from Requiem
by Teresa Carmody
from “Hurrah Hurrah”
DAVID
They call me Davey-come-lately ‘cause I take my time. That’s my cue to pause, eye ‘em real slow, and go, Well the way I see it, God created in His own rate, and all else ensues when it do. Take me, baby of this family I wouldn’t trade for the rarest-of-rare Mark McGuire rookie cards, though that card would be something now, wouldn’t it?
They say Dan was set on me being a boy, had his bags packed, ready to jet if one more female entered the family. Tell you what I recollect is Dan on Saturday mornings, sitting in the kitchen, eating Wheaties while eyeing the back of the box. Hungry, Janice and I would face him in a set, sneak in for a bowl, try to sit as far from him as possible. Still, he’d find some reason to beat us: chewing too loud, coughing, heck, if he heard our very breath. Ma couldn’t settle him. She was working overnights then, sleeping during the day, mattress on the basement floor. Man, I hated that downtown post office, Mom never being around anymore. See, I’m not like Dan, hands up ready for a round. I mean, I’ll defend myself and all, but, well, let me put it this way: the girls say I’m sensitive. A cuddler. Always have been. I like having sisters around, plenty to tender advice, shoulders to weep on. Figure it’s living proof the Lord’s hand is not so shortened, that it cannot save; nor His ear so heavy, that it cannot hear.
DANIEL
Stand it, I can’t stand it. A cat’d think they’d wait a few days before asking my intentions. It’s Dad’s brothers and sisters, that’s all, approaching me each one at one point or another, saying, What’re you gonna do now, Dan? What about Grandma’s house, Dan? Gonna take over your father’s business, Dan? It’s like, give me a break. We’re at the frickin’ funeral parlor, for Chrissake. Maybe I’ll take over his business; maybe I won’t. But I’ll tell ya what, I’m not moving, no house-shifting ache in my belly, no sir-ree, I’m damn sedentary. Ya know, I’ve heard hearsay, they think I shouldn’t buy Grandma’s house. They want Joe in it. Or Andy. Hell, even Ed. One of their own. More responsible, they say, more accountable, of elevated character or some such similar bullshit. Phhfff. You tell me, who’s done the work on that place for the past seven years? Who put the new roof on and redid the cellar? Who has believed my report? Do they think I’ve been laboring like this so your Joe’ll have a nice place to live? My ass. I mean geez, to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed? Do they think I’ve worked my sorry tail off so they’ll get more when they sell out? Get thee behind me, Satan, that’s what she’d say.
I’ll tell you what, Dad and I had a deal: I’d take and buy Grandma’s house, and he’d float me the first year’s loan ‘til I could qualify on my own. Assignment, that’s what it’s called, and I don’t see why I can’t carry on with the plan. I’m a grandson too, Dad’s son, firstborn male, fact is, the one who’s growth was marked as a tender plant, a root out of dry ground. So I gotta be tough, hardy, turn so hardboiled I’m hardshelled. In any way, Dad’s the one who always did the most for Grandma; he for her like me for him, steady as the sun, even if I have no form or comeliness.