On April 6, 1976, a month before my seventeenth birthday, the bicentennial year, two uniformed officers came to our door. My brother Daniel had been killed during a fight upon his return to the county jail. He had been stabbed in the stomach and bled out before they could get him to the emergency room. I didn’t even bother to ask how much time had passed between my brother getting stabbed and his ambulance ride to the emergency room. My mother stared at the officers, her hair matted against her head, her bare shins sticking out from beneath her robe. The next day the papers read, “Sawyer Shooter Killed in Jail Fight.” Letters to the editor said he got what he deserved. There were pictures of the smiling Tillsons and Morettis in the paper.
We had only graveside services for my brother. He was buried next to my father. Uncle Elliot and Aunt May came down for the service. It was such a beautiful day: clear blue sky, the flowers were blooming and the buds on the trees were greening into leaves. My mother had grown thin over the winter. She wore a dark blue suit and it hung limp on her frame. Her hair had turned white. My hair had gotten long and I combed it back like a young Elvis Presley, not because I wanted to look stylish but because it was easy.
After the service, my uncle tried to give the priest forty dollars but he refused it. I walked over to Lindy’s grave. Her mother had not yet gotten her a stone, and the small silver placard with her name, year of birth and death was all that marked the spot. The dirt was still bare and rough. My uncle approached me and put his arm around my shoulder. We were quiet for a while.
“Well, you know it’s probably for the best.”
I heard his words but they did not register.
“What?” I said, pulling away from him.
“There was no good ending to this, Bud, no good ending at all. This is probably the best ending there could have been.”
I stood there for a moment looking at my uncle.
“So, you’re saying that the best thing for Danny was to be stabbed in the stomach in a fucking nut house where they were probably over medicating him and abusing him? Yeah, Uncle Elliot, that’s a great ending. I’m so happy for Danny. I’m so happy for me and Mom. This is a great ending. Why don’t we have a party and invite the whole town? How would that be, dear old Uncle Elliot?”
“I don’t know what’s got into you,” he said. “You used to be such a good kid. Now you’re nothing but a backtalking little bastard.”
“And you’re such a swell guy, is that it?”
“I did a lot for you and your brother. For your mother.”
“Really, Uncle Elliot? You did so much for us? The only reason you did anything for us is because you were embarrassed. You were embarrassed about what people would say about us, about you. You didn’t care about us. You cared about what people were saying. And when we needed you the most, you abandoned us.”
“I did a lot for you two. You can’t deny that.”
“The only reason you did anything for us is because my father committed suicide. You wanted people to say what a great guy you were by taking care of his kids. You were shamed into taking care of us. But look at where that got you, right?”
“You really are an ungrateful little brat. This is all your mother’s fault. She drove my brother off that bridge; I have no doubt of that. Then look at what she did to Danny. And now you.”
“You blame Mom for all of this?”
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“He never should have married her. He was going to join the Navy, get out of this town, make something of himself, then your mother...” Uncle Elliot stopped speaking“My mother what?”
“She got pregnant. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Trapping a man.”
I hit him and hit him hard. I landed my punch directly to his jaw. But my uncle was a much bigger man than I am. He caught me hard in the side of the head and I fell on Lindy’s grave.
“Elliot!” I heard both my aunt and mother scream. “What are you doing?”
I tasted the dirt on the top of Lindy’s grave in my mouth.
“You son of a bitch,” I growled wiping the dirt from my mouth. “You selfish, self-serving son of a bitch.”
My mother was kneeling beside me and my aunt was pulling on my uncle.
“Go with them, Mom,” I said. “I’ll walk home.”
“What happened?” She was smoothing my chin with her hand, wiping off the dirt.
“It’s ok, Mom. Really. Just go with them. I’ll walk home.”
“It’s almost four miles, honey.”
“It’s ok. I will walk home. It’ll be good for me.”
She helped me to my feet. My aunt and uncle were in the car. The windows were closed but I could still hear my uncle yelling. My mother left hesitantly. I encouraged her. I watched the car drive away. I sat for a long time next to Lindy’s grave. It was dark when I finally decided to walk home.