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Authors: Robert Goolrick
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flew Delta F class, saying to myself I was so exhausted, and that was partially true, but also because you could get a lot of free drinks in first, without having to wait for the cart and then feeling guilty when you ordered a double gin and tonic, which was never enough anyway.
One time, I got so drunk on the plane that I went straight from the airport to a restaurant to meet a friend for Sunday night dinner and passed out on the bar stool. I fell on the floor.
On one of these trips, I went for a drive in Buckhead with my sister-in-law. It was pouring rain, but we drove on and passed the governorâs mansion, and, across the street, my rich friendâs richer motherâs house. My brotherâs wife asked me to pull over; she wanted to talk. She told me that, while it was true that she had always hated me, she had seen in recent weeks that I had a good side and she hoped we could go on to be friends. I was very touched, although it lasted about six months, after which she hated me as much if not more than ever, going around to parties in my own hometown saying horrible things about me, saying that somehow I had robbed my brother of his inheritanceâthey both seemed to be given to these archaic phrases, as though they were characters out of Faulknerâand trying to turn my own relatives and friends against me. My friends and relatives, of course, immediately reported all these remarks to me.
She really seemed to have found her element. She was pregnant, her husband was a brilliant comatose journalist, and she was, as she had always been, the absolute center of attention. Butnever had the focus of solicitude been turned so absolutely and single-mindedly on her. The story of her situation could soften the most jaundiced heart. There was nothing people wouldnât do for her, run errands, feed her, take her for drives when they knew she hated their guts, and so on.
After awhile, I didnât go any more. I meant to, but I didnât. I said I couldnât get away from work, but that wasnât the real reason. I said I couldnât afford the flight, but I was charging it all anyway, so that wasnât it. It took me years to pay it off. I was making $75,000 a year, not exactly F-class income. But Delta loved me. Every Thursday night the stewardess would ask me if I wanted the usual, fixing me a stiff gin and tonic in a real glass glass before the plane even took off.
The truth was, I couldnât stand her and I didnât trust her, and I didnât want my brother to have married her, but he had, while she was wearing a bias-cut satin dress my mother and grandmother had made, and which she had had them make all over again, stamping her foot because she didnât like the way it fit, causing her own aunt to warn my mother about her the night before the wedding, saying she had always been selfish. It was sweet Minnie Lee Lee who wasnât Chinese whispering these confidences to my mother at the rehearsal dinner, while Judy Judy, in a black cocktail dress and a lot of opera-length pearls, flirted and let all the men look down her cleavage. And while I didnât want my brother to be lying in a hospital room with cheesy breath and thin white arms and the stink of death about him, you can only be so assiduous about even the most terrible grief for so long.
He was paralyzed and speechless but he wasnât dying, so hewas moved away from Elvis and into his own room. Elvis must have been in excruciating pain all the time. By now he was sedated against the pain. Morphined to the gills. My brother wasnât in any pain at all.
My sister-in-law finally had the baby, in the same hospital, and she and the little redheaded girl were taken in a wheelchair down to my brotherâs room so he could see his daughter. He didnât even open his eyes.
The next morning, the nurse went in to draw the blinds and feed him his breakfast. My brother suddenly sat up in bed and said, âCan you tell me
One time, I got so drunk on the plane that I went straight from the airport to a restaurant to meet a friend for Sunday night dinner and passed out on the bar stool. I fell on the floor.
On one of these trips, I went for a drive in Buckhead with my sister-in-law. It was pouring rain, but we drove on and passed the governorâs mansion, and, across the street, my rich friendâs richer motherâs house. My brotherâs wife asked me to pull over; she wanted to talk. She told me that, while it was true that she had always hated me, she had seen in recent weeks that I had a good side and she hoped we could go on to be friends. I was very touched, although it lasted about six months, after which she hated me as much if not more than ever, going around to parties in my own hometown saying horrible things about me, saying that somehow I had robbed my brother of his inheritanceâthey both seemed to be given to these archaic phrases, as though they were characters out of Faulknerâand trying to turn my own relatives and friends against me. My friends and relatives, of course, immediately reported all these remarks to me.
She really seemed to have found her element. She was pregnant, her husband was a brilliant comatose journalist, and she was, as she had always been, the absolute center of attention. Butnever had the focus of solicitude been turned so absolutely and single-mindedly on her. The story of her situation could soften the most jaundiced heart. There was nothing people wouldnât do for her, run errands, feed her, take her for drives when they knew she hated their guts, and so on.
After awhile, I didnât go any more. I meant to, but I didnât. I said I couldnât get away from work, but that wasnât the real reason. I said I couldnât afford the flight, but I was charging it all anyway, so that wasnât it. It took me years to pay it off. I was making $75,000 a year, not exactly F-class income. But Delta loved me. Every Thursday night the stewardess would ask me if I wanted the usual, fixing me a stiff gin and tonic in a real glass glass before the plane even took off.
The truth was, I couldnât stand her and I didnât trust her, and I didnât want my brother to have married her, but he had, while she was wearing a bias-cut satin dress my mother and grandmother had made, and which she had had them make all over again, stamping her foot because she didnât like the way it fit, causing her own aunt to warn my mother about her the night before the wedding, saying she had always been selfish. It was sweet Minnie Lee Lee who wasnât Chinese whispering these confidences to my mother at the rehearsal dinner, while Judy Judy, in a black cocktail dress and a lot of opera-length pearls, flirted and let all the men look down her cleavage. And while I didnât want my brother to be lying in a hospital room with cheesy breath and thin white arms and the stink of death about him, you can only be so assiduous about even the most terrible grief for so long.
He was paralyzed and speechless but he wasnât dying, so hewas moved away from Elvis and into his own room. Elvis must have been in excruciating pain all the time. By now he was sedated against the pain. Morphined to the gills. My brother wasnât in any pain at all.
My sister-in-law finally had the baby, in the same hospital, and she and the little redheaded girl were taken in a wheelchair down to my brotherâs room so he could see his daughter. He didnât even open his eyes.
The next morning, the nurse went in to draw the blinds and feed him his breakfast. My brother suddenly sat up in bed and said, âCan you tell me
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