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Writer's picturematt smith

Glass Houses

(EDITOR'S NOTE — As part of our mission to cover DIY art from all mediums in Buffalo, we're happy to bring you the following short story by Buffalo writer Gerry Dempsey, who was raised in a blue-collar home where there were far too many siblings. )


“You suck, Sully!” 


Donny shouted as he sped by on his Schwinn Varsity. He was riding the bike I’d been admiring while watching my older brother Paddy’s baseball game. It was a work of art, and I planned to draw a picture of the bike when I got home. Drawing was a pastime of mine and I was good at it. The bike was painted a dazzling sapphire blue. Equipped with quick-release wheels, racing gears and seat, it screamed speed and coolness. This was the kind of bike I was gonna get myself one day.


What I didn’t understand was that Donny was being sarcastic. My brother, who Donny was referring to when he yelled “you suck,” had played a marvelous game. He hit a home run, a couple of RBIs and caught several fly balls from left field. He could have been the MVP for all I know, but back then, kids and coaches just played the game for fun.


Wasting no time, I picked up a rock and whizzed it in Donny’s direction. No one was going to insult my brother like that. The rock bounced off Donny’s head, and he and his lovely bike crashed to the ground.


“Holy shit” Paddy gasped. “That was a great shot!” We both started to laugh and for about two seconds, I felt pure elation. Then my brain kicked in and I thought, how bad have I hurt this kid? Did I even think I was gonna hit him in the first place? Am I going to get in trouble for this?


This caused me concern.


“What happened here, son?”  A man driving by stopped to see why the boy was lying on the side of the road, writhing in pain. My brother and I had been joined by several other onlookers who hadn’t seen me throw the rock at Donny.


“I don’t know” Donny replied, “I think the fat Sullivan kid threw a rock at me. The man looked over toward the group of us onlookers and pointed at me.


“You, come over here.”


My legs were frozen in fear, and I could feel my heart pounding. I didn’t know what to do when suddenly, my brother spoke up.


“Sir, Donny wiped out on his bike when he hit the curb. No one threw anything at him.”


“I want to hear the fat kid tell me that,” the man insisted.


Donny just lay in the street moaning. I felt like a statue.


“He doesn’t have to say anything,” Paddy shot back “He’s my kid brother and we’re going!”


My brother was big for his age and spoke with authority, the way my dad did. The man backed down and began tending to Donny who had a slight gash above his eye from the rock. Who knows, it could have been from the pavement when the klutz hit the curb and crashed his own bike.  My fright subsided and I felt adulation toward my brother.

Paddy wasn’t always so kind, you see. I looked up to him and wanted to be cool and athletic like him, but I never seemed to be able to earn his affection or friendship. Most of the time he made fun of me for not being a good athlete like him. He wasn’t outright mean, just demeaning, I guess. Maybe my act of heroism had changed his mind. I mean I threw that rock with precision and could have taken out Donny’s eye. It was a great shot.


Paddy looked at me and gave a smile.


“Let’s get out of here little brother,” he said with a grin. “We don’t need to tell mom or dad about what happened, okay?”


Well, that was a first. For once, I felt like Paddy had my back and we were part of the same team. Historically, he loved ratting on me to my mom and dad. To be fair, I was mischievous. But so was Paddy. I never told my parents anything, but Paddy, being the oldest, had some strange relationship with my parents like he was a junior parent and it was his job — (at least the way I perceived it) — to tell my parents about anything bad my sister and I did. Lucy hated him for telling my mom about the time she smoked my dad’s cigarettes or when she stole my mom’s lipstick and wore it to the skating rink. I thought that was funny until he told on me for stealing a pack of M&M’s from the Merry Mart. Why I told him I stole the M&M’s I’ll never know. But you live and learn, right?


The next day, I was sitting in the recliner, eating a huge bowl of Cookie Crisp and watching Scooby Doo when Paddy walked in the room. Grabbing the remote, he turned to the channel and told me to sit on the floor so he could sit in the comfy chair and watch the Yankee game.


“You can’t just come in here and push me around!” I said in a whiney tone.


“Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll just tell mom and dad what you did to Donny? Would you like that?”


I got up from the chair and sat on the floor. I liked the Yankees too, I thought, and I should share the chair with him. He didn’t need to threaten me. I don’t know why he thought he needed to be mean to me. I noticed he talked to me the way my dad sometimes talked to my mother. My father worked hard, and I am sure his work was stressful, but he would come home sometimes and just berate my mother if dinner was late or if she overcooked his steak like she sometimes did. I mean, did he know how hard she worked? My mom would complain to me when my dad wasn’t around about how all she did was try to please him and she just wanted to feel like her efforts were acknowledged.

*

“Hey, Sully!” A voice from behind startled me.


I’d been swinging on the swing set at the park next to the baseball fields when Donny appeared behind me. Swinging was so much fun. You could go as fast as you wanted, or just go back and forth slow, it didn’t matter. You didn’t need anyone else either. Not like the see-saw where you need another person. In a way, swinging is like life sometimes: you’re moving and having fun, but you’re not going anywhere. I realized no matter how hard I swung I wasn’t going to get away from Donny.


“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for making fun of your brother,” he said.


“I was only kidding. I like your brother and was just having fun with him.”


“Aren’t you mad at me for hitting you with the rock?” I asked, still scared but starting to feel like he wasn’t going to beat me up.


“Nah,” he said. “Your brother already told me he’d whup my ass if I did anyway.” Donny chuckled.


“Yeah?” I replied inquiringly.


“Well, I am sorry I threw the rock at you. I didn’t even think I’d hit you.” I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I did feel remorse for hitting him and hurting another person. It just didn’t happen right away. It came to me once I understood the circumstances surrounding the faux insult.


“Yeah, you got a pretty decent arm,” Donny joked. “You should join a ball team next summer.”


Donny walked away, but he left me feeling oddly happy. It wasn’t clear to me whether it was relief from knowing he wasn’t going to come after me, which I had been worried about in the back of my mind. It could have been the knowledge that my brother made sure to protect me in the event Donny wanted revenge, or the fact that I received an honest compliment that I could have an undiscovered talent. It was a lot to process for a little fat kid.

*

“You’re not gonna be a rat and tell your mother on me, are you?” my dad snarled.


“I don’t know, Dad, what are you going to do for me?” I asked.


“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?”


I caught my dad smoking in the church parking lot. I was serving Mass and me and Timmy, my altar boy buddy, had finished putting everything away in record time. Some of the other altar boys were clumsy and didn’t really take the job seriously. Timmy and I liked serving together because we both knew all the words to the Mass and didn’t mess around when Mass was over. Things like extinguishing the candles, putting the bibles back in the racks, and, of course, cleaning out the consecration cruets. Occasionally, Timmy and I would swig the wine. One time, we even took out the jug and drank a few swigs. The cruet was almost full, so I just chugged it and let out a huge burp, causing

Timmy and I to laugh hysterically.


“I mean, we could stop for doughnuts, couldn’t we?” I said with a mischievous grin.


“Or, maybe, I could just not tell mom that you’re chugging wine in the sacristy?” my dad replied.


We stared at each other for a second and my dad let out a laugh. “See, son, this is called a stalemate.”


“Mom knows you smoke anyway, Dad. We can smell it on you.”


“Yes, and I know this isn’t the first time you’ve sipped the wine after serving Mass. You know I was an altar boy too once. You think you’re the first kid to do that? Ha! Everyone has their little secrets, Matty. The bottom line is that we are all sinners, and we need to forgive and be forgiven. I think Father said so in his homily today if I’m not mistaken.”


“Dad, I’ll make you a deal.”


“I’m listening.”


“I won’t drink the wine, if you just be nicer to mom. She works hard to make you happy, and she really loves you.” I started to tear up and had to take a breath. Maybe it was the wine talking but I just felt like emptying my thoughts out loud to him.


“I know I am a bear to her sometimes so I will try to show more kindness” he said.


“That is what the homily was about, Dad.” I spoke.


“Oh, I know,” he smiled.


“Dad, I have another confession,” I said.


“You sure you don’t want to save this for Father?” he joked.


“I’m serious, Dad. I hit Donny Flannagan with a rock last week. I thought he was making fun of Paddy, but he was just teasing him, and I didn’t understand it, so I threw a rock at him, and I didn’t think I’d hit him but I di…”


“Whoa, little fella. I know all about this. I spoke with Donny’s dad, and we talked it out a few days ago. Donny’s fine and I think everyone’s learned a good lesson from this.”


I wanted to tell him about how Paddy was being a jerk and holding it over my head, but I figured there’d been enough truth spilled today, so I decided to shut up.


“We got donuts!” my father announced loudly when we got home from church. I opened the box and took out the best one: A chocolate frosted donut with whipped cream in the middle. We only got one because it was the last one at the bakery. Out of nowhere, Paddy tapped me on the shoulder and says: “Thanks, I’ll be taking that.”


“No way, Jose!” I said gleefully, the effects of the wine not yet worn off.

Paddy glared at me. I smugly refused him.


“Hey Dad!” Paddy yelled.


“Do you know that Matty hit Donny Flannagan in the eye with a rock last week?


“Is that a fact?” my dad said, looking stoically at me, then softening his facial expression until he was grinning.


“Let me tell you something, Paddy Boy: Nobody like a tattletale.”

 

 

 

 

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