I was stricken with grief when I found out that Jimmy
was sick. It was sad that my thoughts were of my own lost
friendship, when they should have been focused on Jimmy's
pain. All I could think of was the little guy who had been
my brother, not the man that he had become. In retrospect,
it was that attitude that helped me see the light.
Jimmy came to live with us when he was eight, the victim
of a broken family, a broken psyche. His father, my uncle,
had abused him to the point where he cowered at the sound
of any raised voice. There was many an argument in the dark
of the night before my father let my mother take him in.
One day he showed up at the door, the next he was my brother.
We were as different as night and day, Jimmy and I. I was
the hulking athlete, where he was artistically gifted. I
was a popular extrovert, where he was a lone wolf, preferring
his own company. It was the '70s, a dark time when these
things weren't spoken of. I guess I always knew that Jimmy
was gay, though I never understood what that meant, or why.
I accepted for a brother, nothing more, nothing less, and
protected him from his tormentors at school. There was no
protection from my father at home.
Foremost of Jimmy tormentors were the Renardo brothers.
They were the bastions of Italian manhood in our town, and
even the sight of Jimmy offended them. They took every
opportunity to put him down and tear at his psyche, but he
took it all in stride. Whenever I asked him if he wanted me to
intervene, all he said was, "They'll get what's coming to them."
My father was the essence of the child of the '50s. He
believed in zero tolerance in his own life, and expected
us to carry the same standards. My sister was sheltered
from the heathen boys, and had a curfew until she was 25
(a slight exaggeration). I was not allowed to get a job,
for fear that my grades or, worse yet, my 40 time would
slip. Jimmy was not given a penny, made to work for
everything. Much to my father's dismay, he had the best
grades of all of us.
Looking back, it must have been hell for Jimmy, growing
up in the Midwest. The only people who gave him any
acceptance were my mother, our sister Bridget, and myself.
It was no surprise when, after graduation, Jimmy packed
his meager belongings, and went to the West Coast. Mother
and sister cried, but I knew that he could never really
be happy, living in Ohio.
The next few years went by in a blur. I was caught up in
the whole small college fraternity, football playing,
alcohol and pot induced haze. Bridget escaped the house
as quick as she could, going to school in the East, where
she quickly became an expert on partying and abortion.
The years of intolerance had dammed up our natural urges,
and college became a time of catching up. We two O'Briens
rebelled against everything our father had set his moral
pillar for.
From Jimmy, we heard little in these years. I pictured
him being the same lone wolf he had been in Ohio, out in
San Francisco. His real father had died in a car wreck,
taking a young mother and child with him in his final
alcoholic rage. My mother couldn't even spare a tear for
the man who had been her brother. I received the occasional
letter from Jimmy, always meaning to write him back,
sporadically being successful. His life was on a different
universe from mine.
I graduated, took classes to learn the stock trade, and went
to Wall Street to make my first million. Following me shortly
thereafter was Chris, my sweetheart from the sorority next
door. She worked as a secretary in an anonymous tower in
Manhattan, and we met each night in our small cubby-hole
in the East Village, happy just to make it home each night.
We had each other, and quite by accident, we got pregnant.
Chris and I debated long and hard about our options. We
wanted children, but we were both struggling to make ends
meet, just for the two of us. In the end we had a daughter,
Jaime, and it never occurred to me that we had named her
after my long lost brother. We were a happy threesome, but
we lived hand to mouth for a few years, while I learned how
to make a profit on the market. I wouldn't have traded my
two girls for anything, and they kept the loneliness of
the city from creeping in.
It was the Christmas season, Jaime was three, when I got
my first inkling that something was wrong with Jimmy. We
received a card from my brother, in his usually cherubic
tone, but something didn't ring true in the words. I got
on the phone and called him right up. His roommate, Randy,
answered the phone. We had talked many times before, and I
understood him to be more than a friend to Jimmy. Just
how close didn't seem to be my business.
"Hi Randy, this in Conor. Is Jimmy around?"
"Hello Conor. Your brother is sleeping just now. He hasn't
been feeling well." The words rang in my ears like the toll
of a bell. I felt a dread shake through my body.
"Is he okay, Randy?"
"No, Conor. He's not okay. If he weren't so afraid of what
you would think, he would have told you himself. Jimmy's
dying, and there's nothing any of us can do." I knew that
Jimmy had lost weight the last few years, but the obvious
had never crossed my mind.
"I'm coming to San Francisco. Is there anything I should
bring with me?"
"You shouldn't come. He wouldn't want you to see him like
this."
"I'm coming, and nothing you say is going to stop me."
"Harden your heart, Conor. When you see him, it's going to
break."
"It may take a couple of days, but I'll be there. I'll let
you know when I'm going to arrive."
Even though my position was tenuous, I made arrangements
to take the time off. Explaining it to my wife was harder. We
were still little better than hand to mouth, and we really
needed me to stay and work. I felt I owed this trip to Jimmy.
Through a mutual agreement, we had stayed out of each other's
lives. Now he needed to know that someone would mourn him,
that someone cared.
There were tears on the doorstep, when I left for LaGuardia.
Chris couldn't possibly understand how Jimmy's needs could
possibly be more important than our own, so I didn't try
to explain it. It boiled down to my own needs, rather than
his. I kissed her cheek and walked out the door, knowing
that she might not be there when I got back. I could cross
that bridge if I came to it.
Randy was waiting at the gate as I walked off the plain.
His eyes were swollen as if he'd been crying, and I gravely
shook his hand. The strength of his grip surprised me, and
I began to tear down my stereotypes. We talked little on
the journey into the city, my brother's looks would do all
the talking necessary. When I saw him for the first time,
my heart broke. He was barely a shadow of the life he had
once been. In spite of myself, a tear rolled down my cheek.
In between his frequent naps, we reminisced, talking of
past times as if they'd been good. He asked of our sister,
and I spared him any of her exploits, coating them with
vanilla. With his ironic smile, he accepted my version,
sensing that I was BSing him. We would talk for awhile,
and then the painkillers would kick in, giving him brief
respite from his ailment. I slept in the chair next to
his bed, wanting to be there, should he need anything.
Randy brought another chair into the room, and we talked
quietly over Jimmy's body. He told me of Jimmy's life,
the things he had done to better his community and help
his friends. I felt his grief welling up as strong as any
would have for a spouse. Theirs was a world I had shut my
eyes to, preferring to live my life in ignorance. The
strength of their love staggered me. I hoped that Chris
loved me as much.
His eyes opened into slits, and his voice cracked as he
spoke, "Do you remember those fucking Renardo brothers?"
"Of course I do. You never would let me kick their asses.
You said that they would get what was coming to them. Now
I guess it's not going to happen."
"I'm not dead yet, big brother. Those pricks can still
get what they deserve."
"What do you mean?"
"Mom tells me they're still in town. They own a deli on
the south end, selling overpriced meats to the poor people
there. I heard they ran out all the competition."
"So what?"
"I say we go give 'em a dose of their own medicine."
"You're in no condition to travel."
"I think I'm a better judge of that than you."
So that's how we came to be driving his Geo across the
country to Ohio. Randy and I took turns driving, and I
think that in the excitement of the journey, we lost
sight of our grief for a short time. Jimmy once again
showed his wry, quiet sense of humor, pointing out the
idiosyncrasies of all the people we meant on the road.
Naturally, we had to stop frequently, to take care of
Jimmy, but the road trip helped Randy and I begin our
healing process.
When we pulled into Ohio, I wanted to go to our mother's
house. It was much more hospitable since dad had gone his
own way. Jimmy handed me his Visa card, and told me to
get us a room. The name on the card was an anagram of his
own, and I remembered he had used a pseudonym in his
artwork, not wanting to give father a false sense of
pride. On my way out of the car, he told me to check
about a rental car, warning me not to ask questions.
By the time we checked into the room, Jimmy was exhausted.
Randy and I ordered a pizza, got pleasantly drunk together.
I steeled myself as he crawled into bed with my brother,
but I was glad that Jimmy had someone to keep him warm.
I slept the sleep of a man who has drank just enough. No
dreams, no fears, no tossing and turning.
I woke up to the harsh sunlight blazing through the
curtains. Through squinting and painful eyes, I saw
a rejuvenated brother. Jimmy looked as he had as a boy,
playful grin and ironic outlook. It struck me then that
he hadn't chosen his preference, it had been chosen for
him, and any hurt that he had received because of it was
unjust and deserved retribution.
Jimmy handed me a cup of coffee, and gestured to me to
sit down in a chair. He struggled with a duffel bag, and
removed some items. Randy and I looked at each other, but
remained silent. He handed each of us a ski mask, and
returned to the bag. He then took out three evil looking
handguns. The look on his face said there was no turning
back.
"I've been checking on those assholes every time I came
back to town. They are as predictable as buzzards at
Hinkley. They'll both be in the shop today, and they'll
both be carrying a wad of cash."
"Wait a second, little brother. I don't know about this."
"I want to make those fucking guys feel some of the fear
that they used to make me feel, back in the old days. When
I get done with them, they'll wish they were wearing
Depends undergarments."
"I don't like guns, Jimmy."
"If Jimmy wants to do it, I say we do it." There was a
fervor in his voice that told me Randy was game for it.
Grudgingly, I nodded my head, and Jimmy spelled out the
plan.
We walked into the deli, ski masks fixed and guns at the
ready. The two fat Italian brothers that had tormented
Jimmy were bristling with false bravado. That ended
quickly as Jimmy fired a bullet into the mirror behind
their heads. There was a force in his voice I had never
heard before as he shouted out orders.
"Empty the register, open the safe in the back, and
empty those fat wads out of your pockets. Tommy," that
was my name for the day, "Take Angelo to the back to
empty the safe." Angelo started to say something, and
Jimmy put a bullet closer to his head. He meekly led me
to the back. Randy watched the door, to keep out any
innocents. No one would mourn the loss of these two.
When we had loaded up every dime that was in the joint,
we moved to the door. As a coup de grace, Jimmy emptied
his gun into the meat cases, spraying the brothers with
glass. We raced to the car and screamed off, faint sirens
bid us farewell. We ditched the car around the corner from
the hotel, calmly walking back to the Geo. With that we
hit the high road, Jimmy bubbling with his victory.
Heading west on I-70, we were all caught up in my brother's
excitement. Looking back at him, I saw the first trickle
of blood run from his nose. Still wild with excitement, the
blood began from the corners of his mouth. His body had
started hemorrhaging, the plague had finally caught up
with him.
"Stop the car Randy!"
"Why, what's happening?" He caught a glimpse of his lover
in the mirror, and ground the car to a stop. "Don't touch
him." He raced to the trunk and brought out gloves and masks.
We took every precaution in comforting Jimmy. We both knew
that he wouldn't want us to die because of him. Wrapping
him in a blanket, we sat powerless as he expired before
our eyes. He favored us with one last ironic grin.
"It was worth it guys, well worth it." Eyes glistening,
the life went out of him. The smile remained on his face.
The law never caught those deli robbers. The money, we
buried with Jimmy. It was his prize alone.
It turned out that Jimmy was loaded. His art and his
architecture were renowned the world over, he had big
money in the bank. The robbery had been his way of
evenning the score. It was his way of telling the world
to kiss his ass. His money was left to Randy and me,
helping to save my marriage. Randy and I went our
separate ways, our memories of Jimmy engraved with that
bloody smile on his face. We alone knew how he had made
his peace, went out on his own terms. My little brother
had gone out with a bang, and I was reborn in the process.
