I'm a sucker for a roadtrip, even if the road I'm travelling on is the barren wasteland of the Arizona desert. Sorry but my ideas about the desert originate from every cowboy movie I've ever seen: lone cowboy stumbling across the dusty desert, lips blistered, skin burned from the rays of a harsh and unrelenting Arizona sun; throat parched from thirst as he calls out in a raspy whisper, "Water. Water." When Kenny asked me if I wanted to drive with him to Mexico to pick up his car, I said "Oh sure" 'cause I didn't want him to go by himself. But inside I was thinking "Oh dear Lord we're driving through the unforgiving desert, over the border into foreign territory."
Anyway, so there we were driving along Arizona's Highway 19 on our way to Mexico to pick up his precious PT Cruiser; he loved that car because it was spacious but most importantly, it had a butt warmer in the seat. Pretty cool. It had been stolen while he was at a doctor's appointment in Green Valley about two weeks before. The car thieves had driven it over the border to Sonora. Well, the bad guys were caught, the vehicle was recovered and my bro was determined to cross the border and bring it home. The highway stretched along the desert and allowed me to rest my feet, which were usually pushing through the floor. Kenny was a chronic tailgater - he was aware of it because as his older sister it was my job to nag him about it, which he ignored. Typical. So usually one hand clutched the door handle, with my feet using the floor like a break in an attempt to slow him down. I was grateful this time for the stretch of freeway because we didn't come across too many cars so there wasn't anyone around for him to tailgate, and I was able to relax and enjoy the scenery. But still, his driving unnerved me and he knew it, which was why he'd kept asking, "Problem?"
It was a long drive and I was feeling really nervous about crossing the border. He'd never admit it but I could tell he was hurting, and that day wasn't one of his better ones. What if after we crossed the border he were to pass out or something; who would I get to help us? I pushed the fear away and focused on the scenery instead. The desert could on occasion be quite picturesque. I'd visited Arizona before in August when it just looked like long stretches of brown, dirt and dried up cactus. This time there was a bit of color, like somebody had stuffed a knapsack with brown, red, green and yellow crayolas and then blew it up; the result was a bit of color here, with a touch of something over there, mile after mile of some dirt of course(we were in the desert after all), with an exotic looking plant scattered throughout. I could focus on the scenery because as long as I did I wouldn't have to notice how much thinner Kenny was from my last visit, or the way he held one hand pressed up against the lower part of his stomach. He was always in pain, but never complained.
We drove in silence for a stretch with only the hum of the engine as music. Kenny had turned off the radio because I kept breaking his rule about no singing in the car. Humph. And then he asked me, "Will you remember me by lighting a candle on my birthday?" I think my throat literally closed up; those damn tears that were always close by threatened. I hated any topic that had to do with him not being around. How could I possibly exist in a world without my brother? Holding back the tears when I was around him had become more difficult, but I knew crying would have made him uncomfortable, and I didn't want to do anything to contribute to that. I answered, "Of course Kenny. I promise." He didn't say anything after that. Just silence. I looked out the window and wept inside. We knew then something terrible was closing in on us and there was nothing we could do about it.
When we got to Nogales still on Arizona's side of the border, we stopped at a McDonald's so Kenny could call the insurance adjuster. I ordered us some fries and burgers that I knew I wouldn't have the stomach to eat. Pretending everything was normal had become the norm over the 4+ years since Kenny was diagnosed with cancer. When he finished his call he said, "Well the adjuster said for us to just go back home." He stuffed a fry into his mouth and I was glad to see him eat because his oldest daughter Cynthia, had told me he hadn't been eating well. Apparently the adjuster was aware of Kenny's illness and assured him that they would retrieve his car and that he was not to worry about it. Another thank you prayer.
So here I sit today Kenny, in a world without you. This new place is sometimes dusty, dry and barren like the Arizona desert during deep summer, but color and splendor come into my life when I think of you and smile. Like the time when you and Jimmy were boys playing cops and robbers in the back field and Jimmy handcuffed you to an electric fence. Thank God it wasn't turned on. Somebody called the police and immediately they contacted the owner of the property so he wouldn't turn on the juice. Then someone called mom at work to tell her that her ten-year old son was handcuffed to an electric fence, and no one could find the key. "He what!?" Mom was so upset when she got home, she didn't know whether to hug you or spank you. I think she opted for both?
I remember standing outside Mr. Corrigan's history class with my face smooched against the window, making silly distorted faces. Man, when your class mate tapped you on the shoulder and said, "Isn't that your sister?" You should have seen your face. Priceless. Major embarrassment for you dude, but isn't that what big sister's do? I can only imagine what you would say to that. "Uh, no."
This flashback fits into an R-rating but it happened. I remember when our dog Samantha was smitten with Kartoo, the neighbor's doverman, and they'd gotten carried away with it one day and ended up compromised so to speak. With all the hoopla we made over the situation, we scared the dogs and Kartoo flipped his leg over which then had them connected rump to rump. Terrified, they tried to run off, which was somewhat complicated by their joining. They were kind of alien-like to our young and really, really naive eyes. Of course at the time we didn't know what that was all about. But what we did know was that we had a situation, and it needed fixin'. So we decided to boil a big pot of water on the stove and with the joint efforts of me, Kenny - Lisa was upstairs - and Jimmy (my niece Debbie, 5-years old at the time, had been sent upstairs by mom as punishment for talking naughty. She'd run into the house screaming that Kartoo had his foot stuck in Samantha's boodie. Some 35 years later she now knows it wasn't actually his foot), we carried the pot outside with hot water sloshing all over the floor - mom heard the ruckus and yelled from the living room - "What're you kids up to?" We yelled back as we huffed and puffed while making our way out the back door to the deck, "Samantha's stuck to Kartoo and we gotta get 'em apart!" A pause. "WHAT?! Noooo!" Mom caught up to us just as we were about to fling the pot at the two oversexed pooches. Boy mom could move fast when she set her mind to it. Whose brainy idea was that anyway? Probably mine.
Family and friends share such an integral part of each other's lives; all the moments good and bad, all the memories, the laughter, all pieces of that fabric in time that we often take for granted, like it'll be ours forever. Learning the reality of that lesson is sometimes excruciating and a day will come when those memories become priceless simply because there won't be any new ones, and we'll do everything, bordering desperation, to keep the ones we have from fading. I'm at such a time and place in my life right now, and writing down memories and thoughts of Kenny and Mom is my way of holding on just that much longer.
I lit a candle for you on your birthday Kenny, just like I promised. And I'll light a candle on every birthday until I run out of days.
I will always remember you. Love, Big sis.
No comments:
Post a Comment