Brendan Dude

I sat across from Grandma and Grandpa Romano, fidgeting. The TV was off. It was just them and me. Joey was doing something to his van; Mom and Dad were doing yard work. I didn’t have an excuse to be away from my Mom’s parents. Look, I said it before – I don’t like old people. I don’t even like being in the company of old people in my own family. It unnerves me. I’ve got a bad reputation for being a loudmouth and cussing a lot. The last thing I need is for old farts to be all over my ass.

My grandparents were Italian immigrants that came over in the fifties already married. Then in the early sixties my mom was born, a full-blood Italian American girl who became bilingual – yep, she speaks Italian – and I dunno, met my Greek dad somewhere along the way. Then they got married and had sex a few times, then eventually me and my brothers were born. That’s the short version of it all.

Back when David died they said they’d come to visit more often, which was a mixed blessing. Yeah, it was family – I loved them. God, aren’t you supposed to? At the moment they had decided to come down from Illinois and grace us with their presence. Good thing school was still in session.

Grandma and Grandpa had accents. Thick ones. And because the only Italian word I could say was “spaghetti,” most of the time I had no idea what they were saying. That made conversation awkward.

I made eye contact with my grandma and she smiled that big-hearted grandma smile. She leaned forward, a frail old woman who was aging fast. “How school doing?” she said, butchering the English language.

I nodded. “It’s good, it’s good.”

“You getting grades?” grandpa asked, looking at me expectantly.

“Uh, good grades?” I gulped.

“Yeah! Study and work hard,” he added.

I laughed a little, a forced laugh, thinking about how much I did not want to be there.

Grandma leaned across the coffee table that acted as a wall, putting a hand on my knee. “You know you da man of da house now, Brendan.”

I looked at her funny. “What about Joey?”

“What about Joey? Joey not too good. He’s not…not well…in the head, dey say. Your fadder told us he was…how you say, up and down,” grandpa explained.

“You mean…bipolar? Yeah, he’s that,” I added.

“Dey say he got something in his brain dat made him dat way,” grandma said, looking at the floor, biting her red lips. “Prob’ly after da hit.”

“The Hit.” That’s what we referred to as the giant wrecking ball that fucked it all up – especially Joey. Although it didn’t make sense to me how he could suddenly become that way just after it…wouldn’t he have to be born with it?

“Ain’t no way he gonna be normal again,” my grandpa shrugged. “I love dat child but he just…”

“Yeah,” I agreed, folding my hands together in my lap.

Silence.

“So…” grandma trailed off. “Where is da boy anyway?”

“He’s out front doing something to his van,” I told them, unconsciously pointing my thumb out to the driveway where his van door was wide open. My grandparents looked there immediately on instinct as we tried to see what he was doing in there. He wasn’t smoking – he’s not stupid enough to do it in sheer daylight. What was he doing?

The door to the garage opened and Mom came in, dirt smeared across her face. I heard a bell jingle and Steak pounced inside – we got her a collar – and she went crazy, running all over the place and rolling all over the floor, panting and licking everybody’s feet and hands. Mom looked pissed off. “Brendan, honey, walk your dog.”

“Can do,” I jumped up from the couch, hoping not to sound too happy to be out of my grandparents’ hair.

“She’s a cutie, yes,” Grandma smiled down at Steak, who was busy chasing her tail.

I got her leash and chased her down, finally clipping it to her collar, ready to walk her and be out of the company of two old farts. Well, an old fart and an old hag. They told me to be safe as I walked out the front door, Steak in front of me.

Joey turned around and looked out the side of his van, smiling once he saw Steak at my feet, who desperately wanted to go faster. He leaped out and ran over, having a short play session with the dog, then asked me, “You takin’ her for a walk?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Mom told me to.”

He smirked. “You sure it wasn’t to just get away from grandma and grandpa?”

I itched the back of my head and shot him a knowing smirk. “Shhh. They don’t gotta know.”

He waved his hand. “Ah, they bug me too. I mean, really. Have they been treating you like a retarded kid?”

I gulped, remembering what they had said about him. “Nah, not really. They just ask me about school a lot.”

Joey turned and looked away, putting his hands on his hips. “It pisses me off. God. At least I’m on meds now.”

I kicked the dirt with my shoe, unsure of what to add. Steak was circling my legs. I looked up at him and nodded toward his van. “What’cha doing in there?”

He walked over and stepped inside the vacant van, the ratty backseat folded over for more room. I came up, tugging Steak along, and peered inside.

Air fresheners?

He held up a bottle of Wilmer’s Glue, smiling a toothy grin. “I’m makin’ it stink less.”

“You’re…you’re gluing air fresheners…to the walls.”

He nodded happily. “Yup!”

I looked at him like he was stupid. “Dude…if you’re ever gonna sell this thing -”

“Why the fuck would I wanna sell it?” he furrowed his brow at me. “I love this van.”

I shrugged. “And…why are you gluing air fresheners all over it?”

He sighed heavily and licked his lips. “Well, brah, I been thinkin’. Ya know, I been smoking pot since I was 13. My psychiatrist says I’m fucked up in the head, mainly ‘cause of the concussion, and mainly ‘cause of the weed. Now I figure I can’t fix the concussion problems, but you know what I can do?”

He leapt down from the ledge of the van, flipping his hair and smiling eagerly.

“What can you do?” I asked.

“I can stop smokin’, that’s what I can do,” he declared. “And I’m gonna try to.”

I patted his shoulder and smiled genuinely at him, but I couldn’t really say anything else because Steak was fixing to pull my arm out of its socket.