Far From Xanadu

by Julie Anne Peters

  I whipped up my head and glared at him. Take the hint. Leave.

  Tapping a Marlboro out of his crumpled pack, he grasped the cigarette between his teeth and offered me one from the pack. I shook my head. He flicked his lighter and a flame sparked to life. Lighter fluid. I closed my eyes. Leaned back against the water tank.

  Darryl took a deep drag. The smoke smelled good. I don’t know why; I hated cigarettes. “Maybe if you told me what was wrong, I could help you,” he said.

  I laughed. Bitter sounding, acrid tasting in my mouth.

  “Believe it or not,” he went on, oblivious, “I do know a thing or two about life. I’ve been around the block. Okay, I admit, it’s a short block.” Darryl chuckled at his own joke. “Could be I have a few insights though. I could maybe give you a different way of looking at things.”

  My tears welled again. Darryl’s voice — the intonation, the inflection, even the words — sounded so much like Dad.

  He nudged my foot with his. “C’mon. Try me. What are big brothers for?”

  Hating, I thought.

  I inhaled his smoke and held it in my lungs. We all have to die of something, right? Why not cancer? He wasn’t leaving; he was settling in. “Okay.” I whirled on him. He asked for it. “All right. Question number one: Why was I born this way? Question number two: Why can’t she love me? Question number three: Why did he —” My throat closed up. I forced out the words. “Have to die?” I collapsed in a heap again.

  Darryl didn’t try to put his arm around me or anything, for which I was grateful. We weren’t that way. We never had been. I didn’t need physical comfort, anyway. I needed a spiritual guide, an angel. A savior.

  Darryl finished smoking his cigarette, letting me cry it all out. Through bleary eyes, I watched as he stubbed the butt on a bolt and flicked it, skittering it across the walkaround. He turned toward me. “Could you come up with some harder questions?” he said.

  I torched him with a death look.

  He elbowed my shoulder. “Never mind. I’ll take a crack at these.” Scratching his bald spot, he shifted to get comfortable. “Why were you born this way? Well,” he expelled a long breath, “I don’t know, Mike. Why are any of us born the way we are? Take me, for instance. How come I got all the looks and brains and personality in the family?”

  He waited. If he was hoping I’d laugh at his stupid joke, sorry. I didn’t have it in me.

  “Okay, take me again,” he continued. “Why was I born such a loser?” He lit another cigarette and dropped the pack into his pocket. As he blew out smoke, he said, “I thought for a while I’d made myself this way. A self-made wastoid. Isn’t that what you call me? Isn’t that what everyone says? You’re right. But I don’t think it’s all me. In the end, it is. We’re responsible for how we turn out. But I sure inherited Ma’s lack of motivation.”

  That was the truth.

  “You were born special though,” he said.

  I scoffed.

  “No, I mean it. Everybody knows it. All the time I hear people say, ‘That Mike. She’s one special little gal.’”

  I just looked at him.

  “They do. Everybody loves you.”

  Not in the way I wanted to be loved. Not by the people I needed to love me. The one person who could’ve saved me.

  “I think we don’t get a choice in the born-that-way department,” Darryl said. “All we can do is make the most of what we’re given. Does that answer your question?”

  “No.”

  “Question number two. Why can’t she love you? I assume you mean that girl who slept over last night. Xanadu, that her name? Sounded to me like she loved you pretty good.”

  Oh my God. All the blood rushed to my face.

  “Yeah, the walls in that house aren’t solid steel. And, of course, there’s that hole now.”

  I ground my face into my knees.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not a peeping Tom.”

  It didn’t mean anything, okay? Okay?

  “I was at your game today,” Darryl said. “I try to make it to most of them.”

  He did? That surprised me. I’d seen him a couple of times.

  “I saw what happened when Bailey showed up.”

  I died. Again, I died.

  “Some people aren’t made to love each other, Mike. Take Charlene, for instance.”

  Why didn’t he just shut up? Why didn’t he leave? Why didn’t he take the fucking hint?

  Darryl hooked an arm around one bent knee and took a drag on his Marlboro. “Charlene and I clicked; we really did. After a while, though, I knew it’d never work out for us. We both knew it. She wanted things in life — a home, family. She had this vision of who she’d become, who we’d become, as a couple. She bought into the extended family plan.” Darryl flicked his ash. “Man. Can you imagine if that was me living the life of Reese? All those kids?” He sucked in a long drag, held it, and blew smoke out his nose. “Me, a father. What a joke.”

  I don’t know, I thought. Darryl’d be an okay father. Not great. He’d keep those kids in line, anyway.

  “Reese was a helluva catch for Charlene,” Darryl went on. “He’s steady and responsible. Ambitious guy. I never could’ve given Charlene everything she wanted. Everything she needed.” Darryl faced me. I was peeking out at him from under my arm. “Understand?” he asked.

  No. I hid my eyes. Yes. I didn’t want to, but I did. I could never give Xanadu what she wanted, what she needed. She wasn’t like me, physically, emotionally. I would always leave her unfulfilled and yearning. Eventually, she’d go looking elsewhere. She’d go looking for guys.

  I raised my head a little. When did my brother grow a brain?

  “Question three.”

  “Look, just forget it.” I scrambled to my feet.

  Darryl scrabbled up after me. “No reason,” he said at my back. “No fucking reason that I could ever come up with why he did it.”

  I hung over the railing, staring down into the nothingness. The dirt, weeds. I felt like hurling. Or hurtling.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “He didn’t fall, did he?” I heard myself say.

  Darryl appeared at my side. “No. No, he offed himself.”

  I knew it. I’d always known it. I’d even said it out loud, acknowledged the truth. Still, I didn’t want to believe. My dad committed suicide. Why?

  Darryl and I locked gazes for a brief instant and quickly averted our eyes.

  “I don’t know what the hell was going on with him,” Darryl said. “He never talked about personal stuff. We don’t do that, you know? Expose ourselves that way. We never have. For, like, a year afterwards, I went around and talked to everyone Dad ever knew, everyone he spent time with, and I asked them why. Why’d he do it? Did he talk about problems he was having? At work or at home? Maybe with this worthless-piece-of-shit-of-a-son who’d never amount to anything.”

  I cut a glance at Darryl. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t either of our faults.

  “The only person who could tell me anything was Nel, and all she said was Dad would come into the tavern lots of nights and go into the storeroom. He’d sit back there on the beer boxes and cry. Not even drink. Just cry.”

  Dad? I’d never seen him cry. Not once in my whole entire life. “Don’t cry, baby,” he’d said to me. He was always laughing and joking around. Not only with me. With everyone. He fooled us. He had us all fooled.

  The silence grew. Darryl and me breathing together.

  “It wasn’t you,” I told him. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was Ma’s.”

  Darryl shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No!” he barked. “Okay, yeah, she was starting to go off the deep end even before it happened. When I was in high school — junior high — she began to change. Decline, I guess you’d say. She’d tell me at breakfast she was coming to watch my track meet and never show up. Or we’d be out shopping for groceries and she’d have these panic attacks. I practically had to carry her
home. She’d hide in her room and eat all day. Finally, she couldn’t leave the house. She didn’t have the strength, or the will. Whatever it took. She didn’t make it to my graduation.”

  Yeah, I’d lit into her about that too. How much strength did it require to get your fat ass out of bed and attend your only son’s high school graduation?

  No wonder she hated me. Feared me.

  “She’s sick, Mike,” Darryl said. “Same way Dad was sick. Depressed or whatever. I don’t know. I’m no psychiatrist. All I know is, she’s killing herself same as he did. Only slower, over time. There are lots of ways to die.”

  That sounded familiar. Ma already seemed dead to me. Inside. “She accused me of stealing him from her,” I said.

  “What?” Darryl frowned.

  “Dad.” I turned to him. “She said I stole him from her.”

  Darryl scratched his head. “Huh. I could say the same thing about you.”

  “What?”

  “He loved you most. You know that. He didn’t know I was alive.”

  “That’s not true —”

  “The two of you were inseparable,” Darryl said. “You were always his baby. His favorite. After you were born, he forgot all about me. Me and Ma both.”

  That’s a lie. “What about Camilia?”

  “Who?”

  “Our sister.”

  Darryl looked vacant.

  “Our sister, Camilia? The baby who died?”

  “Oh. Her.”

  “Yeah, her. What was that, immaculate conception?” Dad didn’t forget about Ma. I never stole him.

  Darryl said, “I forgot about the baby.”

  “You forgot a lot of things. Dad loved you. Just...in a different way. He went to your graduation, didn’t he?”

  Darryl snorted. “I wish he hadn’t. He was drunk off his ass before he even got there. He embarrassed the hell out of me.”

  He did? I didn’t remember that. Dad never seemed drunk to me. He put on a good act.

  “Well, Ma loves you,” I told Darryl. “She hates me, but she loves you. She’s scared of me.”

  Darryl met my eyes. “Who isn’t?” A grin creased his face. He sobered fast and added, “Ma doesn’t hate you. She hates herself. It’s the Szabo family curse. We’re all born hating ourselves.”

  I didn’t have a response for that. The way I was born... The way I am now...

  “How’d Camilia die?” I asked.

  Darryl blinked at me. “I don’t know. Why? You think Ma killed her?”

  “No!” God.

  “You blame her for everything else.”

  “I do not. I blame you.”

  We both cracked smiles. I looked away.

  “So, how did she die?” I pressed. “Do you know?”

  He shook his head. “A heart defect or something. Why are you dwelling on this?”

  “I’m not. I just wondered, okay? You wanted me to share so I’m sharing.” A heart defect. Defective hearts. That’s the Szabo family curse. “She should’ve gotten help,” I thought out loud. “Him too. They should’ve gone for professional help when they needed it. Ma should still go.”

  “You’re right,” Darryl said. “But I think you know as well as I do, we don’t ask for help. It’s not our way.”

  Not our way. Our way was killing us. We were slowly dying. Of loneliness, isolation, withdrawal.

  A redtail hawk swooped off the top of the water tower and dive-bombed the ground. It scooped up a bull snake and flew off.

  “Score,” Darryl said. He took the last drag of his cigarette and flicked his butt over the side of the tower. We watched it flutter to the ground and disappear in the long prairie grass. Resting his elbows on the railing, Darryl gazed off into the distance, beyond the town, the wheat fields. “Know what he said to me that morning? The day he did it?” Darryl didn’t wait for me to answer. “He said, ‘Take care of Mike and your mom. I’m counting on you.’ ”

  I fixed on Darryl. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the sky, “How’m I doin’, Pops? I bet you’re happy you left me in charge.”

  Darryl’s head lolled back and a strangled laugh issued from his throat.

  The eerie sound sent chills up my spine. “Hey, you’re doing okay,” I told him. “You’re doing good. The bills are paid at home. There’s food on the table, a roof over our heads. Sort of a roof.”

  “I’m a fuck-up, Mike.” He wheeled on me. “I always have been. I always will be. Dad knew that. He knew it.” Darryl’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

  He made me so mad. He was a fuck-up. A self-made loser. His whole life was one self-fulfilled prophecy. “If Dad knew, how come he left the business to you?” I said. “Why didn’t he give it to me?” My voice broke. “I loved that business. I would’ve carried it on. Dad knew that. He knew it.” I swiped an arm across my nose.

  “You were fourteen, Mike.”

  “So!” I practically screamed at my brother. “I could’ve handled it. I would’ve quit school to run that business.”

  Darryl said, “Yeah. I’m sure that’s what he was afraid of.” He peered deep into my eyes. My burning eyes. Stupid tears. Darryl reached over to touch me, but I lurched away. He said, “The business is yours, Mike. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “It’s not mine. He left it to you in the will.”

  Darryl’s jaw clenched. “I’ll give you the fucking business. Here.” He made a grand gesture of handing it off to me; brushing his hands of it. “Everybody knows you’re Szabo Plumbing and Heating. You always have been. You always will be. It’s just.. .” He trailed off.

  What? Darryl wanted his cut? Fine, whatever.

  “I thought you’d want to do more with your life is all,” he said. “Get out of this town, make a name for yourself. Go to that camp and get recruited. Earn a softball scholarship for college. Have a future. Be somebody.”

  I am somebody. I was. Mike Szabo. Szabo Plumbing and Heating.

  “Do you know you have nearly a thousand dollars in your account already? I deposited three hundred more at the bank this morning.”

  “What?” I sniped at him.

  “The town council agreed to match whatever money I collected dollar for dollar. If that isn’t proof people around here love you, I don’t know what is.”

  I reeled back a step. “Wait a minute. You started the Can-paign? Catch-Her-Star? That was you?”

  Darryl held up his hands. “Hold your applause. It was the least I could do. You don’t listen to me about anything else.” He grilled a stiff finger into my arm. “Like boozing your life away.”

  I slapped him off. “I hate you. How’d you even know about the camp?”

  “That folder you left in my auto zines. I called over to Dr. Kinneson and she filled me in.”

  Darryl? This was his doing? “You decorated all those cans?”

  “Well,” he said. “I had help with that.”

  Jamie. I’d kill him. I’d kill him and Darryl both.

  Darryl said, “It’s kind of weird, but I felt like finding that folder was a sign. Sort of a kick in the pants from Pop, like this was the way I was supposed to take care of you. Since you never take stock of my sage advice.”

  “Shut up.” I stared at him, my brother. The old Darryl was back. The one with substance, heart.

  “What if I don’t want to go?” I said. “What if I don’t want people’s charity? Did you ever think of that?”

  Darryl didn’t answer right away. Finally, he drew out a long, “Yeeeah. And I thought about how Pastor Glenn’s always preaching the joy of giving. How everyone would love to feel the joy of giving toward you. How sometimes we need to ask for help, and even accept it when it’s offered.”

  “Did you ever think how I might let them down? How I might not be good enough? How I might disappoint them?” There, it was out. The tears welled again. I knew what it was to be let down by someone you admired, someone you loved. Your hero. MVP. Most Valuable Person in your life.

  Darryl was gaping at
me, slack-jawed.

  “What?” I rubbed my eyes.

  “I can’t believe it. The great Mike Szabo? Not being good enough? Sorry, I don’t buy it. I don’t even think you believe that.”

  “Shut up.” What did he know? He didn’t know anything.

  Maybe a couple of things. He didn’t know me.

  The wind kicked up and prickled my arms with goose bumps. Darryl shivered. We stood together, quiet, the wind whistling through the metal slats of the tower. Finally, I said what I was thinking: “That article for the Gazette. You write that?”

  He shrugged. “Guilty. So crucify me.”

  “I could never lift you to the cross, not with that gut. I’m trying to tell you it was good. You did a good job on the Can-paign, okay?”

  Darryl looked shocked.

  “Have you been keeping my stats?”

  “No,” he admitted. “Well, not all of them. Manny helped. And Dr. Kinneson.”

  I’d kill them too. So much help. “Did you ever think about being a writer?” I said. “Seeing as how you’ve got all these keen insights into life.”

  Darryl smiled. “Maybe I’ll apply for a job at the Gazette.” He had a nice smile, my brother. I saw it for the first time in a long time. Saw him. He wasn’t a total loser. He had potential. He should use it.

  Something else I noticed. “Where’d you get that shirt?” Dad’s blue work shirt. “I’ve been searching for those.”

  Darryl winced. “I took them. Don’t tell Ma. I don’t know. I wanted something of his. Something personal”

  I closed my eyes. Yeah.

  The two streetlamps along Main came on as dusk settled over the town. “So,” Darryl heaved a long breath and turned to me, “Any more questions?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t think I could take much more truth today.

  Darryl exaggerated a shiver and said, “This place gives me the willies. Why do you come up here?”

  “To get closer to.. .” Sky. Dad.

  Darryl nodded, like he got it. “I’m going home.” He took a step back. “You coming?”

  “Not yet.” I had some crying left to do. Crying I’d never done for Dad. Two years. It needed to get out.

  Darryl clomped across the walkaround and paused at the gate. “You’re not going to jump, are you? I can’t afford another fucking ER bill.”