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The Rift
It was July. The heat was oppressive and our air-conditioning was broken. Hal's brother Frankie
was coming for a few days to take care of some business. I thought I would make some eggplant one
night and then maybe a pot- roast for the other.
I'm not sure what the hard things were that pulled these two brothers apart. Hal had
spoken to Frankie only once since their mother's death 6 years ago. Hal never talked
about their falling out. I think it had to do with property and money. Doesn't everything have
to do with property and money?
Frankie was a hefty man who chain smoked cigarettes. He might have been alcoholic though no one ever talked about
it. He had a gruff voice and loved to tell tales. Most of the tales we had heard before and had to do with
his stint in the Navy.
Hal is a kind, gentle man. He is quiet and reserved almost to the point of not being able to properly
express his wants and needs. I know that and I love him. That is why we have been married for 25 years.
I never disliked Frankie. He was always cordial when he saw me and respectful in our home. So when
out of the blue, he said he needed a place to stay for a few days, both Hal and I thought it
wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe Hal thought this was an opportunity to patch things up. I don't
know.
"Well hello Mrs," said Frankie when I opened the front door. Hal sat in his favorite chair and read the newspaper acting disinterested.
"How are you Frankie," I said and kissed him on the cheek, "Long time no see."
Frankie had one large suitcase and dragged it inside. When he was finally inside the home, Hal put down the paper and stared from his chair.
"Hello brother," said Frankie.
"Hi Frankie."
After Frankie was settled in the guest bedroom, we sat down to dinner. The two men ate hungrily and Frankie had already
gulped down two glasses of red wine.
"Marilyn, you've really outdone yourself this time. I always loved your eggplant," said Frankie.
There was a pregnant pause.
"I just have to go to the city tomorrow night and then I have an appointment on Thursday, and then I'll be out of your hair," said Frankie.
"Still selling that stuff," said Hal.
"No. No more sales, thankfully. I'm in management now."
"Yeah," said Hal.
"Yup," said Frankie.
We never quite knew what Frankie did. He changed jobs so often that it was hard to keep track.
We didn't think it was anything shady. At least we didn't think so. Frankie was your typical
black sheep of the family. Full of secrets and lies. He was not without charm though.
But everyone treated him like the fuck-up. The loser. But I think there was something more to Frankie.
For one, I don't think he liked himself very much. He was always talking of grandiose dreams, the way someone
does when they're overcompensating for their inadequacies. When people don't like their selves, they go to
great lengths to bury that dislike. They do it with booze and talk and useless promises. They do it with
lies and deceit. I felt for Frankie. I really did.
Frankie went to the city on Thursday night, for his business meeting. We heard someone come up the driveway.
When the door opened we could smell the cigarettes and the beer. Hal went into the kitchen and sat down.
The two men stared at each other in silence.
"I brought you a present," said Frankie at last.
"Oh yeah," said Hal. Frankie reached into his briefcase and took out a cardboard box. He placed the box on the table.
"What is it," asked Hal.
"Salt Water Taffy," said Frankie, "I know how you love this stuff."
"Thanks," said Hal. Frankie lit up a cigarette. Sweat rolled down each man's forehead, the heat
more oppressive then ever. Hal opened the box and took out a pink colored candy. He unwrapped
it and began to chew it. Frankie took a couple of pieces and chewed some candy as well.
The two chewed in silence, their jaws and gums and saliva working harmoniously.
"It's didn't have to be this way," said Frankie.
"I know," said Hal.
"I am a failure. But I know one thing. That family is the most important thing in this life."
"I know," said Hal.
"What does it take?" said Frankie.
"What?" said Hal.
"I said what does it take? To get through to you."
"This isn't a façade, Frankie. This is me."
"And this is me," said Frankie.
Suddenly, without warning my husband began to choke on the piece of Taffy. He choked and choked and then
he stopped breathing. Frankie stood there looking at him turning blue. Hal was about to keel over as
I ran into the kitchen. Frankie got up and began to give him the Heimlich maneuver. The piece of Taffy
was dislodged from his throat. Frankie sat down again as Hal was gasping for breath.
When Hal got the strength up again he spoke, "What the hell took you so long!"
"I knew you'd be alright. You're always alright. Besides I saved your life."
"But you seemed like you had to think about it," said Hal.
"I just wanted you to taste a little hint of death."
"Get out of this house!" yelled Hal.
Frankie gathered his belongings. When he was down the block Hal yelled,
"You're no good, Frankie and you never have been!" said Hal. As Frankie got
into his car he yelled up the street, "I know Hal, have a good life."
You have to understand that Hal is good man. He is quiet and reserved. He has his values.
Whatever existed between Frankie and Hal, I never got into much. Some wounds never heal.
Or maybe they just heal in other ways.
William “Bill” Blick, when he isn’t thwarting humanity’s demise, tries to be a writer from
the mean streets of Bellerose, New York. He has an M.A in English Literature from Queens College and is pursuing
a master’s degree in Library Science. He has published stories and essays in Everyday Weirdness, Mysterical-e,
Inscribed: A Magazine for Writers, Clockwise Cat, The Pulp Pusher, Underground Voices, Revisions: A Queens
College Zine on Writing, Scribal Tales, Alien Skin, Thrillers, Chillers, N’ Killers, Soul Fountain,
Seven Seas Magazine, Straitjackets Magazine, and Bewildering Stories. He also writes film criticism
and has published work in >Senses of Cinema. He has been invited to present academic papers on film
at the Midwestern Conference for Popular Culture and the Comparative Literature Department at the
University of Georgia on international film and film noir.
Email: William Blick
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