Every Other Sunday

I always sleep on my own side of the bed, even when Mike isn't here. I never use his pillow, either.

For as far back as I can remember, Mike and I have shared the same bed. Mom pushed the bed against the corner of the room, and I sleep on the outside, so he won't fall out of bed. She didn't need to, because Mike never moves a muscle in bed. Sometimes, I wake up in the night and see Mike staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open and lying in the same position that he fell asleep.

I remember how strange it was to sleep alone for the first time. I wasn't scared to sleep alone. In fact, now that Mike isn't here, I don't have to save him from the pile of toys that turns into a monster when Mom turns out the light. Mike knew that the monster was just a pretend game that we played, but he still acted like he was really scared.

When you get older, it's important to have your own room, or at least your own bed. For one thing, it means that you can have a friend over to spend the night. I've had lots of friends sleep over since Mike went to stay at Fairview.

My mom and dad talked a lot about Fairview before they took Mike there to stay. Mike doesn't live at Fairview, but now he stays there. Home is where you live and not where you stay. Even though Mike only lives at home on every other weekend, this is still his home.

Dad said, "We're lucky that Fairview excepted him, because they have lots of doctors and nurses and they have lots of things for him to do with people like him."

When they first took Mike to stay at Fairview, Dad said that the main reason was because Mike wasn't getting any smaller and Mom wasn't getting any younger. He said that it would take a huge load off my mom, who still had to take care of my little sisters. Kim and Kelly are twins and five years younger than me. My oldest sister, Jackie, is married now and can't help my mom anymore. Terry and Cathy, my older sisters, are going through their teens. Cathy's teens have been a little harder on everybody than Terry's, but that's a whole other story.

The first time Mike came home from Fairview was really hard on everybody. One of the rules for new patients is to have no visitors or phone calls for a month. They said it was to help him adjust to his new "environment." I had to look it up in the dictionary. It said that environment was "the circumstances, objects or conditions by which one is surrounded." That sounds to me like it could mean anywhere you are, like home or school or even jail.

Now, everyone keeps saying how well Mike is adjusting to his new environment. I'm not so sure about that. If last Sunday was an example of Mike's adjustment, I don't think it's going well at all-not one little bit.

Practically the whole neighborhood was gathered outside our house when Mom drove up with Mike. I can't remember ever seeing him as happy as he was when my mom and I helped him into his wheelchair. His big blue eyes were shining; his smile as broad as can be as he called everyone by name and announced that he was home. Ross and WeEtta, John and Bernice Hurt and everyone said their hellos and told him how glad they were to see him.

My dad asked him if he'd given him his allowance lately. Mike was shy and embarrassed when he told Dad that he hadn't. Dad reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of change and gave it to him. Of course, Mike's little fingers don't close enough to hold it all, so Dad told me to hold it for him, then Dad told me to take him to the store. Before we left, my dad turned to me.

"Don't forget, Pat, that's Mike's money, so make sure that he spends it, not you." Then, he said that he was just kidding and offered the men a beer. They were talking about his new car as I pushed Mike down the street to the liquor store.

I don't mind pushing Mike to the store, but I hate it when we get there. He never tells me what he wants to buy, so I have to keep asking him, "Do you want a Snickers, Mike? You've got enough money to get a Snickers and a Milky Way." Dad always gives him enough money to buy anything he wanted, but he never seems to care about buying anything, so I always end up spending his money for him.

My dad never understood that the sixty seconds of attention that he gave him was worth more to Mike than all the nickels and dimes in the world.

The only time he would ever say anything in the store was when Doc was working. Doc was a real nice man who never got mad when kids would hold up candy and ask him, "How much is this?"

He was called Doc because his last name was Dockamus. Everyone liked him because he was nice to everyone, but he was especially nice to Mike. He never bought him candy like some of the other men do; he just talked to him and he always remembered Mike's name. Nobody could remember the names of every kid who came to spend their allowance, but he always knew Mike's.

One time, just before Easter, Doc asked Mike if he was making Easter eggs. "Would you bring an egg in for me?" he asked. Mike asked him what color he wanted and Doc said green. I knew that Doc was only kidding Mike, but when we got home, I told Mom about Doc and his green egg, so we decided to make him one. We even helped Mike write "To Doc" on it. Then, we put plastic grass into a strawberry box for the egg. We took it down to the liquor store, and gave it to him.

Well, Doc was so surprised that he tried to give us some candy for free, but we told him no thanks, we'd promised to give him an egg for Easter and so we did. I've never seen a man so happy to receive something so simple as an Easter egg.

That was the last time we ever got to see him, because early one morning, Doc was at the liquor store by himself and a man shot him and killed him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Anyway, we spent Mike's allowance on candy and started for home. I hated to use Mike's money, but I used twenty cents to buy two cokes at The Pink Spot so we could spend a little time with each other. Sometimes, it's hard to think of things to do; I think it's because we're bigger, now.

If he's asked me once, he's asked me a hundred times why The Pink Spot has arches like McDonald's. I tell him for the hundredth time that it used to be a McDonald's, but now it's called The Pink Spot. "That's why the arches are pink instead of gold."

Twice a year, The Pink Spot has a new owner. They always have the same Grand Opening Special-a hamburger for only a dime. Everyone in West Fullerton comes out for the ten-cent burger. There's always a long line, because the new owners can't make them fast enough. But when the special ends, the burgers cost twenty-three cents again. The only people that buy them are the two ambulance drivers with the hair that looks like Elvis Presley. The owners go out of business and someone else takes over. Then, we all eat ten-cent burgers again.

The Armstrong Nursery is the last store where the parking lot ends and the big vacant lot begins. For the hundredth time, Mike asks me where they keep the babies and for the hundredth time, I tell him that it's not that kind of nursery.

"They don't keep babies here, Mike, they sell plants."

"Like Dad's roses?" he always asks.

"Yeah, Mike; just like Dad's roses."

Once, I took him through the nursery, so he could see that there weren't any babies, but he still asks me every time where the babies are.

We get about halfway from the nursery to the traffic light when I stop pushing Mike's wheelchair. I show him the spot where the weeds have been cleared and the dirt is leveled and packed down right up to the sidewalk.

"Hey Mike, do you know what this patch of dirt is for?"

Mike just sits there with his head down. He's waiting for me to tell him, but I decide to make him work for the answer.

"What do they always put here at the beginning of every summer?"

Mike sits and waits for me to tell him.

"What comes after the third of July?"

All of a sudden, he looks back at me with the kind of smile that only my brother can and says:

"The Fourth of July?"

"That's right; so what do you think they're going to put right here?"

"A fireworks stand?"

I put my hands on his shoulders and say, "That's right, a fireworks stand! They'll have Roman candles and fountains and sparklers and pinwheels!

Mike is beaming, now. He says: Remember the time the pinwheel came off the ladder?

I laughed and said, "Don't they always fly off the ladder? Either that or they don't spin at all. Then, everyone laughs at Dad!"

"And Pat, will they have ole Smoky Joe?"

"Well, that depends; if it's a Red Devil stand, they'll have good ole Smoky Joe, for sure. But if it's a Freedom fireworks stand, they'll have Smoky Pete. Would you mind if we have to get ole Smoky Pete instead?"

Mike smiles and scrunches up his shoulders like he does when he hears some really good news and says:

"I like good ole Smoky Pete, too!"

"Me too, Mike. They both have those cigars that make everything all smoky. Mom hates both of them, doesn't she?"

Mike giggles and I do an impression of Mom.

"Land sakes, Jack Messick! Why did you have to light that nasty old thing? It smells horrible!"

Mike giggles as I push him all the way down to the stoplight. I don't have to tell him to press the button to change the light to green. I always tell him that he has to hold the button down for ten seconds or it won't work. I figure that it's good for him, because the button isn't easy to hold down and he can practice counting to ten. He doesn't know that all you have to do is touch the button and the light will change in twenty seconds.

But the best part is crossing the street. Even though the light is green, Mike always holds out his arms like he's the one that's stopping the cars. It always makes me laugh, but he can't see me and I don't laugh out loud because I know that he takes his job very seriously. Once we reach the other side of the crosswalk, I turn him around so he can let the waiting cars go again.

* * * * * * * * * *

When we got back to the house, we could see Dad and some of the other neighborhood dads sitting around on the front porch. This is usually a good thing, because they let me sit and listen to them talk. I don't really understand most of the stuff they talk about, but I'm not stupid. I know that they tell dirty jokes when Dad sends me into the house to bring someone another beer.

I like Ross Corey and John Hurt a lot. John Hurt is a tall man with silver hair and a red pickup truck that is exactly as old as me. He's a plumber who's just waiting for his retirement so he can move back to Kentucky and buy a farm. Bernice Hurt is very nice, too. She makes me laugh because she's the only one that ever calls me 'Patrick Gordon.'

I like Augie Clays, too. He's a truck driver. One time, he let me and Susan Clays ride with him. It took all day and it was really neat to ride in that big sand and gravel truck clear out to the desert. We stopped at Irene's Coffee Shop for breakfast. Irene's was all by itself in the middle of nowhere! I liked Irene so much that Augie stopped there again on the way back. Irene's lemon pie wasn't as good as my mom's, but she was so nice that I told her it was wonderful.

Dad and the men were still gathered around our front porch when I pushed Mike up the driveway. Don Waltz lives next door to the Clays.' We don't see him very often, but it always means trouble for me. I'm not saying that he's not a nice person or anything. It just seems like he's mad about something all the time. It's bad enough that he drinks a lot more beer than the other dads, but today, he was drinking a high ball with my dad.

I don't know why Dad offers him a high ball when he comes to our house. Everyone knows that my dad likes bourbon better than beer. I've never seen my dad get drunk-not ever, but I think he likes to get other people drunk.

Anyway, it's always trouble for me. Don always has something he wants to teach me, something he thinks I really ought to knowDad always let's him talk to me until I hear those birds fluttering inside my head and making it so I can't see right. The thing that scared me the most was the idea that my dad was letting Don do this to me on purpose. I wondered if he knew how it feels when the bird wings (I just call it that because I can't describe the sound) and how it makes it hard to see.)

They stop talking and say hello to Mike. Mike raises both arms up in the air, like he always does and says, "I'm back! I'm back from the liquor store!"

"What did you bring me?" Augie asks. Mike doesn't know how to answer that kind of question, so he waits for another.

"Did you bring us any Beer Nuts, Mike?"

"I doubt it. I don't think his brother likes Beer Nuts; do you, Pat?"

Before I can answer my dad, Don Waltz says to me, "What team are you playing on this year, Pat?"

"Pat doesn't play baseball anymore," Dad says. "He'd rather watch TV and eat his brother's candy." He turns to me and says, "Make sure that Mike gets some, too."

Then, Dad pats me on the head and tells me that he's just tormenting me, but it makes me mad that that he would accuse me of taking Mike's candy, even though Mike doesn't even want it. I start to say so, but Ross crunches his beer can and says, "Hey Jack, how about another round?"

My Dad doesn't even look at me when he tells me to get Ross another beer.

"Hey Don, you look dry over there. Are you ready for another? Pat, take Don's glass with you and bring him another high ball."

When I come back with a beer for Ross and another drink for Don, I see that they're all talking to Mike about the barbecue that we're going to have.

"Your dad says he's cooking ribs tomorrow. Do you like ribs, Mike?" Augie asks. Mike smiles and says yes.

"And baked beans and potato salad?"

"Yeah!" Mike giggles and scrunches up his shoulders.

Just as I'm about to hand the beer to Ross and the drink to Don, Don Waltz asks Mike, "Mike, what time do you have to go back to..."

Don never finished his sentence, because Ross stood up and accidentally knocked the beer and the highball out of my hands. The glass broke and the beer and the bourbon flew everywhere.

Of course, my dad started to blame me, but Ross says, "Jack, that was my fault. You know how I get after two beers." His little joke made my dad forget he was mad at me.

Then Ross says to Don, "Come on, I need to get that post digger from you, anyway."

They all thanked my dad for the beers and left me to clean up the broken glass. Ross Corey put his hand on my shoulder and said to Don, "I'll meet you in your garage in a minute, Don. I'll take Pat and get him some gloves so he can pick up that glass without cutting himself."

So I walked across the street with Ross and waited while he fished a pair of gloves out of a cupboard in his garage. As he handed them to me, he said, "Make sure you check those for spiders before you put them on."

I told him thanks and start back across the street. I was just about at the end of his driveway. I gave the gloves a good shake and stared in surprise as two quarters fell out of one of the gloves and rolled into the gutter.

Ross likes to play tricks, so I turned back to look at Ross to see if he had that little smile on his face, but his garage door was closed. I looked up and saw WeEtta Corey. She was standing behind her crystal clean window. When she saw me, she smiled and waved.

WeEtta doesn't hide behind her curtains like Bernice Hurt. She just stands there and watches everything. She always looks so happy and peaceful, looking out of her living room window, smiling and waving at anyone she sees.