Bookends

Bookends

My eldest brother, who I affectionately refer to as my bookend, for as long as I could remember, had long hippy dark hair and a thick bushy beard to match. The smiley squint of his warm eyes and the redness of his round nose figured prominently among the mop. Our noses could have been twins except mine has a pronounced upward turn at the tip which gives me a cartoonish side profile. My Mother, as well as the Sisters who taught me at Pre-K those two years were always after me to stop swiping my nose upwards whenever I’d get the sniffles or had a cold. Sister Sophie would scold me, “If you continue to swipe your nose like that, you’re going to drown in a rainstorm, child!” I haven’t drowned yet, but I do hate my nose. I should have listened.

Bookend Brother had a lovely girl to compliment his husky face. A sinewy figure with straight as a board brown hair, chocolaty eyes, and a brazen laugh. When they wed, I was their flower girl. The family photos are a hoot. I stuck out like a sore thumb in front with the rest of my family towering over me in my furry snow-white headband and a too-long dress. Together, they were responsible for my becoming an aunt at the tender age of eight. First Niece was a beautiful bouncing baby girl, and bald as a q-ball. She was a welcome delight. And better yet, I was no longer the youngest so yay me! Her favorite past time as a wee one was to be puttered around the house in a laundry basket while holding on to the sides, white-knuckled. Heaven forbid you stop. She’d wail for more.

Rockstar Brother had the band wagon, Brother Bear had the shaggin’ wagon, Brother ‘n’ Law had the Mini Minor, and Bookend Brother had a souped up jeep. Many a time I drove around in it with him, top down, hair blowing wildly in the wind, and rock ‘n’ roll noise pollution emanating. I at that point I thought I was lucky when the one of the neighboring boys would throw me on the back of his dirt bike and whiz along the dirt road of Jimmy’s Lane. But, when Bookend Brother came riding up with his jeep, the world became a much cooler place. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of freedom that soared through me when we’d speed up and down the Hills in Cow Bay, strapped in tight as can be, hair lifting me up and trying to pull me out as we wound and tipped the whole way.

I fell in love with music videos in the early eighties. Bookend Brother, First Sister ‘n’ Law, my Mother, and Way Cooler Big Sister, used to convene in the living room with snacks us young punks and libations for the elders and hunker down for Fright Night Videos. I would thrown myself on the carpet with the family dog, only blinking, only breathing during commercials. I knew every single frame of my favorites, Blue Peter’s ‘Don’t Walk on Past’, UB40’s ‘Red Red Wine’, Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’, and cringe through the insect infested Yes video ‘Owner of a Lonely Heart’. Bookend Brother would heckle and hoot, getting a kick out of the sheer disgust of me, my Mother, and First Sister ‘n’ Law. It was like four-minute horror flick! Band members manically turning into birds, snakes, lizards, with scenes of scorpions and centipedes. I always tried to pay more attention to my snack than the television whenever it came on, but I was thwarted to look, it was impossible not to even though I one hundred percent did not want to. We’d all be cringing, squirming, full on grossing out and Bookend Brother would just cackle. Sister ‘n’ Law, with her intense fear of snakes, would usually leave them room. I lived for those Friday nights. They were the best.

Bookend Brother, at some point after the birth of First Niece was born, shaved his face. It was a shock. He basically went from resembling one of the members of any 70s rock outfit to one of the baby Beatles. It’s like the world fell on its like the world fell on its arse. I mean, it was him, but it wasn’t. It took a lot of getting used to. Now though, when I think back, I find it hard to picture him with a face full of fur.

I spent a lot of time in the house Bookend Brother built on Caldwell Road. Since I was eight years older than First Niece, I was tagged for babysitting. I didn’t mind because I loved their house full of the coolest things, including but not limited to the giant nature-themed mural in the living room a basement full of records, tapes and a full-size bar. Sister ‘n’ Law would pick me up at the crack of dawn. First Niece was never an early riser so when they both left for work, I’d drift into their waterbed and wade back to sleep. It was there in that wavy bed I saw my first glimpse of … ahem … porn. Bookend Brother had mounting collection of girlie magazines on the bed’s shelf. It didn’t occur to me to look at them. And then First Niece, the nosey parker she was, climbed into the ark and ripped one open. I confess, I was a little taken aback. I snapped it from her little hands instinctively, like I knew it was something we weren’t supposed be looking at considering I saw bare boobs. It reminded me of a time when Way Cooler Big Sister showed me something, I KNOW I wasn’t supposed to look at. In fact, I may still suffer a bit of PSTD from it to this day. Excuse the side bar but if I don’t tell this story now, it’ll leave my head – I almost wish it would. If you want to skip over it, I won’t be the least bit offended. In fact, I encourage you to.  Way Cooler Big Sister and I were at Biggest Little Sister and Brother ‘n’ Law’s trailer babysitting. First Nephew was tucked in good and tight. We settled in to watch a movie on Brother ‘n’ Law’s fancy new VCR with the multi-colored buttons on its front, a top loader. Way Cooler Big Sister, knowing full well what our dirty-minded Brother ‘n’ Law had been watching before we got there, it the play button instead of putting out very family friendly movie on. The screen zapped on and all I saw was a … this would be the time to skip the rest … a talking vagina.  It sounded like Linda Blair’s voice in ‘The Exorcist’ but it was fake flapping, spewing a bunch of gibberish about the Devil! I was traumatized. Way Cooler Big Sister laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. Crying, I tried to wrestle the remote from her to turn it off. Needles to say when I discovered a stack of seventies/eighties porn movie boxes behind Bookend Brother’s bar, I wasn’t as queasy. I’d take a Burt Reynolds bush over a talking one any day.

The first rule of Babysitter’s Club at Bookend Brother’s house was do not, under any circumstances, let First Niece touch his records. And, I didn’t. I touched them for her. When she wasn’t running around outside with her friends, we’d listen to the ‘Grease’ soundtrack and throw darts. That was another rule. Do not, under any circumstances, let First Niece throw darts. Ah well, what they didn’t know then wouldn’t hurt them. First Niece almost took out a light above the board once. It was a close call. But it didn’t break. They were none the wiser. The rest of the time, I’d laze on their sectional, listen to countless records he had recently transferred over to cassette tapes and daydreamed. It was an easy gig. One I enjoyed. It was a privilege to be trusted to defend their castle and protect their young even though he would sometimes, when he’d had a little too much to drink take to mooning me and whomever else might be present. It’s like the beard was back! One trait this end of the book did not inherit.

***

My loveliest Bookend Brother, one of my dearest friends. Now that we are all grown up, there is nothing I enjoy more than I glass of red and a long conversation with him.

I think a bit more, in time, will be added here as well.

Love you all the way to the other end!

In propinquity,

Nic