A Paper Weight With Wheels

My Mom called and wanted to know if I had talked to my brother. Of course I haven't heard from him since Thanksgiving, but that isn't unusual. I refer to my brother, Sam, as a "free" spirit. You can interpret that to either mean he is a person that does whatever strikes his fancy or it could mean that he is a bum.

Sam has lived all over the United States. At one time or another, he has lived in Denver, Boulder, Lexington, Indianapolis, Columbia, Gary, and a couple other places that I can't recall. He is always working for some restaurant chain and even though he is broke every time I talk to him, he has always just been promoted. Without fail he is the manager of some place within two months of working there and then the next month he is looking for a job. Sam is one of those blessed people who always seems to get the best end of the deal. Cheat on your taxes and get caught? The U. S. government cuts you some slack. Transmission falls out of your car? Dad's neighbor that you barely know foots the bill for a new ride. Drive drunk and cause a major accident? Get a ticket for leaving the scene. He has done a million things that would either get me sued or thrown in jail for the rest of my natural life.

For some reason Mom reminded me that my brother and I used to live together. I guess she feels like we should keep in better touch. Shortly after I got out of college, Sam graduated high school and decided to move in with me. It only lasted a year because I was working a real job and needed to sleep at night, but Sam had zero responsibility and chose to blow his take home pay (tips from the restaurant) every night with a party. He wanted to make noise and I wanted to sleep. I didn't throw him out or anything, but he got tired of his big brother riding his ass (calm down Michael Jackson) and moved.

Shortly before he left, Sam had a little trouble with his car. It was a beat to hell Volkswagen Rabbit that had seen better days. He and my dad spent every weekend fixing whatever Sam had torn up on it during the week. Dad never fixed anything the correct way, but always the cheapest, quickest way, so the Rabbit was a rolling disaster.

One afternoon, I was cat napping on the couch. You know how it is. It's been a long day of work, the sun is shining in the windows, you lay down intending to watch television, but your eyelids get heavy and before you know it you begin to drift, not really asleep, but not quite awake.

Suddenly the door burst open and Sam came running by the couch. He always entered the apartment like Kramer from Sienfeld, so I didn't think anything about it, preferring to enjoy my state of somnolence. My ears registered the sound of pots and pans banging around, then running water followed by the sound of Sam slamming the door on his way out. Fine, at least he didn't need anything from me, and I went back to sleep.

An undetermined time later, the same sequence of events happened. The door flys open, he goes running by, I hear a pot banging in the sink, water runs, the door loudly shuts behind him as he leaves. I think I'm dreaming. You know, one of those dreams where you know it's odd, but aren't sure what to do about it.

The third time the door opens, the pot bangs, the water runs I wake enough to mumble something along the lines of "what the hell are you doing????" The answer was quite unintelligible but even in my dream like state, I know that I heard the word "fire." So.......I start to rouse, thinking that this might be something I need to check on. I roll of the couch in time to see the door close.

I drag my tired ass to the door and almost catch the damn thing with my face as Sam comes flying through. He is carrying a small sauce pan and doesn't even look at me as he goes flying by. I ask again, "what the hell are you doing?" as I turn to face him. He is at the sink filling the sauce pan with water and yells over his shoulder "my car is on fire!!!"

It still doesn't really register, but I follow him out the door with his little pan of water and there is the Rabbit, innocently sitting in the parking lot. He is running to the car, spilling more water than he is keeping in the pan.

"Looks ok to me," I say as he sets the pan down on the ground.

"It's on fire, " he replies and I know I'm still dreaming.

He reaches for the hood and unlatches it, lifts it up, and flames shoot into the sky high enough to be seen from space. Apparently he and Dad had replaced the fuel pump or something and had used some kind of gasket sealer that was quite flammable. He dumps his two ounces of water on it, throws the pan down, yanks the hood closed, gathers his fire fighting equipment and runs back into the house. Now I'm laughing my ass off. I don't know what's so funny, him trying to put the fire out with a cup of water at a time or the fact that he closes the hood after every dousing.

I uncoil the water hose and by the time he comes back out, I'm ready for the grand hood opening and together we quench the flames. I just shake my head and go back in the house.

Two days later, again during my afternoon catnap, there is a knock at the door. I shuffle to answer and I'm greeted by four Mexicans that speak a little more English than I speak Spanish. Since all I can say is "dos cerbezas por favor" they have to carry the conversation for all parties involved. The best that I can gather was that Sam sold them the Rabbit for $200 and now they want the "instruction book for repair" that Sam promised them. I gave them the deep blank stare for awhile and they finally left muttering something about "loco gringos."

I never saw the Mexicans again. I asked Sam about it and he simply said "I took care of it," and that was enough for me. To this day, I don't use anything that Sam or my Dad has repaired.


I've had a pretty good lesson in human nature. It's more important to try to surround yourself with people who can give you a little happiness, because you only pass through this life once, Jack. You don't come back for an encore.
-Elvis Presley