“Deal,” Heidi promised, and they sealed it with locked pinky fingers.
Two nights later, Bob sat alongside his mother and watched Brian struggle to hone his crude basketball skills. Without wasting a moment, the old woman went right after him. “Your father, God rest his soul, instilled some real ignorance in you. True love is color blind, Bob. The soul doesn’t see color. It sees another soul. I thought I taught you better than that?”
He was still distraught over the news. “You don’t understand, Ma. I have one daughter who’s a lesbian and another who likes black men.”
“A black man,” she corrected him. “And what you have are two beautiful daughters, Bob.”
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He shook his head.
“We are who God designed us to be. And if you can’t tell, each one of us is different from the other.” She pointed toward Brian. “After all these years, you should at least understand that.” She placed her wrinkled hand on his knee. “You and Bev did a great job raising the girls, but they’re their own people now. I know you love them and they know it too. Just don’t be foolish and put conditions on that love.”
“But…”
“But nothing!” Mama snapped. “You’d better dig your head out of your backside, or you’re going to lose them both.” She shook her head. “Passing judgment over your girls is like scratching an itch with poison ivy. It just doesn’t make sense and it’s not going to help anyone.”
He shook his head again and watched as Brian and Jerome walked down the court, their arms slung over each others shoulders. “You’re right,” he said. “I guess we are all different.”
It was a miserable, rainy afternoon when Mama sat in Dr. Grady’s office, waiting for the oncologist’s prognosis. Seated on the edge of his desk, the man fingered through her thick medical folder and offered her a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, the biopsy came back malignant, so we need to begin treatment as soon as possible.” He offered a supportive smile and prepared to answer the usual panicky questions.
Nearly indifferent over the devastating news, Mama sighed heavily. “Well, we’d better get on it then,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Brian’s making too much progress for me to check out just yet.”
“Brian?” the man asked, surprised over her nonchalant reaction.
“My grandson,” she answered. “Long story…I was just thinking aloud.”
“Oh, okay then. We’ll start chemo therapy tomorrow,” he said, relieved she’d taken the news so well. “Depending on where we get with that, we may have to consider radiation down the road.”
“Whatever we need to do, doc,” she said. “I need more time.”
He nodded – as if he understood.
And I’ll need some real help from a higher power, she thought.
The following night, Mama had just finished her ten minute conversation with Brian. She was watching a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show when Aunt Bee’s voice became fuzzy and distant. She fought to stay with the nice, old woman, but it was no use. Her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off. She began snoring…
Mama was gardening at the side of the cottage near St. Jude’s statue when Jesus walked up the driveway and approached her. With a smile, He extended His gentle hand. “Are you ready?” He asked.
Filled with an inexplicable peace, she nodded. “I am,” she vowed, “but he’s not.” She pointed at Brian who was playing in the front yard.
Jesus looked at Brian and glowed with love. Smiling, He nodded once and walked away.
Giggling like a child, Mama stuck her hands back into the cool, moist earth and planted more daisies.
Mama awoke with a gasp and grabbed for one of her legs. It throbbed with the cancer that was rotting it away. I’d be gone for sure, if Brian didn’t still need me, she thought and was certain of it. Looks like me and this pain are going to become real close friends for a while.
Although she’d been diagnosed with cancer and was now living with intense physical pain, she had no intention of burdening her family with it. There are more important things for them to focus on, she decided.
With no time to waste, Mama began reading even more to Brian and Angie. She finished book after book and even a few travel brochures of Italy. “…through one enchanting hill town after another, past miles and miles of classic vineyards and silvery olive groves, discover Renaissance cities full of art treasures and savor the relaxation. Close your eyes and feel one of those lovely balmy summer evenings, the heady perfume of rosemary and jasmine hanging in the air. Open your eyes and be mesmerized by the sheer spectacle that is a Tuscan sunset. Visit the vineyards; rows upon rows of lush green vines that give way to the rolling hillsides and single ranks of dark-green cypress trees. Travel the meandering sandy roads that lead to rust-colored farmhouses and moss-covered castles, rounded hilltops claimed by romantic towns, elegant gardens, rich in sculptured fountains…”
Brian and Angie loved sharing their grandmother’s dream with her.
There were also countless hours of illegible scribbling and traveling outside the lines, requiring the need for a saint’s patience. She went to the Five and Dime store once a month to buy school books for Brian and Angie – kindergarten for him and more advanced for her – and they burned through them as fast as she put them out.
As they had for countless Saturday nights, Mama and Brian sat at the kitchen table working on his writing skills. The table was covered with crayons, colored markers and pencils. There were stencils of different size fonts and reams of multi-colored construction paper.
Methodical and structured, Mama began their routine by writing certain letters on the paper and then instructing Brian to trace her work. Once they’d run through the alphabet a few times, she had him use the stencils by himself. A half hour through that routine, it was time for his evening snack. While he ate his Cornflake cookies and drank his milk, he’d watch closely as she spelled out simple words like BRIAN, MOM, DAD, MAMA, ROSS, ANGIE. Once Brian finished his snack and got cleaned up, Mama allowed him some free time to practice his letters or doodle – whatever he wished.
She washed the last of the dishes and turned back toward the table. “Why don’t you finish up, Brian? It’s almost time for bed.”
Strangely, he didn’t reply. Instead, his eyes stayed focused on his work. She draped the dish towel over her shoulder and approached the kitchen table. “What’s got you so quiet…?” she began to ask and froze when she saw it.
In free hand, Brian had written M A M in big red letters on a sheet of yellow construction paper. She stood back a few feet and watched in awe, as he penned the last letter of his masterpiece – A.
Bursting into joyful tears, she threw her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. “Oh Brian…” she wept.
He handed her the precious gift. “Mama you,” he said with the proudest smile.
She grabbed it, held it up to her face and read it over and over. “Mama. Mama. Mama.” She bent down and hugged him again. “Oh thank you, my sweet boy. It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you so much.”
Brian was twelve years old.
As she tucked him into bed, she said, “Goodnight, Brian.”
“Mama nigh,” he said and closed his eyes.
She closed the door and returned to the kitchen table. She picked up Brian’s work and read it again. “Mama.” A fresh tear tumbled down her wrinkled cheek. “Stupid doctors,” she mumbled. “What do they know?” She grabbed the crucifix that hung from her neck and kissed it.
Within two days, Brian’s masterpiece was professionally matted and framed. Mama hung it in the living room, where she could look at it every day from her gray armchair. It was her most cherished possession; the centerpiece amongst all of the framed family photos.
Chapter 21
Winter 1989
Angie peeked out from the thick curtain. The auditorium was packed with spectators. Her heart beat hard in
her ears and she began hyperventilating. She never imagined such incredible pressure at a fifth grade spelling bee. The thought of stepping out in front of the crowd was overwhelming. You can do this, she affirmed in her head. You’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.
The red velvet curtain parted. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage. The applause was deafening. She felt her face heat up. She spotted her mom, Brian and Ross seated in the second row. Dad’s working, as usual, she thought. And Mama must be really sick. She’d never miss this.
Joan waved proudly. Angie was thrilled to get some of her mother’s undivided attention. Ross was slumped in his seat, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there. Brian, on the other hand, was squirming with excitement. He waved at her in his usual dramatic way. Reluctantly, she half waved back, hoping against all hope that he would stop. He didn’t.
Before introducing the five contestants, Mr. McKee, her teacher and host, thanked the crowd for attending. Angie looked over at Charlie Kai – aka, “the brainiac.” He’d been her greatest nemesis since the first grade. He smiled at her. It was fake. She returned the same to him.
In the audience, Brian was so excited to see his little sister on the stage that he began yelling her name. “A…E. A…E.” He was so animated that some people in the audience began laughing. Others sighed over the love he openly displayed for his little sister. Seeing this, Angie shook her head. As usual, Brian’s getting all the attention again!
Ignoring her anger, she focused hard. The first few rounds went quickly, burning away the chaff. Within a half hour, Angie was a finalist. Just as she’d expected, it was just her and “the brainiac.”
Mr. McKee turned to Charlie. “Spell erroneous,” he said.
For the first time in the competition, Charlie hesitated, bringing hope to Angie’s quest. “Could you please use it in a sentence?” the boy asked.
Mr. McKee nodded. “The witness’ testimony was discovered to be erroneous and the case was dropped.”
Charlie nodded, but Angie could tell he’d only been buying time. Slowly, he began, “E.R.O.N.E.O.U.S,” he said, “Erroneous.”
Mr. McKee shook his head. “Sorry, that’s incorrect.” He flipped the next index card and turned to Angie. “Spell Poinsettia.”
Adrenaline shot through Angie’s veins and she nearly squealed with joy when she heard the word. She’d learned how to spell it during one of Mama’s Christmas visits to Little Italy. She glanced over at the brainiac and grinned.
Mr. McKee detected her hesitation and asked, “Would you like me to use it in a sentence, Angie?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied. “Poinsettia… P.O.I.N.S.E.T.T.I.A,” she recited with confidence.
Mr. McKee palmed the index cards and stood. “That’s correct,” he announced with a big smile. “Congratulations!”
The applause was deafening. Angie beamed with pride.
At the brief awards ceremony, Angie received her tall, golden trophy. When she turned to meet her moment of glory, Brian began screaming, “A…E. A…E. A…E!” Again, the crowd released a collective sigh. She couldn’t help it. Her ears burned red with anger.
In the lobby after the ceremony, Brian ran to his little sister and wrapped his arms around her. Instinctively, she pushed him away. Joan’s nostrils flared, but she bit her tongue in front of the thick crowd. “We’ll talk about this later,” Joan hissed under her breath.
Ross glared at Angie and shook his head.
Angie returned his stare and never looked away. She was just as furious.
In the car, both mother and daughter were steaming mad. No sooner had her door slammed shut when Angie screamed, “BRIAN…BRIAN…BRIAN…IT’S ALWAYS ABOUT BRIAN!”
“Angie, that’s not true at all,” Joan said. She really wanted to speak with her daughter, but knew that Angie was too angry to listen.
“You know, I try to understand,” Angie blurted. “I know he has problems and that he needs lots of help, but he’s not the only kid in this family.” She wiped her eyes and looked at Brian – who was now staring out the side window. “Sometimes, I need help, too.” Angie loved Brian very much. Yet with all the time and attention he took up from everyone, she couldn’t help but feel a deep resentment toward him. She was sick of standing in the shadows where it was so cold and lonely. She was the baby of the family but had never felt like it. From day one, she’d missed out on all the perks that went with the title and she carried the animosity for it.
Joan began to cry.
Angie shook her head. “And then you wonder why I like to go over to Dad’s house on the weekends!”
From Joan’s sorrow, anger instantly reared its head. The comment was hurtful and totally uncalled for. “Oh Angie, I know you’re hurt, but there’s no reason to be mean. You were raised better than that.”
“You’re so ridiculous,” Ross added, his voice now deep and authoritative. But he left it at that when his mother shot him a look of warning.
Interrupted by the occasional sob, the ride home was traveled in silence – except for Brian’s one comment. He placed his hand on his little sister’s shoulder and whispered, “K, A…E.” He patted her shoulder again. “K.” After that, even he had the good sense to keep quiet.
It was exactly eight o’clock when the telephone called out. “Hi Ma,” Joan answered.
“Hi Joan. Where’s the boss?”
“Hold on. I’ll get him.”
Mama didn’t wait long.
“Allo Mama,” Brian answered in a tired voice.
“My goodness, someone’s sleepy tonight.”
“Too nigh nigh,” he yawned.
“You sound tired. You must have played hard today?”
“Fun Rin, A…E…long.”
“So you, Ross and Angie had fun all day. That’s good. I talked to your sister a little while ago. She won the spelling bee. Lord, I wish I could have been there. That must have been wonderful to watch.”
“Yets.” They spoke for a few more minutes when Brian blurted, “Pee pee.”
“Okay, if you have to use the bathroom, you go ahead. Make sure you wash your hands, though, okay?”
“Yets.” He yawned. “Low Mama.”
“Love you, too. And make sure you brush your teeth before you go to bed, okay?”
“Nah,” he answered, and began giggling.
“What’s that?” she asked, trying to sound stern.
“K. I bush, Mama.”
“Promise?”
“Yets. Nigh nigh, Mama.”
“Goodnight, Brian.”
The following night, John brought Joan to the Old Grist Mill Tavern. Built in 1745, it was a rare relic of Pre-Revolutionary New England designed to grind the grain raised by nearby colonial farmers. It was also the location of their first date.
As they crossed a thick planked bridge suspended above a short waterfall, they paused to watch an older couple feeding a family of mallards.
Framed in dark wood and decorated in country antiques, the place was candle lit. A low ceiling with exposed beams led to Colonial-paned windows that faced the waterfall. It was the best table in the place and, as he accepted his menu, John nodded his appreciation toward the hostess. The place was packed, with only one empty table – right beside theirs.
They sat in high-back burgundy leather chairs at a white linen table and scanned the menus.
“How romantic,” Joan said.
John looked up from his menu at her.
“It’s the exact same table we had on our first date,” she explained.
“It is?” he asked, playing stupid.
Joan shook her head and returned to her menu. “You really like this place, huh?”
He half-shrugged. “It’s the best place I know.”
As if he’d just redeemed himself, she placed her hand on his. “Then thank you for bringing me here again.”
A seasoned waitress with salt-and-pepper hair and a full midsection placed a basket of warm bre
ad in the center of the table. “Can I get you folks some drinks to start?”
Joan pulled her hand away and returned to the menu. “I think I’d like a glass of the Pinot Grigio, please.”
The woman nodded. “Sir?”
“Sam Adams Boston lager, please.”
As she headed for the long bar, John turned to Joan and smiled. Without any warning, he pushed his chair aside and went straight to one knee. “Marry me,” he blurted, opening the black velvet ring box, “and make me the happiest man…”
Joan was taken aback – thrilled and terrified, all at once. “Oh John, I love you so much. I do. But the kids…and Brian’s still…”
“You know, I thought you might respond like that,” he said, stopping her in mid-sentence. Smiling, he stood and waved his hand over his head, like he was trying to flag down a cab in Times Square.
Joan thought she might fall out of her chair. As if they were marching in the Thanksgiving Day Parade, Ross, Brian, Angie and Mama made their way through the crowded dining room over to the empty table located beside theirs. As she tried to take it all in, John pushed the two tables together.
“What is…?” she began to ask.
Everyone took their seats, while Brian approached John and hugged him – as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Hi Ja,” he said.
“Hi buddy. Thanks for joining us,” John told him.
Brian smiled and then approached his mother. “Hi Ma,” he said, bending down to kiss her.
“Hi sweetheart,” she said, still in shock. She looked over at her mother for an explanation. Mama grinned behind a chunk of bread she was already chewing on. She managed a wink. Joan looked back to John for an explanation.
Goodnight, Brian Page 15
