I say nothing as the train pulls into Grand Street, the last subway stop in Manhattan. The instant the doors open, dozens of hunched Chinese men and women fill the carriage laden with pink plastic bags that reek of fresh fish. To Chinatown for groceries, then back to Brooklyn on the subway.
-What are you talking about? - I ask.
"When I showed Shep the Red Sheet…I pointed to another bench. I did it on purpose, Ollie. He walks over and adds. I gave him a randomly chosen place in Antigua where we have nothing. Not a cent. Naturally, and this is really the best part, you were so busy yelling that Shep believed every last word. It takes me a minute to process the information. Don't eat the coconut, Oliver. I won't let anyone take our money.
With a strong jerk he tries to open the service door that connects the two carriages. It's locked. Annoyed, he brushes past me and starts walking in exactly the direction we came from. Before he can say anything, the train starts to move... and my brother is lost in the crowd.
"Charlie!" I yell, running after him. You are a genious!
"I still don't understand when you planned it," I say as we walk down the battered sidewalks of the Avenue in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn.
"I didn't," Charlie admits. It occurred to me while he was folding the Red Sheet.
"Are you kidding me?" I ask, starting to laugh. Damn, man... he'll never know what happened!
I wait for him to laugh too, but that doesn't happen. Just silence.
-Than? -I ask-. Can't I be happy because the money is safe? I'm just relieved that you...
"Oliver, have you heard what you're saying?" You spend all day whining and saying we have to take it easy, but the minute I tell you I cheated on Shep, you start acting like the guy who got the last couple of tickets to get on the Zeppelin.
As we head up the street, I gaze at the storefronts of mom-and-pop stores that dot the U Avenue landscape: pizzerias, tobacconists, shoe outlets, a barbershop in sharp decline. Except for the pizzeria, all the places are closed. When we were little, that meant the owners turned off the lights and locked the doors. Today it means pulling down a reinforced steel shutter that looks like a metal garage door. There is no doubt, trust is not what it used to be.
"Come on, Charlie, I know you love picking up lost puppies, but you hardly know that guy...
-It does not matter! Charlie interrupts me. But we have deceived him, we have stuck a knife in his back! When we're near the corner, he reaches out and lets his fingertips slide down the metal shutter that protects the bookstore that sells secondhand books. Dammit! Charlie yells, hitting the metal with all his might. He entrusted us with the…" He grits his teeth and stops. That's exactly what I hate about money...
It turns quickly onto Bedford Avenue, and the garage doors reveal a sparsely appointed six-story apartment building built in the 1950s.
"I'm seeing some very handsome men!" a woman yells from the fourth floor. I don't even have to look up to know who it is.
"Thank you, mom," she murmured under her breath. The usual routine, I tell myself as I walk Charlie down the hall. Monday night is Family Night. Even when you don't want it to be.
By the time the elevator reaches the fourth floor and we head to Mom's apartment, Charlie no longer speaks to me. That's how he always gets when he's upset: closed off and disconnected. The same way that dad used to solve problems. Naturally, with anyone else I could read it in his face, but Mom...
—Who wants some delicious baked macaroni? he yells, opening the door before we even ring the bell. As always, a wide smile lights up his face and he has his arms outstretched for a hug.
-Macaroni? Charlie croons as he walks into the apartment and hugs her. Are we talking original or extra crunchy?
Although the joke is very bad, Mom laughs hysterically...and she hugs Charlie tight.
-When we eat? Charlie asks, pulling her away from her and taking the sauce-covered wooden spoon out of her hand.
"Charlie, don't...
Too late. She brings the spoon to her mouth to taste the sauce.
-You are happy? Mom says, laughing and turning to look at him. Now you have filled the spoon with germs.
Charlie holds the spoon like it's a lollipop and runs it over her tongue that hangs out of her mouth.
"Aaaaaaaaa," she moans, her tongue lolling out. I've caught the germs!
"You have germs, too," Mom says, still laughing and looking directly into her eyes.
"Hi, Mom," I say, still waiting in the doorway.
She turns quickly without the wide smile fading from her lips.
"Ahhhh, my big guy," she says, hugging me. You know I love seeing you in a suit. so professional...
"And what about my suit?" Charlie protests, pointing to her blue coat and wrinkled khakis.
"Pretty guys like you don't need to wear suits," she says in her best Mary Poppins tone.
"Does that mean I'm not handsome?" -I ask.
"Or do you mean I don't look good in a suit?" Charlie adds.
Even my mother knows when a joke has gone too far.
"All right, Frick and Frack, everyone in.
We follow my mother through the living room, and as I pass Charlie's framed painting of the Brooklyn Bridge, I take a deep breath and fill myself with all the scent of my youth. Erasers... colored pencils... homemade ketchup. Charlie has the Play-Doh; I have the Monday dinners. It's true, some details change, but the important things— grandma's crockery, the coffee table with the glass I smashed my head in when I was six years old— the important things are always the same. Including my mother.
Weighing over 180 pounds, my mother has never been a small woman…or an insecure one. When her hair turned gray, she didn't dye it; when she started to droop, she cut it off. After my father left home, the nonsense about appearance didn't matter anymore: only Charlie and me mattered. So even with the hospital bills, the credit cards, and the bankruptcy my dad left us in... even after he lost his job at a thrift store, and all the sewing jobs what she had done since then... she always had more than enough love to carry on. The least we can do is return it to you.