My brother Tommy had always been twitchy. He was born wound tight, and growing up in our house hadn\u2019t done the kid any favors.<\/p>\n
But when Tommy stumbled into Momma\u2019s kitchen that day, pale faced and clutching the crumbled paper bag under one arm, the look in his eyes told me something was seriously wrong this time.<\/p>\n
Tommy hesitated in the doorway when he saw me. His eyes darted from me to Momma, but the old woman wasn\u2019t going to be any help. I\u2019d been sitting in her kitchen for going on half an hour now, and she\u2019d only said a handful of words to me. Even now she kept her back to us, washing dishes in the sink, the scalding water turning her arms a bright, angry red.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, bro,\u201d Tommy finally said. His voice had a slight tremble in it, like he was fighting to keep it under control.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou coming in or not?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Tommy looked toward Momma again, but she was still deep in her own world of crazy. With a look of resignation, he closed the door and joined me at the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t expect to see you here,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI kind of noticed.\u201d I nodded my chin toward the sack he was holding. \u201cSo what\u2019s with the bag? You get me a gift I don\u2019t know about?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy didn\u2019t answer. Instead, he tried to put in on the floor beside him (out of sight, out of mind, I guess), but he fumbled it at the last moment. There was a loud clunk as something heavy thudded against the aging, cracked linoleum.<\/p>\n
Tommy shot me a look that was equal parts desperation and sadness.<\/p>\n
What did you do? I thought.<\/p>\n
I tried to play off the moment. I smiled, trying to put him at ease, but I was really curious about the bag. \u201cSorry, Tommy boy. But now I\u2019ve got to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I bent under the table to have a look when Momma spoke.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou run into any trouble, Tommy?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
The sound of her voice, always loud and strident and hateful, startled me and almost made me hit my god-damned head on the table. I turned to face her, but she still had her back to us.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Momma,\u201d Tommy answered. His voice sounded child-like, and I hated her anew for the way she controlled us.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he put up much fuss?\u201d Momma asked.<\/p>\n
I looked at Tommy. \u201cWho are we talking about here?\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t answer either one of us, but I was fine with waiting Tommy out. I knew he\u2019d get around to telling me. Momma, on the other hand, was not the patient type.<\/p>\n
\u201cTommy,\u201d she said forcefully.<\/p>\n
Tommy lowered his head and spoke softly. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t none too happy, Momma.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut he gave it to you anyway, didn\u2019t he?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
Tommy hesitated before answering. \u201cEventually.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell that\u2019s just fine now, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Momma stacked another dish in the drying rack, and the scrape of ceramic against ceramic made me grit my teeth.<\/p>\n
Everything about this place set me on edge. I\u2019d grown up here, living my life on constant high alert, wondering when the next fit of rage would be leveled at me or one of my brothers. It was an environment I\u2019d been all too eager to escape, but as an adult, I found myself drawn back time and time again, as if collective misery was my own personal black hole.<\/p>\n
I studied my brother, wondering how much worse it was for the ones who never did manage to make it out.<\/p>\n
\u201cTommy,\u201d I said gently. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma didn\u2019t allow him to answer. \u201cShow your brother what you brought your momma.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy stared at his lap, either unwilling or unable to comply.<\/p>\n
\u201cGo on now, son,\u201d Momma said. \u201cGo on and show him. You made your momma proud today.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy\u2019s hands shook as he reached into the bag on the floor. He didn\u2019t meet my eyes as he placed the thing on the table.<\/p>\n
I sat back in my chair, unsure how to process what I was seeing. A man\u2019s artificial leg lay between us. It wore a brown loafer and a blue dress sock, and there was a smear of blood near the appendage\u2019s calf.<\/p>\n
For the first time since I\u2019d arrived, Momma turned away from the sink. She glanced over her shoulder at the leg, and a bitter smile graced her lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow don\u2019t that just look fine right there,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I pushed back from the table. \u201cTommy, what\u2019d you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy\u2019s entire body began to tremble and tears welled up in his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cTommy, boy. What the hell happened?\u201d I tried hard to keep my own voice calm. I don\u2019t know if I succeeded. I can\u2019t quite remember.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2014,\u201d he began.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe stood up for his family is what he did,\u201d Momma said. \u201cJust like his Momma told him. My beautiful, brave little man.\u201d<\/p>\n
I ignored her, that hateful, small woman who was the dark sun around which all of our lives revolved. I focused on Tommy instead. He was sweating and his skin had turned an ashen gray, and I wondered if this was going to be one of the last few memories I ever had of my baby brother.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that Reverend Wilson\u2019s leg?\u201d I asked him.<\/p>\n
Momma spun toward us, and it was such an unexpected, aggressive move that we both jumped. Her crimson face was tear streaked and twisted into a hateful knot, and when she spoke, spittle flew from her mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s my leg!\u201d she said. \u201cIt belongs to me now. That old snake handler can get himself a new one if he wants, but I\u2019ll probably go and take that one too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt that old, familiar rage begin to boil. I hated this woman and the way she made me feel, but at the same time, I felt a sick sort of comfort about being on familiar ground. My mother\u2019s fury had a twin, and it lived inside of me, and I would not kowtow to this woman.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you didn\u2019t take this one,\u201d I said. \u201cYou made him do it. You always make him do your dirt work. Even when he doesn\u2019t want to. I just want to know what the hell got into your head this time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma drew back as if I had slapped her, but she recovered quickly. \u201cDon\u2019t you dare talk to me like that. Don\u2019t you dare. I am your Momma, and it is not your place to question me on anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think we\u2019ve gone with that plan long enough,\u201d I said. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t seem to be working out for us anymore. Not that it ever really did. And it certainly hasn\u2019t done Tommy any favors.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced over at my brother, but he wasn\u2019t looking at either of us. I recognized the defeated look about him, and I knew that he would have rather been anywhere else other than at that table right then.<\/p>\n
\u201cTalk to me, Tommy,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat\u2019d she make you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy took a deep breath and then looked up at me. I saw resignation on his face, but something else as well.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt wasn\u2019t for her,\u201d Tommy said. His voice had a husky quality, like he was swallowing grief. \u201cI did it for Frank.\u201d<\/p>\n
The way Tommy said our brother\u2019s name sent a chill through me. \u201cReverend Wilson is Frank\u2019s friend. He\u2019s gonna be pissed when he finds out you took the man\u2019s leg.\u201d<\/p>\n
Somehow I knew that wasn\u2019t going to be true, but I ignored that feeling.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat man is nobody\u2019s friend,\u201d Momma said.<\/p>\n
I turned on her, looking for a way to exorcise my own growing unease. \u201cWhat would you know about it? You were never good for any of us. Does Frank know what you did? Does he know why? Because I sure as hell don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma set her jaw and leveled me with a gaze that said she wished I\u2019d died in the crib. (This isn\u2019t speculation on my part. She\u2019s told me as much, on more than one occasion.)<\/p>\n
\u201cFrank knows plenty,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally? \u2018Cause I\u2019d love it if he weighed in on this little powwow we\u2019ve got going here. Let\u2019s get all three brothers together so we can discuss all the ways you continue to fuck up our lives.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood up from the table and walked toward the short hallway that led to Tommy and Frank\u2019s rooms. \u201cFrank! You here, man? Come out. We\u2019ve got to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced toward Momma and she gave me a disgusted, hateful look.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen to the mouth on you,\u201d she said. \u201cTalking to your momma that way. You were never any good. Just like your father. He couldn\u2019t wait to run out on his family either.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was an old song, and I knew the lyrics by heart. There was no need for a response on my part.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy don\u2019t you just get out?\u201d she said. \u201cWe don\u2019t want you here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I\u2019m done doing what you tell me to do,\u201d I said. \u201cNow where\u2019s Frank?\u201d<\/p>\n
She waited a moment before answering. \u201cHe\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019d he go?\u201d<\/p>\n
Again, she didn\u2019t answer, and I could tell that no amount of waiting was going to change that.<\/p>\n
\u201cTommy, let me help you here,\u201d I said. \u201cWe can fix this, no matter how bad it is. I\u2019ll take care of it. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy shook his head. \u201cYou can\u2019t. It\u2019s done already.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat back at the table and leaned toward my brother. It was hard ignoring the leg lying between us, but I managed to keep my attention focused on Tommy.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen to me,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019ll make it right. We\u2019ll give back the leg. Do whatever we have to do. Reverend Wilson is Frank\u2019s friend. We\u2019ll work it out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut he\u2019s not,\u201d Tommy said. His voice broke on the last word and I watched him struggle to regain his composure. When he finally did, he looked me in the eyes, and I didn\u2019t like what I saw.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not here anymore,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cSo you don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe never was here,\u201d Momma said. \u201cNot for any of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
For once, Tommy seemed to be able to shut her out, and he kept his gaze leveled on me. \u201cYou don\u2019t know what goes on.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen tell me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cReverend Wilson lied to Frank,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cHe hurt him, worse than I\u2019d ever seen him hurt before.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited for more.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe told Frank he could make him walk again,\u201d Tommy said.<\/p>\n
Some of the hate and fury had drained out of me, and those dark, empty places filled up with dread. I turned toward the woman who had been both an enemy and an ally for most of my life. \u201cWhat happened, Momma?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, now he wants to talk,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease tell me,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
She made me wait, but not too long.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat Pentecost son of a bitch!\u201d she said. \u201cHe worked a number on your brother. Had him up at the church two, three times a week. Prayin\u2019, wavin\u2019 his hands in the air, tryin\u2019 desperately to make himself talk in tongues. He\u2019d stay up half the night practicing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrank did this?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Momma sneered. \u201cDidn\u2019t know that about your brother, did you? As far as you were concerned, Momma just didn\u2019t like the reverend bringing God between she and her damaged little boy. Isn\u2019t that right?\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t answer. I didn\u2019t have to.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou think we don\u2019t know how you see us,\u201d Momma said.<\/p>\n
I felt a sense of urgency that I couldn\u2019t quite explain, so I tried to steer Momma back on track. \u201cDid he really tell Frank he could make him walk again?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly if he had enough faith,\u201d Momma said. She spat the last word out like it had left a bitter taste in her mouth.<\/p>\n
Every last shred of anger left my body, and I felt pity for my brother. It was something he never would have wanted. Most likely it would have offended him, but that didn\u2019t stop me from feeling it.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s how they always turn it around on you,\u201d Momma said. \u201cPray hard enough. Believe hard enough. Be deserving enough. Then maybe if you catch God on a good day he might throw a little grace your way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m guessing it didn\u2019t work out so well.\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma face softened for a moment, and that, more than anything else, told me how bad it really was.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat son of a bitch took your brother on a weekend retreat,\u201d she said. \u201cMost of the congregation went too, and you know what their sole purpose was?\u201d<\/p>\n
I did.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo pray the life back into your brother\u2019s legs,\u201d she said. \u201cThat\u2019s how they put it. And when Sunday night came and went, you know what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Momma nodded. \u201cThat damned God squad didn\u2019t hear so much as a busy signal from the Almighty. And whose fault do you think that was?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFranks,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cFranks. Because he didn\u2019t believe enough. Or maybe because God didn\u2019t believe enough in him. Either way, it was damn shitty draw.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe never said anything,\u201d I said. \u201cHe never called.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t call no one,\u201d Momma said. \u201cHe stayed in bed for a week after that retreat. He only ate because I brought food to his room.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe doesn\u2019t even answer the door when I knock,\u201d Tommy said. It was the first time he\u2019d spoken since Momma began her story, and I\u2019d almost forgotten he was sitting there.<\/p>\n
Momma graced Tommy with a gentle look. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t answer for anybody, sweetie. For a long time, I would just let myself in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo how is he now?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s come to terms with it,\u201d she said. \u201cIn his own way.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t know what that meant exactly, but I was sure Momma\u2019s response to the whole thing wasn\u2019t going to help. I nodded toward the wooden leg on the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think this makes things any better?\u201d I asked. \u201cWhat happens if the reverend calls the police on Tommy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can call whoever he likes,\u201d Momma said. The anger was quickly returning to her voice. \u201cWhat kind of one-legged hypocrite has the nerve to tell my son that God\u2019ll heal him if he believes it enough? Am I the only one who has questions about Reverend Wilson\u2019s faith? That man needed a lesson in humility, and I taught it to him.\u201d<\/p>\n
As my mother\u2019s temper flared, my own emotions responded in kind. As ever it was, as ever it so shall be.<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst off, you didn\u2019t teach anybody anything,\u201d I said. \u201cYou just turned trouble for one son into trouble for all of us. And secondly, there\u2019s no way Frank\u2019s going to be okay with this. No matter what he feels right now, he\u2019s going to eventually come to the realization that this wasn\u2019t right. And then what will you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma tensed at my words and then turned back toward the sink and continued cleaning the dishes.<\/p>\n
\u201cMomma?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cFrank doesn\u2019t feel anything anymore,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
The news hit me like a tangible thing. It felt like someone had punched me in the chest, and I was having trouble breathing. I slumped back into my chair as a secret voice in my brain whispered that Momma was a filthy fucking liar and this was just the sort of sick shit that she would make up.<\/p>\n
Tommy had no trouble believing it. \u201cMomma, what happened?\u201d He sounded every bit the lost child now.<\/p>\n
Momma drew in a long, ragged breath. \u201cThe poor boy took his life the night before last. He dragged himself to the bathroom, turned on the tab, and climbed in.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ever since he\u2019d ended up in the chair, Frank had never had the balance to keep his head above water. He was deathly afraid of baths. Until he wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet the Reverend Wilson explain that to the police,\u201d Momma said. \u201cThat\u2019s a conversation I\u2019m ready to have.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy lost it then. He began to sob uncontrollably. I wanted to reach out to him and lay a hand on his shoulder and tell him it\u2019d be okay. But it wouldn\u2019t. And I didn\u2019t have the strength in me anyway.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell us?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Momma didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is he?\u201d I asked. \u201cIs he still in there?\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma shook her head. \u201cI cleaned him up already. He\u2019s dressed and lying in bed. My perfect, sweet little angel. That\u2019s why he didn\u2019t answer when Tommy knocked.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t know how to respond to that.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought Frank\u2019d keep for a day while we taught the reverend a lesson,\u201d she said. \u201cAfter Tommy brought me the leg, I planned on calling the man. I want him to perform Frank\u2019s service. And I\u2019m burying Frank with the leg.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at Momma\u2019s back as she continued with the dishes. I felt like I was watching some strange, savage animal that I would never in my life come to understand. The best I could do was give her a wide berth and vow to never again draw attention to myself.<\/p>\n
Beside me, Tommy\u2019s sobs had subsided and I heard him sniffling as he regained control of himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can\u2019t do it, Momma,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cThe reverend won\u2019t be at Frank\u2019s funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll do whatever I tell him to, son,\u201d she said. \u201cHe and that flock of idiots he calls a congregation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s dead, Momma.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, God,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t give me the leg, Momma,\u201d Tommy said. He sounded panicked. \u201cSo I knocked him down and took it from him. Because I told you I\u2019d get it. And I did, didn\u2019t I, Momma?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Tommy,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe kept fighting me for the leg,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cEven when I told him I needed it. So I hit him with it. It was loud, Momma, and I was so scared, and I thought surely he\u2019d stop then, but he didn\u2019t. So I hit him again. I kept hitting him until he didn\u2019t fight back no more.\u201d<\/p>\n
Momma\u2019s shoulders slumped as she lowered her head, but she said nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen it was over, I could tell he wasn\u2019t breathing, so I carried him out to my car and put him in the trunk,\u201d Tommy said.<\/p>\n
Momma began to shake, and this time I did reach out and put a hand on my brother\u2019s shoulder. But I didn\u2019t tell him it would be okay.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do we do, Momma?\u201d Tommy asked. His voice was frantic and pleading.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe can\u2019t fix this, Tommy,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He ignored me. \u201cMomma?\u201d<\/p>\n
I let go of his shoulder, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
“She killed you both, Tommy.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My brother Tommy had always been twitchy. He was born wound tight, and growing up in our house hadn\u2019t done the kid any favors. But when Tommy stumbled into Momma\u2019s kitchen that day, pale faced and clutching the crumbled paper bag under one arm, the look in his eyes told me something was seriously wrong […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":10,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[216,379,405,642,936],"class_list":["post-8062","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-confabulation","tag-faith","tag-fiction-2","tag-love","tag-revenge"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8062","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/10"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8062"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8062\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8062"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8062"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8062"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}