by Andrew Kovitch

Created on: December 23, 2008

Family Ties

It's near noon and the phone rings. Usually I don't answer, but for some reason I'm pressing the "TALK" button. It's my brother, the middle-one, and he's hesitating, as usual, and I already know something is up before he says, "So anyway, dude, I sorta got into an accident." Nothing major, ruined car, he says his pride is damaged, and I'm driving through the snow and ice toward his auto-shop, (a place I've never been), because, well, this is what big brothers do, I guess. I park out front, pull hard into a mound of snow because there's no place else, and he's standing in the garage door, cigarette hanging from his lips and that silly look on his face. He motions and speaks for me to, "come in". The inside of this place smells like our father. Grease and exhaust fumes. It disgusts me, but of course, I always did envy their connection. He places a few phone calls, insurance companies, his over-reacting fiance. Calls mom. I'm writing this now, right here in his garage while he washes his hands in the out of sight sink. I think we're going to grab some lunch. I'll assume that he'll be buying but I won't be upset if he doesn't. Even now, I'm unsure of why I feel as if I'm being taken advantage of.

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