Every Other Sunday Pt. 02

"Are Jackie and Tom coming to the barbecue?"

"Yes, Mike; turn your head and hold still."

"Will they bring Eddie and Stevie?"

"Well, of course, they'll bring the boys. Hold very still, now. I'm going to trim your sideburns."

Whenever Jackie and Tom come to our house, it's like having a cyclone land in the driveway. They have strollers and high chairs and Tom is rushing around and talking really loud. This is funny, because all the kids and noise at our house used to drive him crazy before he married Jackie.

Eddie and Stevie are fun, because they're too old to be called babies and too young to be called little boys. You have to be careful with Eddie, though. Eddie always tells you that "I'm a beeeeg boy!"

* * * * * * * * * *

"And Betty Lou and Louie, are they coming?"

"Yes, Mike. Now, hold still; we're almost finished."

I listened to Mike talking to Mom while she gave him a haircut in the garage. I didn't need to listen, because Mike had been asking the same questions ever since he got home. He always does that. Once he knows that something good is going on, he never stops asking the same questions, over and over again.

"How about Jim and Gladys, are they coming, too?"

"We'll see, my mom says, "It depends how Jim is feeling."

Jimmy Rokie is one of my Dad's best friends. He worked with my dad until he got sick. My dad always said that no one ever worked as hard as Jim Rokie. Now, he has a lot of heart attacks and strokes, but he is still very nice. When Jim is around, I always feel peaceful, like I do in church when I know that God is there. Mom says that someday, the angels will come for him and we won't be sad, because we'll know that he'll never have to be sick again.

Gladys Rokie works for Thrifty Drug, just like my dad. She used to work in my dad's store, but now she doesn't. I was too little to remember that and I can't imagine Gladys working for Dad. Gladys says what's on her mind. She doesn't care who it is, not even my dad. Gladys Rokie and Betty Lou Murren are the only women I know that can tell my dad, right to his face, that he's full of shit, pardon my French. That's something Betty Lou says when she curses. After a little while everyone at the party starts saying it.

Betty Lou doesn't work for Thrifty's. She works for Linbrook Hardware. She is a great big woman. We never say fat; we always say that she's heavy, because we love her so much. She's so big that she can float in a swimming pool and not sink or anything. She can smoke a cigarette or sip a drink without getting out of the water!

Her husband, Louie, works for my dad. He runs the liquor counter and he hates it when he has to make ice cream cones. He doesn't mind when it's a kid, but he can't stand it when some "A-hole" raps a nickel on the glass counter when he's taking care of someone that's buying a lot of booze.

Louie drinks more than anyone I know. I don't know why he drinks so much. Mom says he has to work for my dad because he drinks so much. Cathy says he drinks so much because he has to work for my dad. He never argues with my dad, not even when Dad tries to make him. Louie just agrees with him, but Betty Lou sure doesn't. She's not afraid to tell my dad off and she doesn't care who hears it.

* * * * *

"Come on, Mike, let's go get you bathed and dressed before everyone shows up."

"Are Joyce and Woody coming, too?"

"Yes Mike, Joyce and Woody are coming, too."

"Will they bring Jodie?"

"Well, of course. Don't you want to see Jodie?"

Joyce and Woody have known my family since before I was born. I was too little to remember, but they had a baby that died and Joyce was sick for a long time. They gave her some kind of therapy and she's fine now. In fact, Joyce is just like a mom to me. They live in Anaheim in a house just like ours. Only now, they have a swimming pool in their back yard. They let us come over whenever we want and go swimming.

Woody is a big guy with lots of hair, but not on his head. He is very nice, but very quiet. All of the Rupert's, including Jodie and her big brother Don, are very quiet. But they are always good to me and my brother and sisters. When my dad starts an argument, they just don't say anything. The only thing Woody will argue about with my dad is church, because he goes to church while my dad plays golf.

* * * * * * * * * *

I was still sweeping the patio when Cathy brought Mike's wheelchair outside. Cathy is the only one with the patience to clean every spoke, every bolt until the chrome shines like new.

"Are you going to work your magic on Mike's chair?"

I followed her over to the side of the house, where she planned to hose it down before she got out the chrome polish.

"Take a look at this."

I looked at the place where the spokes cross together and saw what looked like some kind of gray liquid that had dried hard onto the wheel.

"It's here, too," she said, "And here and here and here."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I think it's food; food and other stuff."

"Why would there be food dried onto his chair?"

"I think it's from the shower," she said as she turned on the hose. Her lips were tight and she wouldn't look at me when she answered. "I think he sits in his wheelchair when they give him a shower."

* * * * * * * * * *

We all had so much fun that day. Jodie was there and we all played with Kim and Kelly and even Eddie and Stevie until they were ready for a nap.

One thing about girls; girls are always good at making up games to play and my sisters' are the best. They can make up a game out of anything.

Cathy is the best at thinking of ways to make Mike a part of the game. She kept him busy and out of Mom's way while she and Joyce made the salads and baked beans and boiled the ribs for Dad to barbecue on the grill.

Cathy parked Mike between the two orange trees and we pretended that Jodie was the princess on the other side and Mike was the dragon that held her captive. The game was to rescue the princess without letting the dragon touch you. If he touched you, you had to fall down and pretend that you were roasting to death.

Once I finished my turn at roasting to death, I had to go start the charcoal so my dad could barbecue the ribs. This became my job, once Mom had taught me how to carefully pour the gasoline into the Campbell's tomato soup can. Then, you have to pour it very slowly and evenly on all of the briquettes. I did this, hoping I wouldn't roast to death twice in one day.

It's very important to count to twenty five before you strike the match. If you light it too soon, the gas will make a huge flame and scare the shit out of you, pardon my French. If you wait too long, the gas soaks into the charcoal and makes the ribs taste bad and there's nothing that burns Dad's fanny more than having his ribs taste like gasoline.

We used to have one of those electric things that heats up like a branding iron. You stick it in the pile of coals and wait until they catch fire. It worked pretty good until it melted the extension cord that plugged into the back porch light. Now, the branding iron doesn't work and neither does the porch light.

Once I got the fire going, the men stand around the barbecue, smoking and drinking until my dad tells me that the fire is ready and to bring out the ribs.

The kitchen is so hot that I can barely breathe. Mom uses hot dog tongs to take the ribs out of the big pot and piles them on a platter. I take the ribs out to my dad and then I have to go back to get "Jack Messick's Special Secret Barbecue Sauce."

Dad lets me stand around with the men just long enough to show me how good he is at barbecuing ribs, then he told me to go ask Gladys if Jimmy can have sauce on his ribs.

I decide that I should ask Jimmy instead. After all, he's a grown man, even if he does have diabetes and has strokes and heart attacks. Jimmy Rokie can decide whether or not he wants sauce on his ribs.

I find Jim and Gladys sitting under the big orange tree with Betty Lou and Jackie.

"Uncle Jimmy, Dad wants to know if you want sauce on your ribs."

"I don't know if I should, Pat. I ate some celery last night."

This is a game that we've played ever since I was old enough to talk. It was a long time before I knew he was only fooling.

"Were you eating celery in bed, Uncle Jim?"

"Well, Pat, you know that's where I eat my celery."

"Did you dip your celery in salt, Uncle Jim?"

"I used so much salt that I had to fill my belly button twice."

Gladys was laughing so loud, she made Mr. and Mrs. French's dog start barking. When Jackie explained to Betty Lou how Jimmy once told me that God made belly buttons so you could eat celery in bed, Betty Lou started laughing, too. We laughed until every dog in the neighborhood started barking and we had to slap Betty Lou on her back because she laughed until she started coughing.

* * * * * * * * * *

"That was wonderful, Jack," Tom said.

"No one makes a better rib dinner than Jack Messick," agreed Louie.

"Hold it right there!" Gladys said.

"You didn't enjoy your dinner?" my dad asked her.

"Of course I did. It was wonderful, but I'm sick and tired of hearing everyone compliment Jack Messick for standing in front of a barbecue grill for thirty minutes!"

"I'll second that!" said Betty Lou. "Jean bakes the beans, makes the potato salad and the cole slaw. Let's not forget that she makes the corn on the cob, pre-cooks the ribs and starts the charcoal, just so you can stand there and smear on the barbecue sauce that she made. The same ribs that Jean had to go to the butchers' to buy!"

"Betty Lou is right. Jean always does the work while Jack gets the credit!"

Mom looked kind of embarrassed and said, "Well, Joyce did more than her share in the kitchen and Pat started the coals."

If my dad was caught off guard by Aunt Gladys and Betty Lou's attack, he sure wasn't showing it.

"I've always given Jean credit for being a good wife and mother. Just let me say this and then I'll shut up before we start an argument. I'll admit that Jean does most of the cooking, but let me remind you women who's hard earned money paid for this meal!"

"Jack Messick, you're a horse's ass, pardon my French. Jim, we should probably get started for home. Jean, thank you again for a lovely dinner."

"A horse's ass. Now that's something I'd like to see Jean boil before it gets smeared with barbecue sauce! Jean, that was a wonderful meal, just like every meal we've ever had over here. Wake up. Louie, we should probably get going, too."

It was then that all of the fun, all of the good food and good company came to a crashing end when my dad said,

"Jean, you should probably take Mike back now. I don't want you driving through that construction in Fountain Valley in the dark."

Suddenly, I felt Mom's lips to my ear and she told me to go get Mike's sweater and his clothes from the day before from the bedroom.

They were already loading Mike into the car when I came out with his sweater. It seemed like everyone was talking to Mike at once.

Joyce and Woody were telling him that the pool water was getting warmer by the day. He'll have to come swimming next time he came home to visit.

Gladys gave him a big, smacking kiss that left a big red lipstick blotch on his check. She invited Mike to come to their house and pick avocados from their garden.

Jackie told Mike about all the work that Tom did in their back yard. He's got to come over and see it for himself.

I stood on the porch holding Mike's sweater and listened while everyone promised Mike such wonderful things to do the next time he came home for a visit.

"Where's Pat?" said Dad. Everyone turned to see me standing on our front porch. When Betty Lou moved away from the car, I could see Mike's face.

His eyes were wild, like a horse trapped in a burning barn. His eyes were wild with fear and dread. He held his arm stiffly to the open door of the car, as if he could stop time by not allowing the door to close.

His eyes met mine and I could see in his big blue, terrified eyes that I was his last chance. I was his last hope. I could see in his eyes that he was holding on to the belief that his brother could make all of this go away. Make this all go away and sleep beside him in our bed tonight.

His eyes.

His eyes that faded behind heavy lids when my dad said, "Hurry up, Pat. Mike's waiting on you."

But I knew that Mike wasn't waiting on me. Mike wasn't waiting on anyone. Mike knew that he'd been betrayed once again. Mike had come to believe that the past thirty hours wasn't a dream.

Mike knew that the two people he loved and trusted the most were about to tear him from his dream and return him to his nightmare.