Happy Endings

You know where you can shove that, right?

Photo Credit — Ewan Munro / WikiMedia Commons

Winning is everything. Now that I’m finally winning I could not possibly care less about how I’m doing it. A decent union job is the end of the rainbow for guys like me and I got one.

I am not some callous shit, though, so don’t be drawing any conclusions. You do that, you know. All you women do. A guy finally gets it together, is finally on top and the women are just lining up to knock him down. The only thing most women hate more than a loser is a guy who’s killing it and happy about it.

I was raised by a stand-up guy but, let’s face it, Marty was a loser. And he remained a loser because he toed the line with my mother. Sheila should of been a man. Poor Marty never could be the man in his own house with her around. Maybe he was ok with that but it sure sent one messed-up set of messages to me and my little brother, Sammy. I mean, look at Sammy; in and out of rehabs, never married, never held a real job. I was the one who had to show him what being a man was all about. For all the good that’s done.

Veronica will be home by now. It’s taking every bit of will power I can muster to not call her about this new job. I’m nearly as bad as Marty. Wait. No, strike that. I used to be nearly that bad. But that’s changed. Today, I turned the corner and left that loser crap behind me. I win because I take what I want now. I don’t wait for permission. That job was mine and, by God, I walked in there and looked that foreman in the eye and did not back down.

Let’s see, it’s going to be some three weeks before I get a paycheck, but screw it. Tonight I’m eating at Big Mike’s BBQ and then going for a couple beers. I deserve it. I wonder what Sammy’s up to. Last I knew, he was holding up ok in that SRO downtown. I could ring him up, treat him to dinner and a beer or two. Man, I wish he’d get his shit together and get a cell phone.

“Hey, Sammy around? Yeah, Sammy with one eye.” I wait.

“Sammy! Hey, yeah, it’s me. Whaddaya up to? Want to grab a bite at Big Mike’s?”

What is he talking about? Meetings? He’s going to a frigging AA meeting? Is that what he said to me?

“Suit yourself, Sammy, I just got hired on down at the hall and wanted to celebrate with my little brother is all. Yeah, I’m getting my union card and everything.”

I lean against a truck and light a cigarette. What are you glaring at, kid? Since when did smoking cigarettes become the equivalent of pissing in public?

“Great! That’s so great, Sammy! I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” I flip the smoke into the bike lane. “Yeah, sure take a cab. I’ll pay.”

Sammy knew it was a mistake even as he was agreeing to meet his brother at the BBQ joint, he knew he needed to get to that meeting. His sponsor was going to be there. But Sammy never could say no to his big brother. He went back to his room where he’d made the bed neatly in the morning and put his blue Big Book away, grabbed his eye patch and headed out to catch a cab. What the hell. It was just dinner out with Ray and he’d be at the meeting tomorrow. George, his sponsor, would understand. And, hey, even his Higher Power would not possibly begrudge him a night out with Ray. I mean, c’mon.

Since when did my little brother turn into such a pussy? I don’t say that to him, but he’s drinking diet coke for chrissake. I ordered us both a beer and he’s like no, it’s the first one that gets him in trouble and what the hell does that even mean? Screw it, I’ll drink both beers and, man, no one does baby back ribs like Big Mike. I haven’t eaten this good in a month.

After dinner, I realize that taking Sammy to a bar is a waste of time. I hate how jumpy he still gets and we go over to some pastry joint for dessert. He’s going on and on about this guy George and how much the meetings help and basically I just tune him out. Still, it’s one of the first warm evenings and I do enjoy watching the ladies showing a little thigh again. It’s best to get my jollies now while I’m out with Sammy cuz Veronica gets so damned touchy about me checking out the competition.

“Well, little brother, thanks for coming out to celebrate with me.” I finish my coffee.

“I guess you’ll be up at o’dark thirty tomorrow, eh?” He’s licking the custard off his fingers and I hand him a napkin. It’s like he’s still a kid or something.

“Yep. The trucks roll out of the depot at 5:30.”

“I bet you have your own route in less than six months, Ray. Man, would Daddy have been proud of you.” He pauses like he knows what a dumb ass thing that was to say. “What does Veronica think? She’s got to be pretty stoked, yeah?

“Yeah, I guess so.” Neither of us even consider what Sheila will have to say about this development. She’s still pushing Sammy to go to college. Can you imagine? “Here, let me drive you back down to that place you’re staying at.”

“Naw, that’s ok. It’s really nice out tonight. I think I’ll walk on over and catch a bus down. Ray, really man, I am so happy for you to get this job. You’re set now for sure.”

“Screw the bus; I’ll drive you.” I don’t like leaving him out on his own in the city. He gets into trouble real easy.

“Stop it, Ray, I’m not some baby that you need to watch over all the time.” And off he goes and screw him. He’s right; I don’t need to be babysitting a 32 year old man no matter how much he probably needs it.

It was the first really warm night of the year with the whole city busting out of its skin and Sammy was digging it just fine. He’d been getting real serious about this recovery stuff and, sure enough, George and the other guys at the meetings were right. Sammy had been at meetings every night since getting out of jail this time and was working the steps, praying every morning and evening, helping the guys with less clean time than him and, damn, check this out: here he was striding on past the bars without hesitation. Sure, he’d glance over from time to time. The music, the laughing women…..the smell.

The smell.

How come that stale beer and cigarettes smell still spoke seductively of all the possibilities yet to unfold? Sammy sent a little Serenity Prayer out into the night and gauged the remaining distance to the bus stop. Oh shit, Little Nick’s was on this block. No problem, he turned onto the side street. He could swing around the block and be safe. It was nice over here. The leaves weren’t all the way out yet, but the smell of the green coming was more noticeable here on the quiet, dark street. Kids were out on the stoops and, under the green, came the smell of pot. Sammy was ok with that. He never liked smoking pot anyway. Good thing no one was out here firing up a crack pipe. Wait, no, that wasn’t what he meant. Sammy swallowed and reminded himself that he had ceased fighting anything or anyone.

Being in a place of complete neutrality and safety, Sammy could go anywhere. He could keep right on walking past the hottest woman in the city lighting up a pile of the most gleaming, beautiful rocks and not even glance in her direction. Whoa. Sammy wiped the side of his mouth. He was salivating like a damned dog. Back out onto the main drag, down a block and back over to the bus stop.

So, yeah, I fucked up. I know it. I know it. I’m out on the route already when the clerk at this last joint says I need to call in to the dispatcher and, sure enough, Sammy’s in the clink again. God damn it. He’s just going to have to cool his heels in Central Booking until I finish the route for the day. I got that new guy, Skip, helping out today. He’s a good kid, strong as an ox and does what I tell him to do.

We break for lunch and a beer at Hoover’s and I guess cuz the kid’s kind of quiet, I find myself running down the shit with my idiot brother. Once I get started it’s like I can’t shut up. I hear this shit coming out of my mouth, and for Christ’s sake, now I’m going on and on about Marty and his lame ass shit. Before I start in on Sheila, I order a second beer and shake my head. Skip finishes his diet Coke and reaches for the check but I beat him to it.

“When you get a route, you pick up the check.”

“Good enough, Ray, thanks.” He puts his hat on and stretches out his long legs, sighing.

When we get back out to the truck, he turns to me and there’s this long pause. What? I wait. We’re ahead of schedule anyway.

“You ok with me going down and springing your little brother?”

“Huh? Why would you want to do that?”

“From what you’re saying, he reminds me of someone. An old friend. A guy a lot like that who just kept screwing up until finally just about everyone gave up on his ass.”

Ok, let’s be clear here. I am not anyone you’d mistake for a highly intuitive person or anything. But I’m hearing something unsaid here and now I pause.

“Wait.” I look at him and he looks away. Now I know. “You’re the ‘old friend’, aren’t you?”

“Ok, yeah. It’s me. No, wait. It was me and when I was going down like Sammy is I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. Then this old ex-con reached out to me and, him, I could hear.”

So now, what do I do? I start the truck and back out of the lot. Marty was always a great one for “reaching out” and I saw where that got him. By the time he died broke, there must have been like twenty cheap fucks around town who owed him money. True, Skip doesn’t come across at that type of screw-up. Still.

A man takes care of his own. Right? If I start in letting just anyone jump in on my family stuff, what does that say about me? That I can’t take care of my own little brother, that’s what. So, I’m shaking my head, but there’s this other part of me that has really had it with Sammy and his stupid ass shit. How many times have I bailed this loser out? How many times have I covered his ass when he couldn’t make rent or when he got his heat cut off or whatever? I am seriously contemplating letting him ride this one out, but I already tried that one, too. He did two years on some work farm down in Florida and if that didn’t wake him up, I fucking can’t think what will.

“All right, Skip, my man. I have tried everything with this kid and clearly, it ain’t working.” I ease the truck up into the next lot and swing it around to back into the loading dock talking into the rear view mirror. “But, here’s the thing, you got to keep this quiet. I can’t be having Donnie or any of the guys knowing I haven’t been able to handle my own brother. See?”

“Yeah, I can dig that. Not a problem, Ray.”

He sounds pretty sure about this and all I can do now is hope he’s got something on the ball that I do not. We get our hats and gloves on and head out to unload six skids of tile flooring.

Before Sammy even opened his eyes, he knew. He knew and he didn’t much care anymore. Jail or hospital? Jail. All he hoped was that he hadn’t gone and blathered on about Ray to the desk sergeant. Like he needed his brother all up in his face again. Something hurt but it took him a minute or two to narrow it down. Something came swimming back up to the surface. Oh yeah, that new bouncer at Little Nick’s. He wondered if the arm was broke or not.

Sammy contemplated moving when someone kicked his arm. The other one, good for him, too.

“Move it on over, One-Eye. Second shift’s coming on.”

Sammy moved and his head just about blew right off his brain stem. The holding pen hadn’t been too crowded which is why Sammy had been able to pass out on a bench all to himself but now a new wagon had come in and things were tightening up. He hunched in place, not giving up his seat and ignoring the goombah who’d just kicked him. There was a basic shuffling around, grumbling, some laughter and then things settled down again. Cigarettes got lit. Somebody tried to shove Sammy off the end of the bench and he shoved back chancing a quick look around the pen.

A long time ago, when he and Ray were in their teens and getting rousted by the cops for hanging out on the corners, Ray had clued him in to what he needed to do if he was ever in the lockup for any length of time.

“Ya can’t be such a pussy, Sammy. They will eat you alive.” Ray passed the joint to his little brother.

This was after Mom had kicked Daddy out and he was coming around on the weekends with tickets to the game or to see if either of them wanted to go for ice cream. Sammy always went. Ray always disappeared.

“See, here’s what you got to do on Day One.” Ray took the joint back and dragged on it like a vacuum cleaner tilting his lower lip up to exhale. “Look for the meanest motherfucker in the yard and start shit with him. Start it fast, don’t give him a chance to see you coming.”

Sammy took the joint and listened. He was never too sure about the stuff Ray told him but listened anyway. Once, he’d disrespected his older brother by trying to walk off during one of Ray’s life lessons. The lesson that day was not to do that again.

“And then get the ever-loving crap get beat out of me? Is that it?”

“That is a likely outcome, no way around it, little brother.” Ray leaned back, hit the joint and passed it back. “But here’s the thing: I guarantee that it will be the last beating you take this round in the clink or may ever. Word gets around and other guys are gonna back right the fuck off cuz they will know you are one crazy, dangerous fucker.”

This “dangerous” one-eyed fucker opts to keep it quiet.

I drop Skip off at Central Booking and go on over to wait at the bar on the corner. He has Sammy’s name and the bail money. I order a boiler maker and wait. Why the hell do all these old time joints have to go putting mirrors back behind the bottles? I take my beer and shot on over to a table. What the hell am I gonna do with this loser brother of mine? I just hope the fuck those angels of mercy at his sober house give him another chance. I let him bed down at my place one time and I am not up for that again.

Besides, Veronica won’t go for that ever again either. Man, there’s times I swear I went and married fucking Sheila all over again. I don’t remember Veronica being like this back when we met. Maybe it was that way with Sheila and Marty? Who cares?

See, most people think Sammy’s some kind of wounded lamb or something. He’s got that one big, round eye like Marty’s and talks all soft and hesitant. And the eye patch? Oh Christ, you cannot believe how much the girls love that shit. Or at least they do until they get a load of what he’s like after a couple of shots. Sammy is the original Jekyll and Hide character and he is one mean ass little drunk. I seen him start shit with Hell’s Angels, teamsters, cops, mean-ass lesbian bull dykes. It’s like he doesn’t think he can get hurt.

I will not let Sammy derail me here. I feel like I have been a decent big brother all along. What am I supposed to do? Get him an apartment and a nanny? Everyone else grows the fuck up and takes care of business. What is his deal? I swear, I am gonna wind up with that ulcer again if this keeps up. I’m sitting where I can see the door and I wait. It’s not like it will take all that long. Right?

Skip wasn’t a guy who talked much, so when he sprung Sammy, he basically introduced himself and took care of business. Sammy was still bleary and happy enough to get out of stir so as not to be asking a bunch of questions. He got his things and they walked out of the station and down the street. Skip pointed to the bar where Ray was waiting for them.

“I’m thinking a bar ain’t a great idea right now. What do you think?”

“Uh, well. I guess.” Sammy, in his secret heart, had been aiming himself towards a beer. One lousy beer. Why was that such a problem? And who was this guy, anyway? Skip who worked with Ray is all Sammy knew. And that they were heading towards some dive ass diner on the other corner.

“Maybe we should let Ray know where we’re at or something? I can just run in quick and let him know.” Hope never seemed to die for Sammy.

“He’ll be ok. Want something to eat?” Skip went easy like he always did with the active ones. Right now, this kid would just about sell his other eye for a beer thinking that that beer would fix the raging mess in his head and guts.

“Yeah, I guess. Something.” Sammy’s stomach was not good, but he felt pretty shaky and figured if he couldn’t get that beer, maybe a burger or something would hold him.

They got a booth and ordered lunch.

Sammy was a guy who did the listening usually. People picked up on that pretty quick so Sammy was ready to listen to Skip. But Skip wasn’t talking. The food came and they ate. Traffic swept by; people glanced into the diner without bothering to see anything. The burger did help some but Sammy really needed that beer.

“Look, uh, Skip. Thanks for lunch and all and thanks for bailing me out.”

“No problem, Sammy.”

“I’ll get the money back to you through Ray, so thanks again.” Sammy started to rise.

“Sammy, sit down for a minute. Lunch was on me and Ray covered your bail. You’ll need to square that with him.”

“Yeah, well, I really need to get going. I’m going to have to sort shit out at the place I’m staying.”

“You may as well relax. They won’t be interested in you staying on there. They’re pretty hard ass over there. Your stuff is going to be in the front lobby and someone else is already in your bed.”

Sammy stared at Skip. Who the fuck was this guy anyway?

“I was there about five years back.”

“So?” Sammy didn’t think he was the kind of guy who got mad very often but now he felt like his skin was trying to walk off by itself and, whatever this guy’s deal was, Sammy didn’t have time for it.

“And so, I know what I’m talking about.” Skip ordered pie and asked Sammy if he wanted some. “Sweet stuff sometimes helps.”

“Helps what?” Sammy knew all this shit already; of course he did. But he was damned if he was going to make it easy for this joker.

“You know.”

The pie and decaf came and Skip tucked into it like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew how this was messing with Sammy. Like he was deliberately peeling into the sore places and didn’t care that Sammy was ready to bolt.

“Ok, got it. You’re sober and Ray thinks you can do something with me.” Sammy was going to have that beer and this guy could eat shit along with his pie.

“Yeah, I’m an alcoholic and drug addict and that crew over where you were staying probably saved my worthless life like they’re trying to save yours.” Skip nodded for the girl to bring the check.

I’m done. Six beers is all I’m good for here. I don’t know where the hell they got off to but I suppose Skip knows what he’s doing. Actually, I don’t care if he does or doesn’t. Sammy is officially off my hands.

It’s getting towards late afternoon and I still got stuff to do. I pay my tab and head out. No sooner do I get outdoors when I see the two of them coming out of that diner over across the intersection. I don’t even consider going over and saying anything to them. If Skip can help my loser brother, great. If not, I am done. Kid gets locked up again, he’s on his own.

I walk over to where I parked the car and am a little surprised that I’m having trouble getting the key in the lock. I double down and get it done. Guess I better watch myself. That would be pretty rich, wouldn’t it? For me to get popped for a DWI and then Sammy and Skip will have to come up with the bail money. I should go on home and sleep this off but instead I just sit here and watch the two of them.

Out of nowhere, I am pissed off all over again. Why the fuck is Sammy like this? We both got raised in the same way in the same house. He sees that it can be done. That a man can put that crap behind him and succeed. I done it, so why does he got to be so lost and weak and lame. And what the fuck can that Skip do about any of it? Or any of that AA crap? Or the “sober” houses and all those social workers? A man has to pull himself together and do what’s right. That’s what makes him a man and not some whiny ass little kid like Sammy still is after all this time.

I wonder what old Jake would have to say about any of this. What does it say about my own frame of mind that I keep wishing I could call up that sour old fuck and just lay this all out. It’s not like I actually ever listened to him while he was alive or anything. He was just another of the old union thugs who had given up on all of us young, hungry kids. But sometimes stuff would come out of him that made the most sense of anything I was hearing in those days. He wouldn’t be letting someone else take care of his business, that’s a sure thing.

I know what I got to do. I start the car and punch the gas.

Skip knew what he was dealing with here and didn’t for one minute buy the gentle, wounded soul business Sammy had perfected. When they came out of the diner he saw Ray getting into his Buick but couldn’t catch his eye. Not that it mattered.

“Let’s hit a meeting.” He looked for a cab.

“Right. Because that’s worked so well up to now.” Sammy hadn’t given up on the beer.

Ray had eased out of his parking place up the street and suddenly screeched around in wide U turn, pulling up fast with the passenger door already open.

“Thanks, Skip, but this was a waste of your time.” Ray didn’t even look over at them.

Skip and Sammy stood there, each holding in place for his own reasons. Ray finally looked over and jerked his head at Sammy.

“Get in.”

“Yeah, well, Ray, see we’re going to a meeting.”

“Fuck that AA shit. You already tried that.” No one moved. “Get the fuck into the car.”

“Why? Where are we going? You letting me move back in with you? That didn’t work out so good either, remember?”

Skip just stood there. They’d work it out somehow.

“Never mind where we’re going. I’m your brother and I’m responsible for you.”

“Right, Ray, that’s just great.”

“Are you going to get in this car?”

“I don’t think so.” Sammy glanced over at Skip but got nothing. Much.

“What shit have you been telling him?” Ray shifted his tamped down fury.

“What’s your deal, Ray? How many beers did you have over there?” Skip knew how this would go over. Like he was following a script or something Ray exploded out of the car and practically ran over to where Sammy and Skip were standing by the open car door.

“When I say get in the car, I mean get in the fucking car NOW!” He grabbed Sammy’s arm. Skip moved back a couple of steps and let Sammy see the slightest of nods.

The scuffle didn’t last long. Sammy had long ago learned how to diffuse his brother’s rage by not fighting, not going along with him, not doing much of anything. He let himself be flung into the car, but didn’t pull his legs in and let himself be limp, dead weight. When Ray shoved his legs in, he let them flop back out. There was a moment there that if Ray had had a gun or something sharp it all could have gone really bad. A couple of cops came out of Central Booking and began to approach.

“Everything ok over here?” The younger cop asked.

“Yeah, officer, everything is fine, thanks.” Ray backed off, pushed his hair out of his face and let Sammy do whatever the hell he wanted.

That’s it. I’m done. As I pull away, I don’t even glance back at those losers. This is what I get for trying to be a man about things. Marty didn’t know how good he had it. Back when he was my age, he was the boss. How could he not have seen that? If he’d of been a man, been the boss of his house, me and Sammy would have had a real chance. Even in today’s fucked up world where a black man can be elected President of the United States, Sammy and I would of had an edge.

Something. We would have had something. Some clue as to how to be real men in this world. I’m just lucky I hooked up with Jake and the union guys when I got out of school. Maybe it’s even good that I got Veronica taking zero shit. Hell, she’s more of a man than Sammy could ever be. Sammy, he was fucked from the get go. I remember watching him and Marty go to the comic book store and read comic books. When he was fifteen for fuck’s sake! No wonder he’s still like a damned teenager. Let Skip deal with him now.

So now you see, right? I did everything I could for my brother and more and you see where it got me, right? And, yes, before you even ask the question. I am winning.