Goodnight, Brian

by Steven Manchester

  Brian pointed at the woman. “Pitcher?” he asked.

  The woman scurried away, embarrassed.

  Mama laughed in her usual roar, scaring the stranger even more.

  As they walked along, Heidi commented, “Everyone stares at Brian. They must think…”

  Mama stopped abruptly. “Never worry about what people think. God knows…and that’s enough!” Her eyes softened and she lowered her tone. “Remember guys, caring little of what other people think of you will allow you the energy to focus on what you think of yourself.” She shook her head and her tone rose again. “But never apologize for Brian. If people are uncomfortable around him, then it’s too bad for them. It’s their loss!”

  As they walked on, the kids pondered her words and could feel the same protective love stir deep within them; seeds planted for a lifetime.

  According to the plaque, the Bunker Hill Monument was the site of The first battle of the American Revolution. There were two hundred ninety-four steps to the top, where the views of Boston were supposed to be unmatched. “There’s no way I can make it,” Mama declared.

  The USS Constitution was the oldest commissioned warship afloat in the country. Nicknamed “Old Ironsides” because cannonballs bounced off her thick oak sides, the fifty-two-gun frigate had never lost a battle. Mama willed her legs up the gangplank and was happy she did. Ross loved it.

  They passed on the Whites of Their Eyes Museum and instead spent some time at the Boston Tea Party Ship. This replica ship hosted a costumed reenactment of the colonial protest against taxation without representation. Mama and the kids cheered as Paul Revere and Sam Adams threw tea overboard into the Boston Harbor.

  Mama then purchased five tickets for a two-hour tour on a San Francisco-style trolley. The bus was clean and the seats were padded. It was enough to make her smile. The tour offered free unlimited reboarding at any of their stops, but she had no plans to get off until they hit the Commons. With the windows open and the kids full of questions, they embarked on the Freedom Trail.

  The trolley only stopped at prime historic and scenic areas of the city. As they passed Cobb’s Hill Burial Ground, the guide said, “We’re told that there’ve been some recent ghost sightings for anyone interested in investigating the old hallowed grounds.”

  Steph’s eyes lit up, but Mama quickly poked out the flame with a shake of her curly head.

  “But Mama…” she whined.

  “Stay seated.”

  They passed the Old North Church to get to Paul Revere’s House. “Built in 1680, it’s the oldest wooden house remaining in Boston,” the guide said. “Of course, the silversmith is best known for his ride to warn of the coming British.”

  Little Italy in the historical North End smelled like Mama’s kitchen and the kids’ mouths watered. Again, she shook her head. “Not today,” she said. “We’ll be back at Christmas.”

  Before long, they were at Faneuil Hall Marketplace, also known as Quincy Market. The guide picked up the microphone again. “In 1742, Quincy Market was a gift from merchant Peter Faneuil to be a town meeting place and public market. It was here in 1772 that Samuel Adams first suggested that the colonies unite against the British.” The kids looked out of the trolley to find an upscale shopping mall, specializing in a diverse selection of foods. They all turned to Mama. She remained seated, with no intention of budging from her seat. None of them dared ask any longer.

  At the Boston Massacre Memorial, a bronze figure of Crispus Atticus, the first to fall, represented revolution breaking the chains of tyranny.

  From there, it was on to the Old State House, then the Old South Meeting House, and then to the Old Corner Bookstore.

  “Everything’s old around here,” Steph said.

  “And sore, too,” Mama said with a wink.

  The Granary Burial Grounds and King’s Burial Ground each offered ghost tours and had the kids sulking as they passed. The Massachusetts State House put them near historic Beacon Hill. The narrow streets of this charming neighborhood were off limits to trolleys. Instead, costumed actors led tourists into the heart of Boston on a forty-five-minute walking tour. Mama said, “Sorry guys, but these old legs will never make it.”

  Though they didn’t stop at the New England Aquarium or the Bull & Finch Pub – the inspiration for the television series, Cheers – they did end up in downtown Boston, where they jumped off the trolley and waited for the blood to flow back into Mama’s cramped legs.

  Heidi stared at the expensive clothes in one of the shop windows. Her eyes wide, she turned to Mama and asked, “You know what I want, Mama?”

  “More than what you already have, I’m guessing,” Mama replied.

  The comment was sharp enough to break Heidi’s hypnotic trance. Along with the others, she looked up at her grandmother.

  Mama smiled. “If you don’t always want or need something, then you already have everything you’ll ever need, right?”

  They half-shrugged, half-nodded.

  She turned to Brian. “Right?”

  “Yets,” he replied.

  With a grin, Mama glanced at the newest fashions hanging in the window and shook her head. “Besides, pretty book covers are nice, but it’s the story inside that counts,” she concluded, hoping they would remember the lessons and understand them someday when they were older.

  Though the line wrapped around the corner, Chacarero’s traditional Chilean sandwich was well worth the wait. It was homemade bread, split and stuffed with lemon and garlic-marinated chicken, steak tomatoes sliced thin, steamed green beans, a slice of Muenster cheese, avocado spread, salt, pepper and their secret hot sauce. Mama ordered two of the giant sandwiches to split with the kids. “I remember the first time your papa and I shared one of these sandwiches years ago,” she told them. “I’ve never forgotten the taste.”

  As they ate, Steph said, “I still think about Papa a lot. I miss him.”

  “Me, too,” Mama said between bites. “He was a good man who made sure we all knew how much he loved us.”

  “How did you know how much Papa loved you?” Heidi asked.

  “Some years ago, when I threw out my back, your grandfather took care of my gardening, making sure the flowers still bloomed. I didn’t find out until the fall that he’d also thrown out his back that spring. Now that’s love.” She smiled. “It’s the little things that really do matter. He could make me smile when I was exhausted and he never once complained about my snoring.” She smiled wider, clearly in love with her deceased husband. “I still feel him with me,” she whispered.

  Kneeling by the stroller, Ross looked from his brother to Mama. “And Brian?” he asked. “How can you tell how much Brian loves you?”

  “Brian’s different. He’s like a puppy that’ll lick your face, even after you’ve scolded him.” Mama sighed, grinning at her little angel. “Brian’s love is unconditional. He doesn’t stay angry for more than a moment. He’ll forgive you long before you’ll ever forgive yourself and he’ll love you hard – even on those terrible days when you don’t have the energy to show him that you feel the same.” She ruffled Ross’ hair. “There isn’t a day that goes by that your baby brother doesn’t teach me about myself…and about real love.”

  Ross nodded, bent down and kissed his brother’s cheek. “He is a special guy.”

  Amongst the other tourists, Mama and the kids eventually flocked toward the famous Duck Boat tours.

  As the tour began, the guide announced, “During the early days of World War II, the allies were faced with a tough tactical problem: How could they unload cargo and men from their ships in places where the dock facilities had been destroyed or simply didn’t exist? The answer was to unload cargo directly over the beach. But how?

  “The demands of war, along with technical know-how and old fashioned Yankee ingenuity combined to create the perfect solution: A vehicle that was half-boat and half-truck that could run on land and water. Code-named DUKW, the first DUCK was actually a GMC truck enclosed in a wat
er-tight shell.

  “It wasn’t long before DUKWs were playing a crucial role in the war effort, aiding in the allied invasions of Sicily, islands in the Pacific, and the biggest invasion of all – the Normandy beaches on D-Day. In fact, more than forty percent of all over-beach supplies in Normandy were transported by DUKWs during the first four months. So today, you’re not only having the ride of your life, you’re riding on a proud part of American history.”

  Mama leaned toward the kids and explained, “My father – your great-grandfather – fought in Normandy and was wounded by the Germans three times. And he only missed a total of seven days worth of combat. Now that was a great man!”

  While the girls nodded, Ross’ eyes lit up with admiration and respect. Mama caught the look and grinned. Oh boy, she thought.

  With a splash, the duck-boat drove into the Charles River. The kids squealed with excitement, while Mama held her midsection and moaned. She’d forgotten her motion sickness pills. The things I won’t do for these kids, she thought.

  After all the children aboard had the opportunity to steer the boat, the ride down the river proved surprisingly smooth and enjoyable. Giant skyscrapers filled the skyline, while seagulls catching a free ride on the warm winds escorted them.

  As the boat drove back onto land and parked, the kids unbuckled their seat belts and stood in a half-circle around Mama. The old lady looked pale and very tired. “You okay, Mama?” Steph asked.

  Ignoring the nausea as well as the pain in her legs, Mama nodded. “Never been better,” she said with a smile. “It was worth the trip.”

  On the way home, the subway train went underground and traveled through a long stretch of dark tunnel. Though Mama looked out the window, she couldn’t see anything outside the train – only the reflection of those who shared the ride with her. She smiled. Heidi, Steph, Ross and Brian – I couldn’t have chosen four better people to share this journey with.

  The train rattled around a tight corner, nearly throwing Brian out of her lap. She tightened her grip around his waist and couldn’t decide what she liked better – going away on our little trips or coming home?

  Even though she’d spent the day with Brian, at eight o’clock Mama kept to their nightly tradition. She picked up the telephone and dialed.

  The telephone rang. Joan picked up. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Joan. Where’s my angel?”

  “But you just dropped him off a little while ago,” Joan said.

  “Just put him on the phone, please. I have a few questions.”

  “Hold on. I’ll get him.” Joan covered the mouthpiece and yelled, “Brian, it’s Mama…for you.” For as long as Joan could remember, her mother called each and every night at eight o’clock and spent ten minutes on the phone with Brian. Although the old lady claimed it was only to stay in touch, Joan knew better. Her clever mother used the time to force Brian to verbally express himself, while increasing his vocabulary and practicing his sentence structure.

  Brian hurried to the phone and grabbed it from his mother. “Allo?”

  “Hi, sweetheart. How was your day today?” Mama asked.

  “K, Mama. You door.”

  “I know I was there, love. But I want to know what you thought of our little adventure in Boston?”

  There was a pause; Brian searching his thoughts. “Fun, Mama. Bode.”

  “That was a fun boat ride,” she agreed. “So what did you like best about it?”

  And no matter how much effort or time it took for him to articulate his thoughts, the questions just kept coming.

  Chapter 13

  Late Summer 1983

  The civil case – Mauretti vs. Syntex – proved far too draining for Joan, inviting one brutal panic attack after the other into her world. “I just can’t do it anymore,” she told Frank. “The stress of testifying and dragging Brian through this over and over is killing me.”

  He was livid – but no matter what he said, he couldn’t convince her to hang on. The legal fight was the one thing he thought he could do for his son; the one thing he might be able to control and get right. But Joan’s taking that away from me, too.

  With the help of Attorney Russell McCarthy, they opted to settle out on behalf of Brian for a fraction of what they’d initially sought in damages. Frank bit his tongue so hard he nearly chewed it off.

  Months later, Sheridan vs. Syntex was tried in Illinois. Before going to trial, Syntex offered three hundred fifty thousand dollars to the tiny plaintiff who was fed Neo Mulsoy and suffered brain injury resulting in learning disabilities. However, the family stuck in there and took the case to trial.

  Within two weeks, impairment of language and motor coordination was proven on behalf of the defendant, an infant who suffered no greater losses than Brian.

  At the trial, it was also revealed that Syntex’s decision not to add salt to its formula – an essential nutrient for brain development – was prompted by economic considerations. They were trying to save money.

  The Sheridan family won – the jury awarding twenty-seven million, with twenty-two million in punitive damages.

  Frank read the court transcripts and couldn’t sleep for weeks. Stupid woman! he repeated over and over in his mind, allowing years of bitterness and anger to poison him.

  Joan called Mama and told her about the terrible fights they were having over it.

  Mama simply replied, “Money’s the last thing in the world that will help Brian. All he needs is love and the support that comes from it.”

  The arguments that were taking place once a month became weekly until Frank and Joan were screaming at each other at least once a day.

  “That’s just great,” Frank hissed.

  “If you don’t like it, then there’s the door!” Joan screamed, tired of her husband’s constant insults.

  “Nah…nah…nah…” Brian whined like a wounded animal. He placed his hand over his face, rocked back and forth and whined, “Nah…nah…nah…”

  Joan and Frank both stopped, while Ross hurried to his brother’s side. “Stop it!” he ordered. “You’re hurting him! You’re hurting all of us!”

  Joan’s eyes filled and she turned to Frank. “He’s right. And I can’t keep shipping these kids over to my mother’s to avoid the drama. Before long, they’ll be living there full-time.”

  “I know, Joan. It’s my fault again,” Frank barked, as he slammed the door on his way out of the house.

  She quickly tended to Brian. While she began to soothe him, she thought, Something has to be done, or we’re going to lose our whole family over a marriage that pretty much ended years ago.

  It was an ordinary Tuesday night when everything came to a head. Brian had made a terrible mess of himself at the dinner table and Frank began to clean him up like Brian was a helpless infant.

  “Let him clean himself, Frank,” Joan pleaded.

  “Why? He’ll just make even more of a mess.” Frank finished the job and returned to his seat at the head of the table.

  Joan looked at Brian for a long moment. He was a beautiful boy. Besides a vacant stare and the fact that he still sat in a high chair, he appeared no different from any other child. She then stared at her husband for a few minutes. “You still treat Brian like a cripple,” she hissed. She knew that even with all they’d accomplished, Frank was still a non-believer. Although he loved his son, Brian was still helpless in her husband’s eyes. “No one else in this family treats Brian like he’s handicapped. In fact, it’s just the opposite. Brian can’t be treated like a victim, Frank. If he is, then he’ll act like a victim. We need to set high expectations so he can strive toward them.”

  Frank smirked. “I wonder who you sound like now?”

  “And I’m glad I do!” she replied. “It’s taken me a long time to understand that everything my mother’s ever said about Brian is true. Even with all the challenges and obstacles in front of him, she’s teaching him to take responsibility for his words and his actions…for his life.”

 
; Enraged, Frank stood. “I’m done with all the preaching!” he screamed. “That’s it!”

  Joan turned to Ross and said, “Please take your brother and sister and go to your room and play. Mom and Dad need to talk.”

  Ross helped Brian out of his chair and then grabbed Angie. “Fine,” he said and moped down the hall with the two little ones.

  Joan turned her attention back to her husband. “That’s it?” she asked, almost laughing. “I think we went past IT a long time ago, Frank.”

  “And you’re happy with that?”

  “As happy as you are, I suppose.” She shook her head. “I don’t give it a lot of thought, to be honest. There are so many other things that need…”

  “And that’s the problem right there, Joan! Everything else is more important than us…than our marriage.”

  “That’s not true. This family is the most important thing in the world to me. It’s just that some of us require more attention than others and you’ve never been able to handle that.” Her eyes filled. “And let’s be honest – at this point, you and I don’t share a marriage. We share memories.”

  He opened his mouth, but couldn’t respond. His eyes looked tormented. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he finally muttered, his voice cracked.

  “Or maybe it was?” she replied softly. “Either way, life is the way it is and all we can do is our best with it.” She gazed into his eyes. “Our best, Frank.”

  His eyes were filling now. “But what if I have given my best? What if I don’t have any more in me to give?”

  He was right. In the deepest part of her heart, she knew he was right and it tore at her soul. She didn’t reply.

  With his head hung low, he said, “Remember when we used to meet at McRay’s for clam cakes and walk the beach for hours? We’d talk about everything or nothing at all. It didn’t matter back then. Life was easy. We were so in love.” He looked up at her. “What happened, Joan?”

  “Life,” she whispered. “We grew up, accepted our fair share of responsibility and then we had children together – one, a disabled son who required all of our time and patience and energy.” In spite of her husband’s tortured face, she grinned. “And when I think about it, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”