MONDAY AFTERNOON. FIVE o'clock. Waiting for the Kid Brother to call me on FaceTime. The obsessive-compulsive Kid Brother will not call a minute early. Normally, he will not call a minute late. Eleven o'clock his time. Five o'clock my time. On the dot. At 5:01, I knew he was otherwise occupied. Maybe he had to go shopping. At 5:05, I tried calling him on FaceTime. No answer. At 5:07, I phoned his mobile. No answer. At 5:15, 5:25, and 5:30 I tried his home phone. No answer. The little shit!
At 5:31, a FaceTime call comes in from him. I try to answer, but for some reason, it wouldn't connect. At least 6 times. Finally at 5:40, I called his home phone again.
"What are you doing?" he snapped.
"FaceTime is not connecting..."
"I know that! What are you doing?!?
"Chuck, FaceTime is not connecting, so I thought I'd just catch you on the phone instead of you trying over and over again."
"I know. I know. What do you want?"
"What do I want? It's Monday. Our FaceTime day."
A sheepish, "Ohhh."
"Did you forget what day it was?"
"Uh... I know. I know."
"You know what that's called, Chuck? That's called a brain fart."
"That's not funny."
"Yeah, when you didn't call on time, I tried phoning first your cell phone and then your home..."
"I know. I heard you."
Gotta love him.
 |
| SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE: MY BLACK EYE WAS ALMOST HEALED SO HE GAVE ME A FAT LIP. ALGUNAS COSAS NUNCA CAMBIAN: MI OJO MORADO FUE CASI CURADO ASÍ ÉL ME DÍO UN LABIO GORDO. |
EL LUNES POR la tarde. Cinco en punto. Esperando que el Kid Brother me llame en FaceTime. El chico obsesivo-compulsivo no llamará ni un minuto antes. Normalmente, no llamará un minuto después. A las once en su zona. A las cinco en la mia. En el punto. A las 5:01, sabía que estaba ocupado. Tal vez tenía que ir do compras. A las 5:05, lo intenté llamarlo en FaceTime. Sin respuesta. A las 5:07, telefoneé a su móvil. Sin respuesta. A las 5:15, 5:25, y 5:30 he probado su teléfono fijo. Sin respuesta. '¡La mierda!'
A las 5:31, una llamada de FaceTime viene de él. Trato de responder, pero por alguna razón, no se conectaría. Por lo menos 6 veces. Finalmente a las 5:40, llamé a su teléfono fijo de nuevo.
"¿Qué estás haciendo?" él chasqueó.
"FaceTime no está conectando ..."
"¡Lo se eso! !¿Qué estas haciendo?!"
"Chuck, FaceTime no se está conectando, así que pensé que te atraparía en el teléfono en lugar de intentarlo una y otra vez".
"Yo sé. Yo sé. ¿Qué quieres?
"Qué quiero? Es el lunes, nuestro día de FaceTime".
Un tímido, "Ohhh".
"¿Has olvidado qué día fue?"
"Uh... Lo sé. Lo sé."
"¿Sabes cómo se llama eso, Chuck? Eso se llama un pedo cerebral.
"Eso no es divertido."
"Cuando no llamaste a tiempo, traté de llamar; primero su móvil y despues el fijo..."
"Lo sé. Te escuché!"
Tengo que amarlo.
Like a conversation with the Kid Brother.
Como una conversación con el Hermanito. Lo siento, no lo encuentro en español.
Phew ! Now that is a very trying situation... and some people end up might say some very bad words.
ReplyDeleteHeron:
DeleteAh, "conversations" with my brother. Sometimes exasperating. Often hilarious. He doesn't like when I use bad words. When he was around 9 and I was around 15, he accidentally broke the glass on one of my 10-gallon fish tanks (he was in the middle of a temper tantrum, common at the time). As the water and fish spewed onto the bedroom floor, I jumped up and without thinking yelled, "God dammit, Chucky!" A few weeks later, during another tantrum he looked at me and said, "You know what you are?!? You're a real dammit!!!"
You are so fortunate to have each other, Mitchell. But you know that already.
ReplyDeleteWhat a sweet photo of you both.....with a 'story' as well!!
Jim:
DeleteTo be fair, he didn't give me the black eye. I was hit in the eye, accidentally, with a baseball bat. But that was the first of many fat lips. His temper was explosive from the start. Ah, my sweet easy going brother.
I'd have panicked because, well, that's what I do.
ReplyDeleteGood that it was just a brain fart!
Bob:
DeleteI didn't panic. The only thing that concerns me is that it will all somehow end up being my fault anyway and I hate to give him anything to stew about. A couple of weeks ago, he was a few minutes late because he had gone to the store. It's hard for him to judge. So if he's not just sitting there waiting, he CAN screw up. (But don't tell him I said that.)
He has quite a distinctive personality, doesn't he? And look at those 2 handsome fellas - you knew how to rock a jacket even then. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteWilma:
DeleteHe can be unintentionally hilarious. When he was young, his diagnoses were varied. I have been saying for years that he's 6 going on 90.
I bet you've had some interesting conversations with the Kid Brother.
ReplyDeleteStephen:
DeleteOh god. Sometimes it's like trying to get blood from a stone. "Chuck, what time do you have to be at Central Park tomorrow?" "Don't worry. Don't worry. I know!" "Chuck, how much cash do you have with you?" "Don't worry. Don't worry. I got money." "But how much?" "I got it taken care of!" And that's when he's being direct. If he wants to avoid a question, he slips into a Marx Brothers or Abbott and Costello routine.
What a couple of cuties...but brothers everywhere are meant to piss off their siblings :)
ReplyDeleteCheapchick:
DeleteWell, I mostly piss him off for no good reason (seriously). I can't let him piss me off. All is always forgiven... after I mutter "the little shit."
viaduct? one of my fave marx brothers routines!
ReplyDeleteanne marie:
DeleteWhy not a chicken?!? One of Chuck's favorites, too (even though he has no idea what a viaduct is).
Thanks for sharing this conversation with your brother Mitchell. Priceless!
ReplyDeleteGlad everything was alright.
You were a snazzy dresser even back then.
Take care.
Robin
Robin:
DeleteMy mother selected the wardrobe, of course. She was always classy. I wouldn't mind having a blazer like that now!
I love hearing stories about your little brother. And the two of you are adorable in that picture! Such cute little boys!
ReplyDeleteJennifer:
DeleteIn that photo, he was 1-1/2 and I was 7. We were already attached at the hip and I was already learning to manage his temper.
Aaaaahhhh, the kid brother :)
ReplyDeleteCatching up on the last few blog posts-- so many colors!
Judy:
DeleteSo much has gone in the past couple of months. Your photos from France are amazing.
I had to look thrice. It seemed that the Kid Brother has three hands.
ReplyDeleteWalt the Fourth:
DeleteI think he was born with a baseball glove. He's fanatic. He has a catcher's mitt, my old glove (which was our father's old glove), and a duffel bag that weighs a ton (including the rubber bases). He hauls it all to Central Park every Sunday to play.
Keep calling, keeping letting him know he is important.
ReplyDeleteTravel:
DeleteTrust me. I'm an old pro. I've had 57 years of practice.