Goodnight, Brian

by Steven Manchester

  His eyes filled with joyful tears and he went to one knee again. “Joan, from the moment we met, I understood that being with you would be a package deal…that it could never be about just you and me.” He looked at the kids and nodded. “And I couldn’t have been happier.”

  Ross and Angie returned the nod.

  He looked past the kids to Mama – who was still chewing on a buttered dinner roll. “So I asked them all to join us tonight,” he said, “because I realize that this is a family decision, as it should be.” He cleared his throat. “So, will you guys have me?”

  Past her hazy tears, Joan watched as Ross nodded his approval. “As long as you treat her right, I’m okay with it,” he warned, displaying his usual protective approach. “She deserves to be treated well.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Ross,” John said, “and I promise to do just that.” He looked at Angie.

  Angie followed her brother’s lead, and also nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she said, without complaint or fanfare – a by-product of her age.

  As far as Brian, he was dancing in his seat, clearly overjoyed that they were all together. He jumped into John’s arms and gave him a big hug – which he would have done anyway, regardless of the subject at hand.

  It made Joan’s heart flutter. She finally looked toward the toughest of the bunch – Mama.

  The old lady smiled wide. “Joan, if this night doesn’t prove to you what John is all about, then you’ve lost touch with reality altogether.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Like I always say, flowers only grow in a stable, nurturing environment,” she said, placing Brian’s hand into hers. “And I can’t imagine anything but sunshine between you two.”

  Joan pulled John to his feet and stood to meet his kiss. “I would love to be your wife,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

  “I’m the luckiest man alive,” he said, holding her tight. “…the luckiest man alive!”

  The entire family applauded, each taking turns congratulating the newly engaged couple.

  Mama gave the last squeeze. “Can we eat now?” she finally asked. “I’m starving.”

  At the end of the night, John and Joan stole a moment alone.

  “Happy?” he asked, tickling her ear with his whisper.

  “More than I could ever explain,” she admitted, and then studied his face for a moment. “You realize what you’re taking on, right?”

  “I do.”

  “They can all be tough at times, but Brian is all-consuming.”

  He smiled and repeated, “I do.”

  She pulled him closer and kissed him. “I’m going to love being your wife.”

  They kissed for a long while.

  When they came up for air, Joan asked, “What do you think about a small ceremony in my mother’s garden?”

  He nodded. “Just family?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “Sounds perfect…but I’ve heard about your mother’s back yard celebrations.” He grinned. “No pony rides, right?”

  She slapped his arm. “Not if you don’t want them. But Brian won’t be happy,” she teased.

  Chapter 22

  Summer 1990

  It was late June when Joan and John exchanged vows in Mama’s back yard sanctuary.

  As promised, it was a small event, with only close family in attendance. Simple chandeliers illuminated the interior of the lily white tent, while seasonal flowers and greens decorated the homemade chapel.

  The Justice of the Peace was a kind-looking woman who presided over the wedding with the same care that Mama put into the catering.

  “Do you take this man to be your husband?” she asked Joan.

  “I do,” she answered, swimming in John’s eyes.

  “Do you take this woman to be your wife?” she asked John, smiling.

  “I do,” he answered, locked within the same gaze.

  “Then I pronounce you husband and wife.”

  And that’s all it took to get a kiss. Once they came up for air, Brian jumped in the middle of them to get his share of affection. Everyone applauded – even Angie.

  An acoustic guitarist serenaded them during the reception. After Mama had stuffed everyone with more meatballs and manicotti than they could eat, John extended his hand to Angie and asked, “Can I have this dance?”

  With a subtle smile, she took his hand.

  Joan was thrilled. She looked over at Ross. “It’s important that you guys accept John because you three mean…”

  Ross grabbed her hand. “And you mean the world to us, Ma,” he interrupted, “and you deserve to be happy. It’s about time.” He shrugged. “He’s a good guy and he’s been great with Brian and Angie. I think even Dad likes him.” He grinned.

  She laughed.

  “If he wasn’t a good guy, I would have taken care of it a long time ago,” Ross concluded.

  Joan slapped his arms and laughed. “Stop it,” she said.

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek. Little did she know – he wasn’t kidding. He led her onto the portable parquet floor where the family danced the rest of the night away. It seemed to last all of three winks.

  Before the final dance, John slipped out of the tent and quickly returned, holding the reins of the largest pony Joan had ever seen. “I figured that Brian and Angie might enjoy a midnight ride,” he said with a smile.

  Joan’s eyes leaked from joy, while Mama hugged her new son-in-law. “I knew you were a keeper from the moment I met you,” she told him. “And so did Brian.”

  While Angie stood back, pretending she didn’t want to ride, Brian jumped into the pony’s brown leather saddle and began giggling from excitement.

  “Yee haw!” Uncle Bob yelled to him.

  “Hee yaw,” he yelled back. And with John holding the reins, he hit the dusty trail.

  Joan and John were on the final days of their honeymoon in the Berkshires when Brian contracted meningitis and had to be hospitalized. Frank immediately responded, but Mama told him, “Go to work, Frank, and provide for your family. I have all the time in the world. I’ll stay with him.”

  “Did you call Joan?” he asked.

  “Got in touch with her this morning. They’re on the road, coming home now.”

  “Okay. Ross and Angie are already staying with me, so…”

  “So everything’s fine,” she told him. “We’re family, Frank. That’s how it works!”

  He searched her eyes for condemnation or even sarcasm, but there wasn’t a hint of either. All he saw was genuine compassion and concern. His body tingled. “Thank you,” he said, and hugged her for the first time in years.

  She squeezed him back. “You’re welcome.”

  Right away, the head nurse warned the family, “Anyone entering the room must wear a mask because if you contract the virus as an adult, it could mean a death sentence.”

  Mama shook her head. “Brian hates masks,” she said. “They terrify him.” The old lady never hesitated. She marched right past the nurse and into the room where she began tending to Brian – no mask, no gloves, no robe. To her, the idea of frightening him was so much worse than the risk of contracting the terrible virus – or even death.

  “Skee, Mama,” he whimpered. He’d been alone in the room, with nothing but the beep of his heart monitor, and his eyes betrayed the terrible anxiety that it had caused.

  “Don’t you dare be scared,” she told him, making herself comfortable by his side. “Both me and the good Lord are right here with you.”

  He smiled – his fear evaporating into thin air. If Mama said it was okay, then it was okay. There was never any reason to believe otherwise.

  In time, his body recovered from his latest ailment and he was released to return home. In appreciation for all that the hospital staff had done for her fragile “butterfly,” Mama began donating money to the hospital in Brian’s name.

  During his first weekend back at the cottage, Mama forced Brian outdoors to take in the fresh air. On their sl
ow walk, they came upon a fruit and vegetable stand on the side of the road that still worked on the honor system. It sold fresh corn, homemade strawberry preserves, beautiful sunflowers, and the sweetest cherry tomatoes. A coffee can was set up to receive the money. Mama dropped in a five, grabbed a jar of preserves and two sunflowers – one for each of them.

  A few miles up the road, they spotted a lemonade stand with two kids trying their hand at business. In no hurry, they stopped and quenched their thirst.

  “God,” Brian told the kids, as he chugged the sweet drink.

  They looked up at Mama in confusion.

  She winked. “He thinks it’s good,” she translated, and finished her cup.

  The two slowly wandered down one of the long dirt lanes where they ended up blueberry picking. “We’re going to make your favorite pie tonight,” she told him, as they filled the small cardboard basket.

  “Booby?”

  She laughed. “Yes, blueberry.”

  It had taken many years and countless bumps and bruises, but by the very end of that fateful summer, Brian finally learned how to ride a bicycle. Mama had been relentless in her pursuit. Most people thought this final feat was ridiculous, but as Uncle Sal put it, “It’s almost as if her mission isn’t complete unless the two of them can figure out this last piece of the puzzle.”

  With Mama’s advanced age and failing health, Frank couldn’t sit back any longer and let her tackle this daunting task alone. “I’ll be over on Saturday morning with a new helmet for Brian,” he told her on the phone. “And we’ll teach him how to ride.”

  Trial and error was a painful process and equally exhausting for Frank. With his bright helmet strapped tight, Brian sat on the bicycle seat and gripped both handlebars.

  “Ready?” Frank asked him.

  Brian nodded. His eyes focused ahead; his tongue licked his bottom lip in total concentration.

  Frank pushed him a few feet, let him go and started yelling, “Pedal, Brian! Pedal!” All the while, he ran beside the bike, laboring to breathe. Mama watched on from her chair – most of the time, with one eye closed.

  It was the same every time: Frank let him go and Brian would coast half the distance of the yard, bobble a few times and then go down in the grass. While Frank grabbed for both his knees and panted for air, Brian pushed the bike off of himself and got back up. He grabbed the handlebars and pulled it up, got on it and then waited for his sweaty, red-faced father to give him another push. Although Brian was covered in grass stains and both of his elbows were skinned, he’d stopped crying after the first week.

  Mama cheered them on. “He’s getting it, Frank,” she yelled every time they started over. “He’s catching on. I can see it.”

  Her words and the evidence before them were in total contradiction. Frank shook his head and snickered. “Is this entire process meant more for me and my lack of patience than for Brian learning a new skill?” he asked himself under his breath.

  But they never quit – either one of them. Saturday after Saturday, it was as though Frank spent the long, aggravating hours as much for the stubborn, old lady as for his son.

  It took several consecutive weekends. The leaves were starting to turn colors when all of it just clicked. The bicycle’s handlebars were slightly bent and the paint was nearly scraped off the frame – the name Schwinn barely recognizable. Frank’s lungs burned as badly as his legs, which felt like they were now made of gelatin.

  It was already getting dark. As determined as ever, Brian sat on the bicycle seat and held both handlebars.

  “Ready?” Frank asked him.

  Brian nodded. “Yets, Dah.”

  Frank pushed him a few feet, let him go and yelled, “Pedal, Brian! Pedal…”

  And he did. He swerved and wobbled on the bike, but somehow kept it balanced on two wheels.

  “Brakes!” Frank yelled when his son reached the edge of the yard.

  As he’d been taught many times, Brian pushed back on the pedals until the bike came to a stop. He then leaned on one leg. The bike stood upright with him still sitting on it – now smiling.

  Frank couldn’t hold back. He went to his knees and began to cry. “He did it,” he yelled to Mama, wiping his eyes. “He finally did it!”

  “You sure did, Frank,” Mama replied, her proud eyes leaking onto her wrinkled face. “And you should be very proud.”

  In celebration, the three of them walked over to Back Door Donuts. It was a small shop three streets over that filled the neighborhood with the undeniable smell of cinnamon. For the locals, they opened from 8:30 p.m. until midnight. Mama and her two sidekicks stepped up to the back door to order apple fritters and cinnamon rolls the size of hubcaps. The rules were posted and if you wanted service, you needed to follow each one of them: No pushing, no screaming, be respectful to the neighbors (they’re sleeping); no screeching, no wrestling, no cursing.

  It took all of the energy that Frank had left to convince Mama that it was his treat.

  “Fine,” she finally conceded. “But I usually get a dozen to go, so don’t complain.”

  They both laughed, and took turns congratulating Brian with hugs.

  Besides day trips, Mama never actually went anywhere – not even Italy. And although she never spent any real money on herself, she always had a few bucks to help someone else. Most of the time, it was offered without ever being asked. She recycled cans and bottles, and saved the change for the Special Olympics, as well as St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.

  Even for a woman in her seventies, she refused to sit still. She was afraid that if she ever sat in the chair long enough, her heart would rust and stop pumping. But by fall, it was becoming much more difficult to move about. She’d occasionally let out an involuntary moan, but she never actually complained about the physical pain. “What is it, Mama?” they’d ask. For the family’s sake, she blamed the aches on bad circulation in her legs, showing off her tight stockings as evidence.

  It was eight o’clock. Joan was on the telephone when it clicked. She told John, “Hold on a second, babe. It’s my mother calling in for Brian.”

  “No problem. Take it,” he said.

  “Okay, just hold a second.” Joan clicked over. “Hi, Ma.”

  “Hello, Joan. Where’s my boy?”

  “Can you wait one second? John’s up in Maine on business. I have him on the other line and I need to say goodnight to him.”

  “Just tell him I need ten minutes before Brian heads to bed for the night. The phone is all his for the rest of the night.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Joan said. She clicked over. “Babe, I’ll call you back in ten minutes. My mother has a scheduled telephone date with my son.”

  He laughed. “That’s fine. But don’t forget to call me back.”

  “Not a chance,” she promised. Clicking the phone over one last time, Joan covered the mouthpiece and yelled, “Brian, it’s your girlfriend.”

  Laughing, Brian hurried to the phone and grabbed it from his mother. “I, Mama.”

  “Hello, my love. How are you tonight?”

  “K. You?”

  “I’m good. Thank you for asking. So tell me about your day, sweetheart…”

  Days turned into weeks that threatened to become months. Each of the kids was becoming a young adult that Mama and the rest of the family could be insanely proud of.

  It was a frigid afternoon – the bay winds beating hard on Mama’s windows – when Ross said his goodbyes to set out for the Army. Depressed over his decision to leave, Mama lay in bed, refusing to get up. Where did all the years go? she wondered, looking up at her eldest grandchild. She just couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye to him.

  As if in worship, Ross kneeled by her bedside. “I’ve wanted to join the military since I was a little boy,” he told her – as if she hadn’t known all these years. “I feel bad about leaving Brian behind, but I know he’s in good hands.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he vowed, kissing her tear-stained
cheek. “And I’ll be safe, Mama. I promise. I’ll be home soon.”

  But I may not be here, she thought. She shook her sad head and peered into his eyes. “Just go. But know that I love you and that I always will.”

  No one knew she had been fighting cancer with every ounce of her strength and that it was now winning.

  Chapter 23

  Winter 1991

  The TV hummed like white noise in the background. Mama was just about to doze off in her chair when she noticed Brian pacing the living room floor, nervously. She opened both eyes and watched closely for a few minutes. Brian looked at the TV, wrung his hands together and paced across the floor. When he got to the other side, he looked back at the TV, wrung his hands again and began a new lap. Mama studied the TV and the truth immediately hit her. The news channel was airing some graphic footage of the war; soldiers fighting in a cloud of smoke – God-awful explosions competing with human screams.

  Brian senses danger, she realized. He’s worried about his brother. She shot out of the chair like a hellfire missile. Brian jumped. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “You’re worried about your brother, aren’t you?”

  He looked toward the TV and wrung his hands. “Rin,” he whispered. “Bad.”

  “He’s okay,” Mama reassured him. “Your brother’s a tough cookie. And he’s doing a very honorable thing over there by standing up for people who can’t stand up for themselves.”

  Brian nodded. “Rin,” he said again, his eyes filling with sorrowful tears.

  Mama hurried to hug him. “I know, sweetheart. I miss him, too.” She thought for a moment. “So what do you think we should do?”

  He looked at her, his face blank.

  “What would you do if Ross was here? What would you tell him?”

  He hugged Mama to show her. “Low Rin,” he said. The longing in his voice brought goose bumps.