My kind of folk.
Each afternoon I raced off on my mountain bike, and with every foot of asphalt that passed under my spinning wheels I felt myself closer to my goal. At night I sat up in bed and stared at Noriko’s pictures, envisioning myself bare-chested, bronzed and strapping at her side. I read philosophy and poetry and history, and began keeping a journal. I even fasted for two days, drinking only bottled water in a rite of purification.
My family knew I was acting a little strange but I didn’t reveal my goal. By not talking about it I drew a smug satisfaction, as if I were part of some clandestine rebellion operating right under their noses. Besides, they’d only have laughed and made bets on how long I could keep it up. I was going to let my results talk for me. ‘Say uncle no more,’ became my mantra. I chanted it ten thousand times. I had never before been so focused, so eager, so resolute, and for the first time in my life I felt I had a purpose.
When New Year’s Eve rolled around I was ready to begin. I went to a party with my sisters and cousins given by a friend of Maureen’s. When the clock struck twelve I held up my beer bottle and toasted myself. Doreen came over and kissed me and wished me a happy New Year.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing, why?”
“Well, you’ve been sitting on this kitchen counter for the past half an hour with a dumb grin on your face. How many beers have you had?”
“Only this one,” I answered, clinking her bottle with mine.
“Guy, tell me.”
“I just think it’s going to be a great year, that’s all.”
Doreen squinted at me, suspicious. “Since when did you become an optimist?”
“Why shouldn’t it be a great year?” I said. “It’s what you make it, right? That’s what you’re always telling me, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…but since when did you start listening to me?”
“You’re right about a lot of things, Doreen. Why shouldn’t I listen to you?”
“Guy, what’s up?”
I smiled. “Nothing.”
Just then Jim Fielding walked over and put his arm around my sister. He was wearing one of those pointy little party hats. Who invited him? I wondered. I checked out his physique. Impressive. I had my work cut out for me.
“Happy New Year, Doreen,” he said.
“Happy New Year,” she purred back.
And then they kissed, sloppy and wet. If his tongue had been any deeper down her throat he’d have been tickling her feet with it. I was disgusted but determined not to let it get to me. I saw it as the first of a long series of trials that would come my way. What could she possibly see in him? I thought, composed and detached.
“Put it there, Guy,” Fielding said, sticking his big paw out for me to shake.
I looked at Doreen who was blushing a little. That blush gave me hope. It told me that she knew I disapproved, and that she felt slightly ashamed. I thought it sporting to shake the oaf’s hand and wish him a happy New Year. It was the decent thing to do, the civilized thing: the forgive-him-Father-for-he-knows-not-what-an-asshole-he-is kind of thing to do. A smile, a simple handshake, a polite, albeit insincere salutation—how hard could it be? So I smiled and reached for Fielding’s hand.
Damn hard.
I flipped my hand over, middle finger extended, and spit a razz, “Plphh!”
“Guy!” Doreen said, “what’s the matter with you?”
Fielding said, “Your little brother has a serious attitude problem, Doreen. If he’s not careful, one day he’s going to get his skinny butt kicked by someone who hasn’t my sense of humor.”
I didn’t answer for a moment. I was too busy trying to figure out what had compelled me to do such a reckless and immature thing. Maybe it was the remnant of their kiss, a shiny wet spot under my sister’s lower lip that got to me. Or, maybe it was the way Doreen smiled at him when he offered me his hand. Or, maybe I just thought they were both lying to themselves and a drastic measure was called for on my part to instill a little reality into the situation; to ensure that I wouldn’t believe in their delusion too.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” I said. “But Doreen is far too good for you. You’re not worthy.”
I knew that I could get away with saying such a thing to his face because I was certain he wouldn’t punch me and make a scene in front of my sister. He knew that if he did that he would never get into her pants. No, the thing for him to do now was to be a bigger man than me, and to gracefully back down. And sure enough, he listened to the good advice of his pecker and retreated with éclat.
“Well, Guy,” he said, “I’m sorry you feel this way, though I can understand your feelings. If Doreen were my sister you can be damn sure I’d be watching out for her too. She’s a very special person. But I truly care for Doreen and I would never do anything to hurt her.” Then, with just the right amount of disappointment and hurt etched into his handsome face, he heaved a sorry sigh and a sad shrug, and turned and walked away.
“Guy,” Doreen snapped, “I’m so—”
“I know you are.”
“Why? Just tell me why—”
“Doreen, please don’t tell me you believe his little act.”
“The only one acting here is you! I don’t like your attitude and I resent your meddling. Jim is a nice guy and what you said to him was totally uncalled for.”
“How can you be so blind?” I said. “I thought you were deeper than that.”
“What do you want from me, Guy?” she said, exasperated.
“The best thing you could do for me is not to do anything with him.”
“Well, that’s none of your business, is it?”
“Maybe not. If you want to make a fool of yourself and get yourself hurt, that’s up to you. I can’t stop you.”
“You know what your trouble is, Guy? You don’t trust people enough.”
“That’s not true, Doreen. I don’t trust people at all.”
“Deep down, people are good, Guy.”
“No, on the surface they’re good. Deep down we are all pretty messed up.”
“Do you think I’m messed up?”
“You know what I mean, Doreen.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I told you the other day what I thought your trouble was.”
I didn’t like where this was going at all. The new Guy wasn’t going to be mean to his sister.
“That I’m scared, is that it?”
“But isn’t everybody, Doreen? I mean, really, deep down, isn’t everybody scared? Don’t take it so personally.”
“Then that’s all the more reason we should try to trust one another, don’t you think?”
“Or all the less, depending upon how you look at it.”
“Well, Guy, you can live mistrusting people if you want, but I’m not going to. It’s too sad a life for me. I’d rather trust and be deceived and chance looking silly and naive than forfeit the loyalty of a good friend, cheating myself out of one of the best things in life. Really, I would.”
Damn, she had me. If only more people were like you!
“Okay, Doreen, I won’t say another word about you and Fielding. I can’t trust him, I’m sorry, but I do trust you. I couldn’t bear not trusting you. Sometimes I think you’re my only link to humankind, my only link to reality even.”
Doreen’s eyes misted, and a warm, loving smile spread across her pretty face. “Gosh, Guy…”
“What?”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.” She bounced up onto her tiptoes, pecked me on the cheek, said happy New Year again, and then pranced out of the kitchen to go and find her new boyfriend, the actor.
Kojak-sac
My father had a membership at the Biltmore Health Club. I worked out there every afternoon that first week in January. The clashing iron was Beethoven’s 9th. The musky stink that rose from my armpits was pure ambrosia. I was tight and sore, but I enjoyed the
novelty of it. It felt honest and promising.
I used to think that muscle building was a vain and silly thing to do, but not anymore. The human body is an amazing organism, I mused, as I pumped and pressed and squatted. There were few disciplines a person could practice that provided such quick and dramatic results. Soon I would see the fruits of my efforts—bulging biceps and triceps, rope-like deltoids, the V-shaped latissimus dorsi, the washboard stomach—and I could hardly wait.
But my body’s transformation was to be just the beginning of a complete overhaul. I knew that my body was the easiest thing to change, that my mind and soul might take a little longer. Balance, that’s what I was after, a sound mind in a sound body: the Greek ideal. I was aiming at nothing less than the soul of Socrates in the body of a young Jean Claude Van Damme.
By the end of the week I was in the hospital awaiting an operation for a double hernia. A lot can happen in a single squat.
···
My dream vanished. My glorious future as a super stud fizzled and dissolved like a frame of film stuck in a projector’s lamp. I felt as if the universe had double-crossed me. I had made a sincere attempt to better myself as a human being, and by doing so I lost all my pubic hair. Utterly demoralized, I seriously doubted that I could ever work up that kind of enthusiasm for anything ever again.
Family members visited me through the day, bringing me magazines, books, hugs and kisses. They openly doubted my sanity and asked me what the hell I was trying to prove. My sisters begged me for a peek at my unmasked loins. They teased me and called me, “Kojak-sac.” I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to see or talk to anybody. I only wanted to lie between my blue starched sheets and contemplate my own futility.
My sisters Colleen and Maureen were visiting me when the nurse wheeled in my supper. It was only about four in the afternoon, but as I was going under the knife the first thing in the morning the orders were that I wasn’t to eat anything after five. Maureen insisted on feeding me like I was a baby. They told me that the relatives had all left and were sorry they couldn’t visit me before taking off. At least I didn’t have to drive them to the airport, I thought.
“We have some wonderful news for you, Guy,” Colleen said.
“Not likely,” I grumbled.
“Show some excitement,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because this is really good news.” The girls exchanged knowing smiles, and then Colleen reached into her purse and pulled out a letter and waved it teasingly in front of my face. I saw that it had already been opened.
“You know what this is?” Maureen asked, pointing at the letter with her spoon. She had taken to eating my dinner for me.
“It looks official,” I said.
“That’s right,” Colleen said. “It’s from school. It says you’re on probation. You only failed one class, Guy. The others gave you D’s. You’re still in. You don’t have to leave!”
“Did mom and dad see this?” I asked, worried.
“No,” Maureen answered proudly. “I nabbed it before they had a chance.”
“Good work,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Well, Guy,” Colleen said. “What do you think? Great news, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. The irony was almost too much to bear. Four D’s and an F? Most people celebrate making the honor roll; leave it to me to celebrate making probation. Who were we kidding? It was only a stay of execution. I’ll never change. I tried and look where it landed me.
“You should be happy, Guy.”
“Yeah,” Maureen said, “and it won’t happen again because next semester Doreen is going to help you.”
“I don’t want Doreen’s help. She’s busy enough.”
“She doesn’t mind. She wants to.”
I didn’t doubt it in the least. It would have been just like Doreen to want to help me, and furthermore, I knew that if I were to do exactly as she said, I would probably end up with straight A’s. It occurred to me then that I had been given gobs of good advice by my family my whole life. What if I had listened to them all along? Where might I have been then? Certainly not on my back, crotch-cropped and celebrating my sub-marginal mediocrity. Why was I so pigheaded? What good had it ever done me? Maybe it was time I humbled myself, started listening, and behave. It was a depressing thought.
Maureen finished eating my dinner and then she and Colleen had to be off. They said they’d be back after the operation the next morning and made me promise, under the threat of say uncle, that I would show them my scar.
Later my mother and father showed up and we sat around and watched TV together for an hour. I felt guilty about the way my sisters and I were deceiving them. We were hiding from them something that was their right to know.
As my folks watched TV, I thought about what great parents they had always been to us kids. How did they do it? How did they manage to raise five kids and not go out of their minds? Where did they find the patience? I felt that even if I could turn over a new leaf, and spent the rest of my life trying to repay them for all the loving kindness that they had bestowed upon me, I could never come close to matching their selfless generosity. What could I—someone who couldn’t even give them the satisfaction of knowing that I was doing something so minimal as keeping my grades up at school—do for them?
Not long after my parents left, Doreen and Jim Fielding dropped in for a visit. They were holding hands. It was a good thing that I was in the hospital because I was sure I was going to be sick.
Fielding knew how I had gotten my hernias, which only further depressed me. Nevertheless, I kept my promise to Doreen and behaved myself. My fighting spirit had vanished along with my pubic hair. My keen insights into the darkness of the male libido, however, did not disappear, and so I knew that Fielding had come along only to make a good impression on Doreen. He looked anxious and red in the face. He knew he was going to get some nooky afterwards, and was biting at the bit in anticipation. They didn’t stay long, thank God.
Then came peace and quiet, except for an occasional temperature and pulse reading by the nurse. I watched TV, marveled at how inept my life was, wondered what, if anything, I could ever do about it, and bored myself to sleep.
True Love
After my operation the following day, I was awake long enough to see five beautiful women standing around my bed. Although I was woozy and the room pulsed around me, I somehow knew there was something odd about the girls, but I was out again before I knew it.
Around noon I woke up again. I was still groggy but considerably more lucid than before. This time only Doreen was in the room. She smiled tenderly and said, “Hey, Kojak-sac. How ya feelin’?”
I blinked her into focus, licked my lips and swallowed dryly. She poured me a glass of water and lowered it to my mouth.
“Drink. Are you in pain?”
I shook my head no, made a move to meet the glass and screamed. “What did they do, sew me up with barbed wire?!”
“Be still,” she said, putting the glass to my lips. She dabbed my forehead with a cold washcloth. “You just missed the others. They were tired of watching you drool and went for lunch. They should be back in an hour. Maybe they’ll bring you a milk shake.”
“Where’s Mr. Wonderful?” I asked.
“I never want to see that creep again.”
Wow, I thought, a lot can happen during a hernia operation. I was feeling better already. I wanted so badly to say ‘I told you so.’ I had been right all along, and how often did that happen?
“Gee whiz, Doreen, what happened? You two looked so happy together. What a handsome couple you made.”
“Just say it. I know you’re dying to.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“I told you so. Say it.”
“Are you okay?” I asked. “What happened?”
“I stopped by his place this morning with some flowers and bagels and caught him in bed with one of his jelly-haired bimbos.”
“Rough. So what d
id you do?”
“I beaned him with a pumpernickel and slammed the door on my way out. I cried for a while. I came here. I met your friend, Melody, who was very nice. While you slept I looked through the book she brought you. I’m much better now, thanks.”
“Whoa! Who did you say was here?”
Doreen smiled. “Melody.”
“Melody! Melody the Aussie Melody was here? When?”
“A couple of hours ago. She left after you threw up on her shoes. Don’t you remember?”
“No! I mean, sort of… Did I really ralph on her?”
Doreen nodded. “It was very rude of you, Guy.”
“Aw, jeez… What did she say?”
“She laughed and told us not to be alarmed, that she often had that effect on men. I knew then that I liked her.”
“Did she say she’d be back?”
“She said that she might, but that in any case she’d send you the cleaning bill.”
“You said something about a book?”
“Here…” She picked up a large, thin book from the bedside table and handed it to me. I saw the name on the jacket, tried to sit up, and yelped.
“Take it easy, Guy. Let me crank up the bed for you.”
“Johanna!”
“What?”
“Johanna. Johanna the Swede Johanna. This is her work! I told you about her, remember? She said she was a photographer but…”
“It’s quite good. It’s pictures of children from around the world.”
“Well, what did she say? Did she say anything?”
“Melody? You mean about the book?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Only that she admired this woman’s work.”
I flipped through a number of the pages and then let the book drop onto my chest. I was suddenly exhausted and knew if I closed my eyes I’d be out again.
Say Uncle Page 8