The Unauthorized Autobiography of Me

Last July. It was a Wednesday night. It was windy but the air was warm as it swirled around and hugged my body. My brother and sister were already at the counter but my father walked next to me. The florescent sign hung above our heads streaming artificial light over the parking lot and my father’s graying hair. Children ran around in the damp grass as their parents watched them from where they sat on wooden benches propped up against the decaying brick wall. Mothers and fathers. I kicked the ground and pieces of gravel skidded in different directions. We ordered. A banana split, Italian ice, cherry sundae, a swirled cone. Back in the car we cracked the windows and the music from outside sifted in. A combination of oldies, Motown, and Doo-Wop, the notes filled the parking lot. My brother’s deep cackle nestled in his throat before erupting and filling the front seat. My father laughed quietly next to him, his shoulders rising with each chuckle. The lemon ice dripped from the cup holder, half eaten, and my sister’s hand hung over her knee, sticky and limp as she snored softly. The vanilla and chocolate melted on my tongue and dripped onto my thigh. I sighed and stared out the window with the warm air creeping in.

*

Remember when we met? You had on that goofy sweater vest I tell everyone about and those wire rimmed glasses hung, too big, from your little face. Your teeth were naturally crooked just as they are now even after two attempts at braces. We were assigned to sit next to each other. Our name tags taped and sealed on top of the wooden desks. I walked slowly behind my mother into the room, timid as usual. When we approached our cluster of desks she looked over at yours and laughed. I asked her why and she said it was because of your name; such a big Italian name for a little boy. I started to put my Crayola’s and puppy covered notebooks into my desk. You walked in shortly after that. Not behind your mom like me but close to her side. I dropped my pencils on the floor. It could have been yesterday. I wish it was. I always liked your crooked teeth.

*

An Incomplete List of People I Wish Were On My Emergency Contact List

Diane Keaton

Nora Ephron

Sylvester Stallone

Sarah Jessica Parker

Steven Tyler

Don Rickles

Julia Roberts

Meryl Streep

James Frey

Jesus Christ

Julie Andrews

Mario Batali

Deepak Chopra

Kate Winslet

Joe Pesci

*

I went to my grandparents’ house all the time and I remember everything. The yellow tiles in the kitchen and the tomatoes left on the counter. The hammock hanging in the backyard between two towering trees as it swung slowly. The creaking stairs that lead bare feet into the living room. And the fire illuminating the red velvet of the stockings that hang on the mantle above its flames. The second kitchen in the basement that popped many popcorn kernels and saw many napkins turned into paper bowls. The bay window in the front of the house where no curtains hung, that let in streaming sunlight, and allowed a glimpse of a glowing Christmas tree for cars passing by. I remember the parties and all the leftovers. Sinatra singing and crumpled wrapping paper. I remember the hands that kneaded the dough on the butcher block table and I remember him laughing.

*

The cold air wasn’t as cold that night. Two days before Christmas. We ate linguini with clams. His favorite meal. He laughed between forkfuls and winked at me from across the table. His aged skin wrapped around his knuckles and rough palm which laid on top of her hand. He wiped his mouth with his withered napkin, damp with clam juice, before tossing it on his plate. And then he stopped breathing. 

*form based on Sherman Alexie's "The Unauthorized Autobiography of Me"