The last time I saw Wes
Again, the year isn't clear - maybe 2004? Late fall, I'm pretty sure. We'd been talking a little on the phone, here and there. Sometimes they were good talks, sometimes not. With Wes, if you got past the 15 minute mark, everything seemed suddenly to open up and suddenly you'd be on the phone for hours.
The last time I saw him, had been an unannounced visit a litte after noon to his condo in Pleasanton. He hadn't returned any calls, which wasn't unusual and indeed was the usual pattern, when I compared notes with Marina and Mom. He came to the door, looking out warily from a crack and saying, in his usual way, "What the Hell are you doing here?" I told him, and after a few minutes when he seemed unsure, he said "Well I suppose you might as well come in."
I did; he was in his bathrobe and sweat clothes, and the place was dark and musty and very cluttered. The TV was on but who knows what show was on. We sat, he in his chair and me on the couch. It felt good to look around at all the familiar things, especially his books. He just sat there for a bit, and I tried to get him talking. It took a little while, but after first hinting that he had things to do, he relaxed and we started talking about old things, partly because new things seemed so problematic. I had recently lost my job; he was surprised and sorry, it seemed, to hear it,especially as he had decided that working at a non-profit was a good thing. It took a bit to convince him that people at a non-profit can be just as rotten and vicious as at any other place of work.
So we went back in time. I wish so much that I remembered more. Lin Carter, of course, was always a stand-by, so we dived in to happily dismembering his literary corpse, and went on to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which, it turned out, we both secretly watched in reruns. That took us to different shows, of course, and somehow we wound up talking about Jonny Quest (him doing his famous "Okay Jonny, time for bed" Race Bannon imitation.
Things seemed better when he started calling me Row, and then, Pose. After Dad, he was the only one to call me that, from Dad's Posito. A dumb name but one which feels good coming from the right person. And of course, because it was Wes, Rodente. He offered me some lunch, which seemed to be reheated Hamburger Helper.
It was late fall, because I asked my annual question about whether he was coming down. No, of course, was the answer. If I had know then what I know now, as the stupid cliche has it, his reluctance would have made more sense. We talked about presents for people, and he made some of his usual jokes.
On to video games; he had been playing a lot of Sid Meier's Civil War games and said he would give me some after he was finished. Never happened, but the offer was nice. Back and forth around Diablo and then of course back more to Avalon Hill. His gleeful reminder that I never beat him at Go and maybe once or twice at chess. What a brain he has.
After about two hours he suggested it was time to go. I asked if he and Sharon would like to have dinner or we could come over on the weekend. He said, as always, "We'll see." His useful phrase for conversation with everyone in the family at the time. I said I didn't have to go; he said he thought it was for the best as Sharon would be home soon and "Sharon doesn't really like you, you know, or haven't you figured that out yet?" I asked why, and he said something like "she believes she has her reasons." And that was all I could get. I mentioned that at least I was in good company, as I had been in a number of conversations where she was caustic about Mom and Marina and her family. And he said that it was only fair, as he didn't like her family and he had made a point of telling them on more than one occasion.
At the door, I asked him what I didn't want to ask - that sometimes I got the feeling he was angry about things, but that I never knew what or why. He looked down at me through his glasses (how he did that when I was wearing shoes and he wasn't I don't know, but he always did) and put his hand around my neck, like he did sometimes, and said "Row, sometimes you drive me crazy and I don't know if I'll ever understand you. But you're my little brother, and that's all that will ever really matter in the long run." And he went off on some comments about the bobbles on my old hats and said, as he sometimes did when I thought he was feeling warm and maybe a little close, that he never let the Prussian ghost cavalry get me and he never would. And that felt good, too.
And I said good-bye and hoped we'd hang out again soon and left. And didn't see him again until he was in a coma at Kaiser.
The last time I saw him, had been an unannounced visit a litte after noon to his condo in Pleasanton. He hadn't returned any calls, which wasn't unusual and indeed was the usual pattern, when I compared notes with Marina and Mom. He came to the door, looking out warily from a crack and saying, in his usual way, "What the Hell are you doing here?" I told him, and after a few minutes when he seemed unsure, he said "Well I suppose you might as well come in."
I did; he was in his bathrobe and sweat clothes, and the place was dark and musty and very cluttered. The TV was on but who knows what show was on. We sat, he in his chair and me on the couch. It felt good to look around at all the familiar things, especially his books. He just sat there for a bit, and I tried to get him talking. It took a little while, but after first hinting that he had things to do, he relaxed and we started talking about old things, partly because new things seemed so problematic. I had recently lost my job; he was surprised and sorry, it seemed, to hear it,especially as he had decided that working at a non-profit was a good thing. It took a bit to convince him that people at a non-profit can be just as rotten and vicious as at any other place of work.
So we went back in time. I wish so much that I remembered more. Lin Carter, of course, was always a stand-by, so we dived in to happily dismembering his literary corpse, and went on to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which, it turned out, we both secretly watched in reruns. That took us to different shows, of course, and somehow we wound up talking about Jonny Quest (him doing his famous "Okay Jonny, time for bed" Race Bannon imitation.
Things seemed better when he started calling me Row, and then, Pose. After Dad, he was the only one to call me that, from Dad's Posito. A dumb name but one which feels good coming from the right person. And of course, because it was Wes, Rodente. He offered me some lunch, which seemed to be reheated Hamburger Helper.
It was late fall, because I asked my annual question about whether he was coming down. No, of course, was the answer. If I had know then what I know now, as the stupid cliche has it, his reluctance would have made more sense. We talked about presents for people, and he made some of his usual jokes.
On to video games; he had been playing a lot of Sid Meier's Civil War games and said he would give me some after he was finished. Never happened, but the offer was nice. Back and forth around Diablo and then of course back more to Avalon Hill. His gleeful reminder that I never beat him at Go and maybe once or twice at chess. What a brain he has.
After about two hours he suggested it was time to go. I asked if he and Sharon would like to have dinner or we could come over on the weekend. He said, as always, "We'll see." His useful phrase for conversation with everyone in the family at the time. I said I didn't have to go; he said he thought it was for the best as Sharon would be home soon and "Sharon doesn't really like you, you know, or haven't you figured that out yet?" I asked why, and he said something like "she believes she has her reasons." And that was all I could get. I mentioned that at least I was in good company, as I had been in a number of conversations where she was caustic about Mom and Marina and her family. And he said that it was only fair, as he didn't like her family and he had made a point of telling them on more than one occasion.
At the door, I asked him what I didn't want to ask - that sometimes I got the feeling he was angry about things, but that I never knew what or why. He looked down at me through his glasses (how he did that when I was wearing shoes and he wasn't I don't know, but he always did) and put his hand around my neck, like he did sometimes, and said "Row, sometimes you drive me crazy and I don't know if I'll ever understand you. But you're my little brother, and that's all that will ever really matter in the long run." And he went off on some comments about the bobbles on my old hats and said, as he sometimes did when I thought he was feeling warm and maybe a little close, that he never let the Prussian ghost cavalry get me and he never would. And that felt good, too.
And I said good-bye and hoped we'd hang out again soon and left. And didn't see him again until he was in a coma at Kaiser.
posted by Rowan | 12:37 AM
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