Goodnight, Brian

by Steven Manchester

  She began rubbing his back. “How ‘bout we do something nice for Ross? Something to let him know we’re thinking about him?”

  Brian nodded. “Rin,” he said, “Low Rin.”

  “And he loves you, too – very much.”

  Brian nodded.

  “So let’s put a package together for him, a care package to let him know that our spirits are with him. What do you say?”

  For the first time, Brian smiled.

  “Use your words, Brian.”

  “Yets.”

  “Okay, you draw him a nice picture and I’ll write him a letter…from the two of us. Then we’ll throw in a big batch of Cornflake cookies and a few other sweet surprises. Sound like a plan?”

  “Cook, cook. Me, Mama.”

  “Yes, you can have some, too. But let’s get some work done first.”

  Brian hurried for his colored construction paper and crayons.

  They packed the last batch of cookies into the cardboard box and sealed it tight with tape. As Mama started cleaning the kitchen, Brian sat back down at the table and began drawing again.

  Mama thought it peculiar. “We’ve just packed three beautiful pictures for your brother. I think that’s enough, sweetheart.”

  He looked up at her, smiled and then continued drawing.

  “Is it for Ross?” she asked, taking a break from scraping down the dirty cookie sheet.

  He put his crayon down, stood and walked into the living room – gesturing that she follow him. “Go, Mama,” he said. She did. He pointed at the TV.

  “Another picture for Ross?” she asked again, confused.

  He shook his head and pointed at different spots on the television screen. “Moe bad.”

  “Oh,” she said, the reality of her grandson’s compassion sending a strong pulse of heat through her chest. “You’re drawing pictures for the other soldiers that are with Ross, aren’t you? For the troops?”

  “Yets,” he said proudly, and turned on his heels to return to his artwork.

  “Good for you,” Mama said. “They’re going to love them.”

  In each new drawing, Brian wrote, Is Ok.

  “What are you telling them?” she asked him, forever making him exercise his vocabulary.

  “K,” he said.

  “You mean, It’s OK – like everything’s going to be okay, right?”

  He looked up from his work and grinned. “K,” he repeated.

  “You stinker, that’s it!” she said, and pulled him up from the table. “Enough work for now,” she said, hobbling off toward the living room. “Let’s dance!”

  It was amazing – and terrifying – how a few months could feel like years, and change a life forever.

  It was hotter than hell, which seemed appropriate given the surroundings. Operation Desert Storm was a surreal experience; being placed in such a foreign environment. The surroundings were so alien that even the air in the desert felt different. The only beauty was found in the night sky. The same stars that twinkled over Narragansett Bay sparkled just as brightly in the Arabian Desert, and it brought the only peace Ross could find. Many nights, when he sat alone with his insomnia, he set his eyes upon them and found just enough peace to keep going.

  He missed Brian and Angie something awful, but he knew his life would never be the same again. It was as if the door to innocence had been slammed closed, never to be opened again.

  Sitting on the hood of his Humvee, he stared up at the stars and thought back to the days of innocence…

  He envisioned Mama’s cottage. On the street, at the edge of her yard, there was a Deer Crossing sign. Someone had painted a little red Rudolph nose on it and Mama knew that it was one of her grandbabies who did it. Publicly, she was opposed to the vandalism. Secretly, though, everyone knew she appreciated the creativity.

  He pictured Mama talking on the phone, lying on a carpet runner in the kitchen – stretched out just like a cat.

  In the summer, it was cool in the cottage. The windows were always open to collect the salty breezes. He could see himself, his brother, and his cousins drinking Kool-Aid from jelly jars on her front porch.

  In the winter, Mama had a big fluffy down comforter that the kids would get lost under.

  On the living room walls, Brian’s smiling face beamed in most of the framed photos. There was a couch, a matching loveseat and Mama’s gray leather armchair where she drank her Sanka and watched her shows – and she really loved her afternoon shows. She was a guest at Luke and Laura’s wedding, as well as at a thousand other events. Afternoons – or the soap operas that filled them – were her guilty pleasure. Even Brian knew the characters and story lines. As far as the heinous looking armchair, she couldn’t part with it. As long as they still made duct tape in gray, she could match the color in any repair.

  Ross’ breathing finally reached a peaceful rhythm and he drifted off even deeper…

  Filled with sun catchers, there was always something cooking in Mama’s kitchen. For a portly woman, she never actually sat and ate. She was a grazer who snacked all day long. She had bad arthritis in her hands that curled them like dry autumn leaves. And although she insisted she was five feet tall, she would have to be on the tips of her toes, standing on the crest of a hill to reach that height. She joked that she’d “shrunk in her old age” and that it was God’s cruel joke because she didn’t have a whole lot of height to give up. Still, she was a giant of a woman.

  Mama slept on a high mattress wearing a foam head-wrap – like a queen’s crown – to keep her hair shaped the way she liked it. She loved babies and they loved her. Her soft midsection was like a giant pillow. If she were guilty of anything, she did too much for the people she loved.

  She loved Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra – the whole Rat Pack. Her favorite song was Summer Wind by Old Blue Eyes. She was a tough, no-nonsense woman. Whenever she was questioned about her own health, she said, “Don’t worry about me.” The love her family felt for her was immeasurable and the environment she created for them was heaven…

  Ross shook his sorrowful head. Heaven – I should be so lucky, he thought. For the first time since he could remember, he began to cry. Reaching into his pants cargo pocket, he took out a pen and some paper, and began to share his soul:

  Dear Mama & Brian,

  I hope this letter finds you both well. Thank you so much for the package and your encouraging letter. My squad loved the almond cookies and biscotti, although I tucked away the Cornflake cookies just for me. Brian, you’re the only person in the world I’d ever share those with.

  And Brian, I can’t thank you enough for the drawings you sent me. They mean the world to me, brother. I look at them every day. Those pictures have really kept me going. I’ve started a scrapbook (just like one of Mama’s). You’ve definitely done a lot of drawing since I’ve been in the Gulf. It’s weird, but there are times when I can actually feel you standing right beside me – though I’m grateful you’re a world away from here.

  Mama, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it’s been a tough ride over here. I pray more now – for forgiveness, for protection, but most of all that God’s listening. If you’ve taught me anything, it’s that any wound can be healed – no matter how deep it is. Some guys see a hopeless future before them, but I know better – thanks to what you and Brian have shown me.

  I can’t wait to see you all again and spend the weekend down the bay like we used to. I wouldn’t want much – just the whole family to be there, a large pan of your raviolis in red gravy and for the day to end with one of your famous hugs. Please keep the letters and drawings coming. They keep me connected to the real world.

  And please kiss Ma and Angie for me. I miss them a lot, too.

  All My Love, Always,

  Rin

  Even though she was on the other side of the globe, Mama could still read between the lines. There were so many things – terrible things – that Ross hadn’t written. She could feel it in her heart and it ached. She grabbed her crucifix
and kissed it. Walk with him, Lord, she prayed. Protect our boy with an army of your angels.

  In the meantime, Mama fought her own internal battle – with cancer. She ignored the sharp pains in her legs, read the letter to Brian for the third time and folded it up “I think it’s time for a visit to the old country,” she said, and wiped her eyes. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  Brian nodded and allowed his tears to air dry.

  Although Steph and Heidi had grown old enough to make their own holiday plans, Angie was with her dad and Ross was off serving his country, Brian was still happy to visit Little Italy with Mama at Christmas. The old woman smelled strongly of citrus from the gallons of Jean Nate bath splash she’d received as gifts through the years.

  On the train, Mama read to Brian from one of her old, tattered brochures of Italy. “Tuscany is a charmed land, located in the heart of central Italy. Renowned for its food and wine, it is also home to exceptional beaches, villas, gardens, and some of the world’s most beautiful landscapes. The back roads head into rolling hills, through fortified medieval villages. A treasure hunt of great meals, fine wines, medieval villages, castles, and Renaissance palaces, Tuscany is interspersed with magical gardens, gentle country walks, spectacular views, art and architecture. Perched high on a hilltop, lush acres produce high quality olive oil and some of Tuscany’s finest red wine…” She looked at Brian and kissed his face. “Someday,” she whispered.

  “Yets. Soebay.”

  As they walked along Hanover Street, large decanters of olive oil and strings of garlic cloves and red peppers decorated shop windows. On one corner, there was a sports club for the gentlemen. On the next, there was a Laundromat for the ladies. Beneath shop canopies, people spoke in a wonderful hybrid of English and Italian slang, their hands flying about to punctuate each point. The air was filled with old world music and the smells of fresh bread and garlic. Mama inhaled deeply, still teaching her grandson to do the same.

  On old, broken down legs, Mama made her annual Christmas dinner donation and then escorted Brian toward the statue of the Virgin Mother. She kneeled on the concrete and offered her prayers. Brian kneeled beside her and mimicked her every movement. As if on cue, they blessed themselves at the same time. Brian looked at her and smiled, proud that he’d gotten the timing right. She returned the smile and kissed his head before he helped her to her feet. “God is good,” she told him.

  “God God,” he answered, making her chuckle.

  As Mama and Brian passed a restaurant, a violinist with a bushy white moustache and dressed in a red velvet vest waved at them. Everyone knew Mama, which meant that everyone knew Brian. He received more freebies – sweets, gelato, decaffeinated cappuccinos, and even goodies to take home – than a celebrity athlete. He was embraced by an entire community that he only visited a few times a year.

  Mama and Brian patiently waited in line at Mike’s Pastry Shop.

  A little boy and his mom stood in front of them. Suddenly, the boy screamed, “I want a cupcake now!” While his mother spun to stop him, he stomped both his feet.

  “Stop it, Robby. We have to wait our turn,” the mother halfheartedly scolded.

  “NOW!” the boy screeched, flipping out even more at the woman’s unwillingness to meet his immediate demands. “NOW! NOW! NOW!”

  Not nearly as embarrassed as she should have been, the woman looked back at Mama and shrugged.

  “Sometimes a swift kick in the backside will straighten ‘em right out,” Mama suggested with a wink.

  The stranger glared at her. “I think you should mind your own business, lady,” she hissed.

  Mama took a step toward the woman. “And I think you should mind your son’s business so nobody else has to.”

  The woman started to reply, but the words got stuck in her throat. Instead, she huffed once, grabbed the spoiled brat by the arm and dragged him out of the busy shop.

  Mama shook her head and looked at Brian. “I tell ya, sometimes I’m glad I’m close to the end. This world is changing fast and not for the better.”

  “Cook cook?” Brian asked. “Pease cook, Mama.”

  She smiled. “Of course you can have a cookie, sweetheart. With those manners, how could I say no?”

  Julia, Mike’s wife, greeted Mama and Brian with a smile. “What can I get for you, Mrs. DiMartino?”

  “Let me have a half dozen cannoli with powdered sugar, two dozen mixed biscotti, and a half dozen custard cups.” She felt a tug at her jacket and looked up to find a big pair of hopeful eyes peering down at her. She nodded. “And Brian can choose one thing – whatever he wants.”

  His eyes filled with joy. “Cook cook!” he ordered.

  Julia nodded. “A cookie it is.” She smiled. “Good choice, Brian.” She leaned over the counter and whispered in his ear. “And I’ll throw in a few extra for you.”

  Mama laughed.

  As Julia boxed Mama’s goodies, she asked, “When are we going to get the recipe for those famous Christmas Butterballs?”

  “Just as soon as I get the recipe for Mike’s cannoli,” she answered. Heaven could be found in the taste of Mike’s cannoli and nowhere else in the world – no matter how far a sweet tooth like Mama’s was willing to travel.

  Julia smirked at the clever comeback, but only shrugged in reply, ending the playful banter. She tied the three pink boxes with white string and gave Mama her change. “Have a great holiday, Mrs. DiMartino.”

  Mama nodded. “Merry Christmas, and send my love to Mike.”

  For the first time, Mama’s legs would not allow her to make it to the end of Hanover Street; to the quaint restaurant where she’d been raised. Her eyes filled with sorrowful tears. My legs are done. Leaning on Brian, they headed back toward the train when a man called out, “Viva Italia.”

  “Viva America,” Mama replied. She loved her heritage, but was adamant about being respectful to America and the incredible blessings it had afforded her family.

  After tucking Brian in for the night, Mama sat in her chair, thinking about the little boy in the pastry shop. Things sure have changed, she thought, and things were so much better when I was a kid…

  Childhood in Little Italy was a real dream and although it wasn’t actually rigid, there was an expectation that all children would show the utmost respect to their elders – no exceptions. Some fathers might have been heavy-handed and some mothers were definitely subservient, but that wasn’t Mama’s family. She grew up in satin and bows, dressed like a doll and treated like a princess, and there was always a silver dollar from Uncle Carmine which he delivered like a professional magician…

  The telephone rang. Mama was removed from her memories and picked up. “Hello?”

  It was Frank. “Hi,” he said. “I hope I’m not calling too late.”

  “It’s never too late,” she told him.

  He paused for a moment. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to take Brian this weekend…and maybe start alternating weekends with you after that.”

  Mama could tell right away that this request wasn’t made out of guilt or a sense of obligation, but from a real desire or need. It had taken years, but he now had everything he needed to properly provide for his son. She smiled. “That sounds just fine, Frank.”

  Chapter 24

  Spring 1992

  Heidi and Peter had just finished stuffing themselves with Mama’s chicken mozzarella over ziti. The old lady had insisted on cooking an impromptu dinner to celebrate their engagement. The conversation bounced from topic to topic until it ended up at its usual destination – Brian.

  As Heidi helped clear the table, she said, “I’m still so amazed at all the progress Brian’s made.”

  “He sure has, but there’s still more work to be done.”

  “More work?”

  Mama half-shrugged, concern etched in her face. “Brian struggles with confidence and self-esteem. I need to find experiences to build him up – things for him to take pride in.”

  Heidi and Peter
looked at each other and exchanged big smiles.

  Mama caught it. “What is it?” she asked.

  “You tell her,” Heidi told her new fiancée.

  Peter smiled. “It’s actually kind of ironic that we’re talking about this. Heidi and I have been talking about how to get Brian involved in the wedding – I mean, really involved.”

  Heidi stepped behind him and put her hands on his shoulders.

  “I’d like to ask Brian to be my best man,” he finally announced.

  Mama kept her eyes locked on his and said, “Brian has the best sense of character I know, and he loved you right away, Peter.” She slowly stood, walked around the table, grabbed his head with both her hands and kissed his forehead. “If you weren’t already family – which you have been for some time now – this would seal it for me.” She peered into his eyes again. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Glen Manor was a Chateaux-inspired Manor House. Built in 1920 from the plans of a French castle, it was situated on the Sakonnet River with a view of Tiverton and Little Compton on the opposite shore. Heidi fell in love with the waterfront location and the stone terrace, but when she saw the flower garden out back, she knew her childhood dreams were about to come true.

  It was an unseasonably warm May afternoon. Rows of white folding chairs lined the garden lawn, facing the Sakonnet River. Bob surveyed the land. The expansive river and formal gardens that led out to the red-clay cliffs provided the perfect backdrop for his princess to be wed. He turned to Peter, his future son-in-law, and smiled. Approaching the young man, he said, “If it were any other man standing before me today, I would be asking him – no, telling him – to take good care of my daughter. But not you. I already know that you will.”

  “Yes, sir, I will. You have my word.”

  Bob placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know. And you have my sincerest apology, son.”

  “Sir?”

  “Before I’d even met you, I misjudged you – and harshly. You would think that being around Brian all these years, I would have already learned, but…” He shook his head at his own foolishness. “Anyway, I was ignorant and I’m grateful you gave me a chance to learn.”