“What do you get out of it? A new low, even for you.”
The view from the window was better than he’d expected. The buildings between here and the waterfront were all shorter, leaving an unobstructed panorama of the river and its meandering white sailed pleasure craft. Sure those low slung structures in the near field were ailing warehouses with fungus growing in their corrugated ridges, but there were worse things. The apartment itself left a lot to be desired. The counter was a forest green formica slab entering its fourth decade and the cabinets were that kind of particle board that not only fails to imitate wood, but fails to imitate a fully solid material. The lot of it smelled like cat pee. Well at least there was the view.
“Don’t pretend this is anything but you getting rid of him.”
Charlie was trying his best not to hang up on his sister while inspecting the apartment. The property manager, who was standing by a bathroom with a pair of flimsy folding panels in place of a door that wouldn’t have had room to open all the way, crossed his arms and shot Charlie a series of ever more exasperated looks.
“It’s not what you think Sharon.” said Charlie. “I don’t really have time to explain, but trust me this is a good thing I’m trying to do.”
She trailed off with a grabbag of garbled expletives - god the reception here was poor - and that gave Charlie an opportunity to just let her burnout and end the call on her own so he didn’t have to. Once Sharon satiated her rage and hung up, Charlie addressed the other guy.
“This will have to do. I’m paying for everything, utilities too. He might try to pay you. If he does, just rip up the check. Don’t let me find out you’ve been cashing them or I’ll smash all the windows in that pissy yellow VW parked outside.”
“Hell of a way to talk to your landlord.”
“You’re not the landlord asshat and I happen to know the landlord has been desperate to fill this empty shithole since the train stop went in half a mile down Highland and dragged all the business that way. Listen, my brother keeps to himself and isn’t trouble and will be the only guy you see in a month who speaks English and won’t sacrifice chickens on the premises. That makes your life easier. Don’t make it harder. Is that a deal or are you going to be a total fuckwit about this?”
“Fine, whatever. Just sign the damn lease.”
Charlie walked the half mile back to the subway station and rode the train to Morland Corner. As he headed to his neighborhood, apartment blocks with storefronts gave way to narrow single family row houses. Most had concrete porches, dressed up as well as could be with hanging plants and small tables. Charlie shot smiles with his crooked teeth at the neighbors: a woman yelling at kids going by on their bikes, a man older than him flinging cigarettes into piles on the steps, a teenager washing the porch with an anemic stream of water from a garden hose.
Charlie’s house was more plain, but in good shape. He found the front door open, as he did the back door. Patches of stubborn grass made their final stand in a small square of dirt behind the house. Beyond that, a chain link fence separated the yard from a freight train line that ran from here clear to Buffalo. A man in a straw hat and plaid shorts occupied a lawn chair. On a leg studded by coarse white hair, he kept a yellow legal pad full of numbers. Charlie grabbed another lawn chair and sat down next to his brother.
“Hey Fred.” said Charlie. “Spot anything good?”
“It’s all tankers these days.” Fred turned his head, his wet green eyes peering out from beneath ample blond and gray eyebrows and the shadow from the hat’s brim. “Sharon called the house. She says I shouldn’t let you move me out. She says you owe me a part of this house. I thought I already had a part.”
“Sharon doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
The three of them had grown up in that house, but their mother had left it all to Charlie, the oldest. Charlie was also the only child of her first husband, who’d died in an accident years ago. She’d always believed it was no accident and grew bitter through the years while trying to solve it. Her second husband soon became fed up with this and left her and their two kids, Sharon and Fred. Sharon became the wild child, at least as far as their mother was concerned, and found herself written out of the will. As for Fred, Mom had considered him too “feeble minded” to have anything of his own.
“It is yours too as far as I'm concerned. But this is best for you.” said Charlie.
“I can’t live on my own, Charlie. That’s what Sharon tells me. By the way… there’s blood on the kitchen table.”
Charlie nodded and considered what to say. He wasn’t in the best of health. Last month they put him on a new drug, some kind of antidepressant. He wasn’t depressed. What he did experience was flashbacks of his father bleeding out in the car. The doctors called it PTSD. The anxiety drugs were supposed to help but they stopped working and he’d become so afraid of the world that he’d stopped going outside. That doesn’t work when you’ve got a kid brother to look after. So he tried this antidepressant and it nearly killed him.
He remembered being on the phone, arguing with Sharon as usual. Then he fell and smashed his head on the kitchen table. The next thing Charlie knew, he was six again and standing on a road at night. The car was half submerged in icy river water while flurries danced in the dull red glow of the taillights. Dad was slumped over the wheel. Charlie had been here before. What was different this time was the light.
A strange green pulsating glow rose up from beside the car and disappeared into the low clouds. Shit, now he was hallucinating. Now that light was there behind his eyes. He could see it when he closed them. One week ago he learned he had a brain tumor. Guess that was the real problem here. Charlie stopped taking all meds and fully expected to lose his mind.
“I can’t take care of you anymore.” said Charlie. “Sharon can beat me down all she wants, but that’s because she won’t take care of you if I can’t. She clings so dearly to hating me for getting the house because it’s an easy way to say you’re my responsibility and mine alone.”
“Do I still have to leave, Charlie?”
“Chances are you will outlive me. I’m selling the house. The money will help you when I can't."
“We can’t live together?”
“I need a different kind of home.” Charlie took the legal pad and looked over the numbers. They were written in long lines with perfect penmanship. “You’re not stupid, Fred. Mom said you were and Sharon’s repeated it, but the truth is you’re more capable than either of us. It’s better you learn that now while I’m still here to help than throw you into it when I’m gone.”
They sat and watched the sunset together and Fred’s silence said that in some way he understood. The pair went inside when the mosquitoes came out. Charlie stood in front of the refrigerator and drew a blank. Yes, he’d wanted to make mac and cheese, Fred’s favorite. Lucky for him, he’d posted instructions for making various things on the fridge door. It had been a part of his plan to train his brother, but he had to laugh at himself now that he was the one relying on them.
He started preparing the meal, but had to stop midway. The green light was back. It was burning a hole in his skull and making it impossible for him to see anything. Then he felt Fred gently push him away and resume the cooking where Charlie had left off. Charlie sat.
“Are you scared?” said Fred.
“A little. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’ll be okay. I was asking about the light.”
“What?” said Charlie.
“I was asking if you were afraid of the green light. If it might come back for real.”
“Freddy, how the hell…?”
His brother placed a hot bowl of noodles in front of him and said, “I know you’re afraid of the lights. I know you think it’s your fault your dad died. But it’s not your fault. And the lights…”
“Yeah, Freddy?”
“Well it’s like you. I don’t think they want to hurt you. But they don’t know how to help you without causing pain.”
All Charlie could do in response to that was eat the pasta Fred had made for him and think about all the preparations he still had to make. This exhausted him and so he went to bed early, telling himself as he welcomed sleep that there was time for everything. Whatever he did for Fred would have to be enough, and enough was all.
image courtesy of pixabay
