Part 6 - Growing up with Gary - The boy without a Shadow

Part 6 - Growing up with Gary - The Boy Without a Shadow


   As far as siblings go, Gary and I couldn't have been more different.  If you could take an abbreviated look into who we both were growing up, you would see Gary upstairs in his clean, orderly room, sitting at his desk quietly doing his homework, listening to the Carpenters at low volume on his stereo.

" Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near...."

And I would be in the basement with my scuzzy friends, drinking liquor we pilfered from our parents' locked cabinet, smoking weed and listening to Frank Zappa as loud as it could go.

"  Steamroller, talking 'bout your hemorrhoids, baby...." 

 But what you wouldn't see unless you looked harder was the same circumstance hours later, when my friends had left, the basement a mess, me on the bathroom floor vomiting and Gary standing over me, placing a cold, wet towel around my neck and asking me if I was O.K.  Somehow, he had managed to clean up the basement and me, as well, and I found myself safely in my room, the chores I ignored done before our parents came home from work.
   Even as a kid, Gary was my caretaker and I always knew, no matter what I had gotten myself into, I was safe.
   Someone had asked me once, years ago, what it was like to grow up in Gary's shadow.  I had to stop and think about the absurdness of this question.  You see, regardless of my brother's ambition and goodness, and in spite of my lack of those attributes, there was no shadow.  If anything, the only thing that Gary would cast when you stood beside him was an illumination, a light I am still trying to define to this day.
   To me, Gary was a boy without a shadow, a young man who had no darkness within or around him.  There is something to be said about sharing a childhood with someone as solid, unconditional and protecting as my brother.  I never had to question his words, never had to doubt his intentions.  I knew from as far back as I could remember I had King's X - immunity from all things harmful and scary - simply because Gary was my big brother.
    In referring back to my history and sharing my stories of Gary with people I've known, not one of them was able to remotely compare anyone in their lives to my brother.  What I heard from them over and over was how much better/easier/softer this world would have been for them, how much promise their futures would have held had they had a living, breathing guardian angel like I did.  I am reminded many times over how lucky I was, how blessed we all were to have had him.  I know, absolutely, having been so close to the edge many, many times, that I never went over it because of the lifeline that had been my brother.

   Regardless, we were still siblings.  We antagonized each other and we fought, yet still, Gary being Gary, even those incidents are fraught with sentiment and kindnesses. 

   I recall one time when Gary really "got" me.  I was in eighth grade and was going to my first rock concert that night - Grand Funk Railroad at Madison Square Garden in N.Y.C.
   I am coming home from school, walking down our driveway towards the back porch. It's winter and there is a glass storm door in lieu of a screen.  Gary is standing on the inside, and as I reach to open the storm door, he points to the latch to show me it's locked.  He is smiling and, as usual, his eyelids are turned inside out.
   " Are you high again?"  he asks.
   " Come on, open the door.  It's cold out here and I have to get ready."  I tell him.
   " Not until you answer me.  Are you high? "  he asks.
   " What difference does it make.  Let me in."  I answer.
   " I think you're high and you can't come in until you're not. "
   " Come on douche bag, " I yell. " I'm not high. Let me the fuck in! "
   " Prove it." he says still smiling.

   I know he is only messing with me and all I probably have to do is say 'please' and show him some civility. I don't know why, but I get mad and start to bang on the storm door and curse him out.
   He picks up the phone and tells me he's going to tell Mom i f I don't knock it off.  I hit the storm door one last time and it breaks - shatters all over the porch and the kitchen entry.  By then, Gary has reached mom and I hear him tell her,  " Edye's on drugs again and she's crazy.  Broke the storm door and everything. Just started pounding on it for no reason and broke it.  What should I do? "  There's a pause on his end and then I hear him say, " No, I'm O.K. Just a little scared. " He is smiling still and very amused.
   " Fucking liar! " I yell at him.   There's another pause as he listens to our mother.
   " I know, Mom, it is disgraceful, " he says.  "  It's got to be drugs.  I'd hate to think it's something like a mental illness. "  At this point, he has pulled his shirt up revealing his newly sprouted wooliness and is making faces at me.
   Through the broken door, Gary tells me that Mom said I can't go to the concert tonight, that I have to clean up the mess and then I'm to stay in my room and think about what I've done.  His eyelids are still inside out and he is still smiling.
   I think for a moment and then turn away from the house and start to walk away.  I walk back down the driveway, passed the front of our house and start up the street.  Gary comes out the front door and calls out after me.  " Hey," he said,  " You O,K,? "
     I stop to answer him.  " Yeah. "
   " You're not going to listen to Mom, are you? " he asks me.
    " No, I'm going, " I answer.
   " You need anything?  You hungry?  You need to come inside? "   he asks me. 
   "  Nah, "  I say, " but thanks anyway. "
   "  Be careful, " he tells me, starting to walk back to the house.
    And, as I started walking up the street and away, just before I hear the front door close shut, he shouts out "   Love you, "

   There were more times than I can count where Gary seemed to appear out of nowhere to rescue me.  In my first year of high school, I recall fighting at the school circle and getting my ass kicked by my long time nemesis Cindy Yancho.  The last thing I remembered was getting punched in the face, seeing stars and going down.  The next moment, I am in the back of Gary's car, a huge green Oldsmobile Delta 88, and he is taking me home, telling me everything's going to be O.K.
   Most of my childhood seemed to be much like that.  Gary was the great diffuser, the master mediator, the voice of reason.  He negotiated, he advocated and he was unwavering.  No matter what, why or where, he was always there, rooting for me, pointing the way, making my safety and well being a priority.
   I didn't realize at the time when we were young how much of an individual Gary was, how he was so unlike anyone I'd ever known, how fearless and directed he was.  Everything he did was motivated by love, by kindness, by doing what was right and remaining loyal, regardless of the cost.
   He was neat, orderly, regimented.  He got his haircut every 3 weeks at the barber of his choosing.  His clothes were hung by color and order in which they were to be worn, by season. His closet was filled with neat, pressed Levis Hopsack pants and light colored short sleeve plaid shirts, his shoes all polished with clean laces in a perfect row on the floor. His room was always spotless and organized.  He knew what he wanted and worked to get it, down to the black and white naked lady wallpaper he had put up in his room.
   He had many jobs from as far back as he was able to work.  He had paper routes - both morning and after school ones, he worked for the shoemaker, Joe, up the street, and when he got a little older, worked for a grateful and doting couple who adored him at their pizzeria Scalia's.  He bought his own bicycles, his own supplies, his own everything.  He bought his first new car, a blue AMC Matador, with cash.
   He used his  bar mitzvah money to invest in the stock market.  Remembering that this was the 1960's, I am still amazed that Gary had the insight to put his money into IBM, AT&T and other companies that were new and promising.  At 14 years old, Gary was getting dividend checks in the mail in numbers that were staggering to me.  He saved, he scrutinized every transaction, he looked for bargains, he used coupons.  His favorite store was a place he called  'Dent-a-Can' on Lawton Avenue, and from that point on, most of the packaged goods that were in our house were a little crumbled and worse for the wear, but as Gary brought to our attention whenever we complained, they were cheap and they were good.
   Gary was also incorruptible, never drank, never did drugs or smoke anything, always had full control of every situation.  There was a look he always gave me whenever I did anything he didn't approve of:  a perfect frown, looking much like an upside down smile, and with it was a twinkle in his eyes that spoke of sadness and care.  That look followed through to our adulthood, up until the last time I saw my brother alive.
   To this day, there are times I know I am going off my path and I still see, as clear as it was way back when, Gary's face and that funny frown of his, and I know.  I know I need to change my plan, I know he is still with me, and I know Gary's love and influence will go on forever.