Years ago one summer I live with my oldest brother, Matt (who now goes by the name 'Mateo' and has fully embraced his imaginary Mexican heritage. This in the wake of his previous Tijuana wrestling moniker ---El Raton Gordo---. is actually easier to say with a straight face in conversation to a 6' 5" hillbilly white boy who didn't know a taco from his culo as a child.)
I lived with Matt in San Diego. I was just 18, he was 26 and in the navy. Also living with us at the time were his 40 year old girlfriend, Peggy, and my other brother Chris, who had just finished navy bootcamp, and one of Chris's friends, Butch, also just out of bootcamp. We lived in an upscale condo in Chula Vista. Chris and Butch and I lived on the floor in the living room, much to Peggy's infinite stony silence.
As near as I could tell the only girlfriend duties Peggy performed were paying the rent and making sandwiches for my enormous brothers. She preferred that I make my own, as did I. Peggy wasn't in the picture much, except to frown and vacuum. She vacuumed a lot. It was a small condo and I have always loved crunchy foods.
My brothers and I, plus Butch, but not Peggy, went to a lot of parties that summer. Matt is a very social individual. Chris, too, actually. Only I am not so gregarious. I have always preferred the look of horror and/or confusion on someone's face in your standard social setting to the smile of acceptance.
My role, in those party situations, was to walk in slightly behind the men and, to the first innocent kind stranger who talked to me to ask,
"Hi, do you want a beer?" or
"Hey, so you are Matt's kid sister", proclaim in a dark and disturbed tone,
"I just wish I were dead."
I'd say it looking at the floor, and hunching deep in my shoulders. It went over well every time. My brothers loved it. I would sit on a couch or chair in whatever room I wanted to empty and look like the specter of despair. I'd sigh audibly. Sometimes I'd moan. To cap it off, I tried to dress in some sort of incongruous outfit we'd buy from a thrift store. Disney character adorned sweatershirts, whimsical skirts in party colors, butterfly barrettes.... a bow. Shiny round toed mary jane shoes, with taps on them. I looked like someones 6 year old daughter thrown into the Aged and Embittered time capsule, hastily retrieved and asked to look cute or die.
When we returned home, usually very late and drunk, Peggy was usually still up, dusting her weird elephant figurines, or vacuuming my sleeping area. She was all enormous country western singer hair and disapproval. Somehow her hair held up under all sorts of stress, physical and emotional. I never saw it flat or wet. I never saw her comb it. It just was.
When I moved back to Idaho, because I couldn't stand living in California longer than the summer, I left my butterfly barrettes for Peggy. I also left my frolicking kittens sweater with the bow-buttons, but I knew my brother was more likely to wear that.
I wish I still had those shoes.
I lived one tragic summer on beefaroni, pop tarts and instant coffee. It was like sending my brain to the starch gulag.
Posted by: Tata | August 19, 2008 at 03:44 PM
I wish you did too.
Posted by: mark h | August 23, 2008 at 12:15 PM