White Man's Problems (7 page)

“So, me and Mingey, we smoked and smoked and smoked on this one day until we were stupid, right? We were fuck upped as a nigger's checkbook.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “So we decide to walk to the Dairy Queen and get ice cream cones. Back then there was nothing to do except get stoned and go to the Dairy Queen.”

Nods all around. “Hey, it's still what I do,” said Peter. Margie laughed, which made her start to cough, for which she slapped Peter in the arm.

“So, me and Mingey are getting ice cream cones, and there's this black girl there in line with us. She orders a strawberry sundae—I'll never forget it—a strawberry sundae. And Mingey—the dumbass—goes, ‘I like berries,' or something like that. The black girl looks him up and down and goes, ‘Fuck you. Ain't nobody
aks
you what you like.'”

There were smiles all around the table. They loved it. John and Kenny both looked at Maria, who was no fan of Carmen D'Ignazio. She was smiling, going with the flow for this one.

“Now, I'm ignoring it,” Carmen said. “I start walking back to the road or whatever. Then out of the corner of my ear, I hear Mingey mumble something to her. So I just keep on walking and say, ‘Let's go, Minge.' I'm just heading to the parking lot…da da da, you know, all stoned and happy…Next fucking thing you know, four big niggers get out of a Cutlass and start heading at Mingey. Big bucks, big, gigantic niggers with Afros.” Carmen put his hands six inches from each side of his side of his head to indicate the size.

Eyebrows raised, mouths opened up, and everyone grinned. John checked Maria again.

“So Mingey backs up. They had those solid stone picnic tables, remember?

“Solid stone, yup,” said Peter.

“Right? You remember, Pete? So we back up behind them tables, and I'm looking for anything, like a broken beer bottle, piece of glass, anything. And I'm thinking, ‘Oh God, this is it. I'm gonna die here today at the fucking Dairy Queen!'” He took a drag on his cigarette. “One of the niggers comes up to Mingey and says, ‘What did you say to my sister?' and he pushes Mingey in the chest. Then he goes, ‘With all that mouth, you must like to get your ass kicked.'” Carmen looked around, savoring the moment. “But then he stops like he's just going to scare Mingey and not do anything else. So, we're standing there—and remember, we're all fucked up, and to top it off, Mingey is
crazy
, right?” Carmen was laughing to himself now. “So, Mingey stares right at him and goes…‘Fuck you.'”

The table erupted. Beer bottles and shot glasses were slammed down. The drunkest ones laughed loudest, but even the most sober grinned hard.

“So, now they're mad. I don't know whether to run or what…and then—I swear on my mother's life—there's this huge screech in the parking lot. Right out of a movie. And this navy-blue Grand Torino comes flying up. The door opens, and we all look over—even the niggers—and…it's like time stopped. Here comes Mike. I don't know how or where he came from—even to this day—but he just comes flying out of the car. He's got an army jacket on and that wild long hair and beard. And he's got a two-foot Stillson pipe wrench in his hand, and it's, like, gold—he had a gold Stillson pipe wrench. Who knows where the hell he ever got that? Never seen one before or since. He points it at the big nigger in the front, and he goes, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up, back up!' And the nigger just freezes. I couldn't believe it. He just stands there looking at Mike.”

“Mike let his hair grow when he got back from the service—remember that?” said Annemarie.

“Now, of course,” Carmen said, “Mike could talk to niggers. He wasn't afraid of them. And they were kinda scared of
him
, actually. Because he didn't act scared around them.”

“Well, he
knew
them,” said Peter. “He used to drink down in those bars in Chester. He'd stay down there all day and night. He
lived
with them, for Christ's sake.”

John took a cigarette from Donny. Carmen let the crowd settle down.

“So, the main nigger goes, ‘What you want, you Billy Jack mothafucka?' And Mike breaks into this crazy smile and says, ‘Ok. You want to get it on? Huh? Where you live, anyway? Where you stay? Twenty-First Street? Chester Park? I probably know your brother. I know all you little punk niggers. You want to fight me? I've been to Vietnam, you black motherfucker. I'll kick your ass.' And they stand there for a while looking tough, and Mike just stares at them…
stares at 'em
. I was so fucking scared.” Carmen went for the full effect. “Finally, after like three minutes, Mike says to me and Mingey, ‘Get in the car.'”

The group was in suspense, waiting. Carmen stood, in full command.

“And then Mike says, ‘Mingey, gimme the five in my glove box. I want to get a Dilly Bar.'”

Shrieks of laughter. But Carmen held his arms out.

“Wait, wait…” Carmen said. “Then Mike goes to me and Mingey. ‘What do you guys want?'”

Somebody whooped. “
No
!” said Annemarie, above the rest.

Carmen was yelling to be heard. His face was so red it was turning purple. “And then Mike looks at the big black guy and goes, ‘How about you? You want something?'”

Margie's eyes sprouted tears. Donny fell halfway out of his chair. John, who had been trying to resist, felt the laughter thunder out of him like air from a tire. His ears rang.

“And the guy goes, ‘Nah, man.'” Carmen was crying and laughing and yelling. “And Mike says, ‘C'mon, get something.'”

“So the black guy thinks about it, and then he says, ‘Let me get a chocolate cone.'” Carmen gasped for air between words. “And…Mike…says, ‘Like, chocolate
ice cream
…or the chocolate
shell
? Which one?'”

Peter fell into Donny's lap. Carmen was bent over, veins popped out of his neck and forehead standing in front of the table. The words sputtered out.

“And…the…guy…goes, ‘Chocolate
ice cream
, man…You're crazy, you know that?' And then he laughed at Mike and shook his head. And that was it.”

The group at the table stomped and clapped. As they recovered, they reached for cigarettes and grabbed beers. After a minute, Peter shook his head and backhanded tears from his eyes. “That was Mike.”

8.

J
ohn and Maria walked to the driveway and lit up Marlboro Lights bummed from Donny.

“Look at this place,” said John.

“Never changes,” said Maria.

“Thanks for coming. I know it's tough.”

“Oh please. Knock it off. What? Because I might hear Carmen or some other guy say ‘nigger'? I grew up with these guys, too.”

“Where's Kenny?”

“He's talking to Donny and all Mike's friends. He sees those guys all the time. He had Carmen and Peter do our bathroom.”

They were sitting on the bumper of a pickup truck. “Can you believe they still smoke like that?” said John. “He died of lung cancer.
Lung cancer
.”

“We're smoking.”

“True.” He looked at Maria. He could tell she had something on her mind. “What?” he said. “What is it?”

“Judge not least thee be judged, John.”

“C'mon.”

“No, seriously. Sure, I sit there and think, ‘Carmen D'Ignazio, ugh. “Nigger” this, “nigger” that. Since third grade—always been like that. These guys are pigs. Nothing around here will ever change.' But then I think, ‘Who am I kidding?' I don't know. Who's so different? I don't get on a fucking elevator in a parking lot if I have to ride alone with a black guy. Where's that leave
me
?”

“Yeah, but that's different.”

“Oh yeah? How? How is that different?”

“Do I really have to explain the difference between you and Carmen?”

“No. I'm talking about the difference between
you
and Carmen,” said Maria. “And
you
and Mike. And
you
and everybody.”

The became silent. After a while he said, “You know what I say? I say, ‘Here's to Mike.'”

“Ok. Here's to Mike,” she said. They clinked her plastic wine cup against his Budweiser.

“I'm glad he gave up. I'm glad it's over. He was miserable.”

“Don't say that.”

“C'mon. We've been talking about this all our lives. The entire circus with the candles and the martyrs and the prophets. All that crap. And then I have to listen the priest say Mike was a ‘fighter for the Lord, an archangel to protect us all from Satan.' What horseshit.”

“He's a priest, jackass. Of course that's what he said.”

“Oh really?” Something went off in John. “No, Maria.” His voice cracked. “Don't you tell me that. Mike did not win any battle against evil. He was my big brother. When he was a kid, girls loved him, and boys wanted to
be
him. Old men got up on Saturday morning and went out in the snow to see him play basketball in gyms with no bathrooms. When people saw him play, they thought he would be the president. And you know what happened? He got drafted. And then our mom died. No matter how many novenas she said or we said, she died. And my brother went downhill from then on. He was part of a grim fucking mathematical fucking universe.”

“Ok, calm down,” she said.

“He came back, and we were scared of him.” He started to cry. “He smoked pot and took reds and whites and went to bars and came home and slept in his army jacket. He ended up in a trailer park in Florida, Maria. That's what happened. He would call me collect for money for the doctor for his baby. He got in a fight in a bar in Jersey and broke a guy's jaw so bad they sued him. And then he gets cancer like my mother, and where is he now? He is dead. Just like we will all be. Dead. He didn't protect us from anything. He is not a good story. He's a sad fucking story. I don't care about Vietnam; it's not about that. It was good, it was bad, who knows…that's for other people to decide. I don't care. I don't give a fuck. I just know he came back and Mom was dead and he was all fucked up. He had two kids who he couldn't pay child support for and aren't even here today to say good-bye.” He was yelling at her. “‘
He's a priest.
' Don't tell me that.”

“Ok,” she said, “ok.”

“Look at this bullshit,” he said. He pulled the piece of notebook paper with nine names from his wallet. “He was saying novenas just like my mother. Pathetic.”

Maria looked at it. “Aw,” she said. “It's all his girls.”

9.

M
ary Meehan poked her head out the door and found them. “You guys come talk to me,” she said. “Maria, I haven't seen you in forever. Get a drink and come sit down.”

They found a place on the sofa and set their drinks on the coffee table atop coasters with the Donegan coat of arms, something Annemarie had brought back from her honeymoon to Ireland.

John picked up one of the mass cards for Mike that were sitting on the coffee table. He felt drained. “Mike would have liked the laser beams. Did he design this with you?” He looked at Maria. “Mike and Mary hung out a lot the last few years, especially after he got sick.”

“It's true,” said Mary. “He even started coming to Mass with me a couple years ago. He didn't want anybody to know, really.”

“I guess that's pretty common,” said Maria. “I mean, when you get sick.”

“What, when you know you're going to die soon?” John said. Immediately he felt bad. He was getting too drunk. He tried to lighten up. “Maybe. But when I was little, they could never get him to go to church. He said he couldn't take it.”

“How's your mother, Mrs. Meehan?” said Maria.

“She's fine, hon,” said Mary, but she wouldn't be blown off track. She pointed at John. “You know, Jackie, I want you to know something. Michael changed in the end. I don't know how much any of you kids saw it or how much he'd let you see.”

“Well, I tried to talk to him a couple times a week,” said John. “But he went spacey on me. I assumed it was the meds, you know, and the chemo. That's what I told myself, at least.”

Mary sensed John's guilt and looked into his eyes. “Oh, honey, your brother loved you so much. He was so proud of you.” She touched his knee.

“What did you guys talk about toward the end?” John said. “How was he, really?”

“Well, don't take this the wrong way, but we talked about going slow.” Then she looked at Maria. “The thing is, Rosemary, your mother, Jackie, God rest her soul—you know she was my friend—anyway, she was always so active. ‘Say a Hail Mary' or ‘light a candle for this one and for that one' or ‘for the earthquake in Timbuktu' or whatever. Saying the Rosary and the novenas. Now, you have to understand, I got over that a long time ago. I haven't said the goddamn Rosary in twenty-five years.” She took a sip of wine and thought for a moment. “I just try to let things go. And I think Mike liked that—you know what I mean? I think he related to it.”

“Sure,” said John.

“But that brings me to the interesting part. I want you to hear this story,” said Mary. “It started when the pope died. You know, the one who passed away, Pope John Paul II, the famous one, the one that Arab tried to kill.” Maria smiled. “Well, we were watching the funeral right here on this couch; Michael had stopped by—he was already sick—and he sat with me.”

“You're kidding,” said John. “Mike watched that?”

“So did I,” said Maria. “I watched it with my mom.”

“Michael sat right here with me,” Mary continued, “and the cardinal was giving the eulogy. It was a huge ceremony—so many colors. It was lovely.”