Neglected Family Pet

From then on I started going over to Murray’s house to care for him – to run to the corner market for his Camels and his 100-proof either Peppermint Schnapps or Hot Damn, to make sure he was eating, to watch TV with him so he didn’t feel too lonely, or take him to doctor’s appointments so they could drain the poison that was building up inside him with a barely functioning liver. It felt weird to see him so much. I was glad to take care of him, to help him through some of his final months. But I wasn’t used to seeing him so much.

I was six when we moved from St. Joe to Kansas City so my dad could have a closer commute to work. My parents took only the two youngest kids, my 13½ year old sister Hazel and me. They left in St. Joe my brother Walt, who was already in college. But they also left behind two high-schoolers: my sister Marty, a 17 year old senior, and my brother Murray, a barely 15 year old sophomore. Marty lived throughout her senior year at my dad’s—her stepfather’s—sister’s house, Aunt Lois. Murray stayed with our mom’s dad, who we called Grandpa Joe. Grandpa Joe and Grandmother Ruthanne, our mom’s mother, divorced when I was about four or five years old. I remember because it was Thanksgiving and Grandmother Ruthanne came over. I looked behind her and blurted out, “Where’s Grandpa Joe?” My older sister Hazel’s hand went over my mouth and I was shushed.

Murray became an apprentice to our grandfather. Grandpa Joe taught him how to fix things, how to build things, and how to smoke Camel nonfilters and do as you please. Murray dropped out of school shortly after we moved to Kansas City. He came to stay with us, in our basement like a neglected family pet, for a month or two. I think he even attended high school again briefly. But eventually, he fled our family for the most part.

My dad kicked him out of the house over some stupid rule Murray broke. Murray stayed with friends, worked in the kitchen at PJ’s Bar and Grille, and hitchhiked during his extended vacations. He’d basically save up enough money flipping burgers to take off a few months to hitch around the country. He followed a good friend up to New York. Lived there for awhile. (That’s where he was staying when he sent Mom the letter.) Then he lived in California for awhile, Santa Barbara and some other Santas I can’t remember.

Over time, Murray visited us occasionally, and whenever he worked at PJ’s Bar and Grille, my friends and I would walk there to talk to Murray through the screen at the back of the building. My friends always thought Murray was so cool. When Murray would visit us at home, the first thing he’d always do was go outside, no matter what the weather, and wrestle/play with our neglected pet mutt Brownie.

I remember Murray and Hazel whispering into my ear to “Go ask Calvin if we can get a puppy” when I was two years old. It’s one of my earliest memories. I remember we were at the bottom of the stairs, watching Calvin, who was sitting at his desk with the bright desk lamp on. I don’t know how I got the nerve to approach Daddy while he was working at his desk, but somehow I did, and somehow he agreed to let us get a puppy.

Murray and Hazel had already asked for a puppy, but my dad, their stepdad, said no. It was the first time I realized not all people are treated equally.