bye.” I hopped on my bike and raced along the avenue. The vegetable stands were closing, and all the kids who had been playing in the street earlier had disappeared. When I reached my house I saw my mother's car in the garage.

  Inside, Matt and Sammy sat at the kitchen table scarfing Gino's pizza. “Hi, April,” Sammy said, holding up a slice. “Look what Mom brought home.”

  Matt took a swig of juice. “Where've you been, Chimp? Mom's freaking out.” He was in his Romeo costume and apparently my mother had already done her magic with Cover Girl's Dunes of Sand. Still, he looked pretty bad.

  I shrugged and took a seat. “Nowhere. Just around.”

  As I picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite, my mother walked in. She was dressed to the nines for her special anniversary dinner. “April, finally you're here. I've been so worried. Brandi brought Sammy home a while ago and said she wasn't sure where you'd gone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Mom, it's no big deal. I was just riding my bike around the neighborhood.”

  “Riding your bike in the dark? Alone?”

  Sammy put down his juice cup. “Oh, don't worry, Mom, April wasn't alone. She was with Dom.”

  My mother looked at me. “Dom? You mean the boy who was over here the other week? You were with him?”

  I gave Sammy a dirty look. He covered his mouth. “Oops. I forgot. Brandi told me not to tell. Sorry, April.”

  Matt took a bite of his pizza. “You mean the kid with the guitar? Hey, Mom, don't have a heart attack, he's cool. It's the shrimp in the platforms you've got to worry about. Now, that kid I don't trust.”

  My mother wasn't even listening. “I can't believe you did that. After everything we talked about.”

  “Mom,” I said. “Come on. You don't even know him.”

  “And now you're lying to me.”

  “Mom, please—”

  “No!” She threw up her hands. “That's it. This has gone too far. You're grounded until further notice. When your father gets home we'll decide the punishment.”

  Just then, the back door opened. “Hi, everyone,” my dad said. “How's my lovely family tonight?”

  I sat in the living room while, in the kitchen, my mom filled my dad in on all the embarrassing details. I could tell he was pretty disappointed, but since he didn't want to ruin their anniversary dinner, he walked in, sighed, and in his best history teacher voice said, “April, your grounding begins tonight. Tomorrow we'll discuss the situation further and decide just how long the punishment will be.”

  Of course, I was still left to babysit Sammy the Snitch, so when my parents took off for the city and Matt left for rehearsal, I sent Sammy down to the basement with a box of his favorite action figures and picked up the phone to call Brandi. “I'm grounded,” I said, “until further notice.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Sammy opened his big fat mouth. He told my mother I was with Dominick.”

  “No way! I swear, April, I told him not to!”

  “I know, it's not your fault. Anyway, she freaked out, and now here I am.”

  Brandi moaned. “That's too bad, but listen, how did it go with Dominick?”

  “Um …” I decided not to mention my little run-in with Frankie the Crunch, my conversation with Moe, and the fact that Dominick had showed up an hour late. “It went okay, I guess. Thanks, you know, for helping me out.”

  “Yeah, sure. I'm just sorry you got in trouble.”

  “Same here.”

  “Oh, what about Matt? Did you find out anything after Olympia and I left? Was it the guy in the Jaguar who beat him up?”

  I sighed. “Matt's still saying he got elbowed at practice, and my parents believe him. Of course.”

  “What do you think? Is he telling the truth?”

  “Maybe. I'm just not sure.”

  We talked awhile longer, and before saying goodbye I promised Brandi I'd give her a call the next day when I found out the length of my incarceration.

  Now, looking on the bright side, I figured being grounded over this particular weekend had its advantages. Especially since I had a thousand-word short story due Monday with no clue as to what I was going to write about and the evil Count Dracula breathing down my neck. So after taking a quick peek down the basement to make sure S
ammy was still alive, I went to my room, flopped onto the bed, and began racking my brain, trying to come up with an idea.

  Just when I decided that Mikhail Baryshnikov would have been a much better muse than the Grateful Dead skull and crossbones, Sammy came barging into my room carrying a stack of board games. “Okay, I'm ready! What do you want to play first, April, Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders?”

  I rolled over and sighed. “Sam, you've got to be kidding. Listen, why don't you go watch TV or something? In fact, I bet Mutual of Omaha is still running that special on Bigfoot.”

  He made a face. “No, I already checked, nothing's on. Besides, Mom said you would play with me.”

  I gazed over at the Candy Land board and thought Mr. Cornelius bore a strange resemblance not only to Count Dracula, but to Lord Licorice as well. “But, Sam, I've got stuff to do. Schoolwork.”

  “Uh-uh, it's Friday. Plus, you're grounded, the whole weekend at least, so you can do your work anytime you want.”

  That kid was definitely getting too smart for his own good. “Yeah, and whose fault is it that I'm grounded, Mr. Big Mouth?”

  “Hey, I already said I was sorry.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  He leaned over the bed, peering at me. “April, can I ask you something?”

  “I'd rather you didn't, but since you're going to anyway, shoot.”

  “Why doesn't Mom like Dom?”

  I sighed. “I don't know, Sam. I guess it's the way he looks—his hair, his clothes, his earring. She's a mother, so she likes guys who are clean-cut.”

  “Well, that's stupid.” He sat on the edge of my bed with his face all scrunched up, but after a while he began lining up the little gingerbread-man playing pieces on my rug. “Okay, I've got blue, so what color do you want—red, yellow, or green?”

  That night Sammy and I not only played Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders, but Go Fish, Pick Up Sticks, Ants in the Pants, and Trouble. When it was finally his bedtime we read his favorite books for the millionth time. Just as I was about to turn off the light and kiss him goodnight, he moaned and said, “April, I'm hungry and thirsty.”