When pressed, they say they’re not sure people should even get married, it’s just a “piece of paper” after all. What matters is how people treat each other. Anyway they’ve both been married before, a thing they talk about like sand castles they once built, destroyed by the tide. Bonnie was married to Eddie in Synanon when she was twenty. When Chuck’s wife, Betty, died, the Old Man started talking about the impermanence of marriage and allegiance to the society, basically whatever needed saying so that everyone would have to go through what he went through by getting divorced. Some said they were relieved they didn’t have to kill their husbands. So they split all the couples up and Bonnie left Synanon with a broken heart. She moved to the apartment in Playa del Rey to live in the aftermath of an idea so big it imploded under its own weight, leaving everyone to start new lives in the wreckage it left behind.
It left Bonnie wondering if marriage was a bigger idea or a smaller idea than a commune that tried to change the world before it went bad like sour milk. And now here she is, sitting across from this man and his two boys with salsa on their faces hoping their dad will marry her.
“We’ll see,” she says, red in the face, smiling as she grabs her purse and looks around for her makeup mirror.
* * *
MOM CALLS NEAR the end of the summer to tell us Paul has left on a binge again. She can’t take it anymore and doesn’t think “it’s good for you guys” to see him that way. She explains this calmly, with a tone like a TV reporter delivering bad news about rain over the weekend.
She says she’s sad that he’s gone but she decided they have to get divorced. Her voice is very certain, detached, like she’s talking about somebody else. “I have to let go of him. We’ll talk more about it when you guys get back, but I just need you to know I’m okay and I’ll be fine if I can find my way through this.” She says she’s been dealing with alcoholics and addicts her whole life and she can’t be a victim anymore. “I’m gonna get better, I know it. I need your support, though.”
Tony is silent. I say, “It’s okay. I’m sorry, Mom.” I say, “You’ve dealt with enough.” My first thought is that without Mom, Paul will have nowhere to live. I picture him lying in a gutter passed out with a bottle inside a bag lying on his chest. I know he doesn’t drink like this. He drinks in his truck in the woods. But in AA everyone talks about “functional drunks” who can have jobs and seem normal to outsiders and “gutter drunks” who can’t handle anything and I know that Mom has just decided that Paul is officially a gutter drunk. I wonder if he’s cold. I wonder if he’s lonely. I wonder who’s going to cut the wood and take care of the rabbits. Who is going to tell us jokes and take us fishing? I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
“He loves you guys and he’s not a bad man, but he’s just too sick.”
I say, “I understand,” and I say, “I love you, Mom,” and I say, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
Bonnie looks worried. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I know you love him. I hope your mom is all right. This is going to be hard on everyone, but maybe it’s for the best?”
Dad says, “Well, that’s too bad. Some guys never get it together and they end up drinking themselves to death. There’s nothing you can do about it.” He shakes his head. They both hug us and tell us they love us, that they are here to talk if we need anything. We go for frozen yogurt and when we get back we watch George Carlin and we laugh until we’re red in the face.
It’s so different how they see us. Mom is always trying to find a way to make us take care of her. Dad and Bonnie’s first thought is always of us, how we might be sad, how it might be difficult for us that Paul is leaving. I know it’s my job to take care of Mom and that all boys are supposed to take care of their mothers because that was the reason they were born. But it’s nice to tell Bonnie I’m sad for Paul. Dad leans down and gives me a hug and says he liked Paul too and he seemed to be a good guy and he’s sorry to see him go because it made it a little easier on everyone to have him around.
I like when he’s gentle like this. The whole tough-guy exterior is gone in an instant and he seems more like a person trying to guide you through a storm. I remember that he did this for many people in Synanon. He saved their lives. People say he’s a good man to talk to in a crisis. There’s no judgment, even now, even of his ex-wife and our stepdad. There’s just this quiet sense that he’s seen it all, that it all can look pretty bad in the dark but starts to look better in the light and in any case he’s not going anywhere. He sits with me, his arm draped around my shoulder. He tells me some jokes, repeating George Carlin’s line about the words you can’t say on TV. He pokes my ribs and messes up my hair and goes to the kitchen and comes back with an ice cream sandwich for us to split. We turn on the Dodger game and he’s got a little half-cocked grin the whole time, making silly jokes about the players and umpires.
It’s a new feeling. This thing that I feel when Dad gets like this. Like the wind has stopped blowing and I can hear. I feel quiet. Like nothing is required of me. There’s no words I need to say and no problem I need to solve. I just sit with Dad and eat my ice cream sandwich as we listen to Vin Scully announce the batting order.
Bonnie and Tony disappear into the bedroom and close the door. You know it’s a Big Talk because it ends with a hug when they walk out and Bonnie has a tear in her eye. She sits down next to me and says, “We’ve been discussing it and Tony thinks he should come live here in L.A. There’s a junior high right down the street. I can drop him off in the morning and he can take the bus back. He’s getting bigger and maybe your mom needs a break from him. Besides, teenage boys need their dads. What do you think?”
My first thought is, Isn’t that against the rules? I didn’t know that was allowed.
The second thought I have is about headlocks and Indian burns, getting pinned on my back while he pounds on my chest.
“I think it’s a great idea!”
They look surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah!”
“You won’t miss him?”
This feels like a trap. I know if I say no then it will turn into a talk about “brothers forgiving brothers” and how we’re going to be best friends someday like Dad and Uncle Pete so we need to learn to get along. That all sounds distracting.
On the other hand, if I say yes, that might undermine the whole thing. I steal a glance at Tony who has an expression on his face that says something like Don’t you fuck this up for me you little son of a bitch.
I choose the most diplomatic answer I can think of. “He’s my brother. I want what’s best for him.”
They disappear to talk more in the bedroom and an hour later Bonnie announces Tony will come live in Los Angeles in the fall.
I can hear Dad’s muffled voice wafting through the apartment when they call Mom. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s for the best … He might just be too much for you to handle right now … I get it … No, we’d love to have him here.” Bonnie is crying which means Mom is crying. Dad walks out into the living room and says to Tony, “Why don’t you come talk to your mom?”