***
I was allowed to smile and savor that WBRW recap for all of about five minutes before Uncle Al stormed through my bedroom door, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and firmly sat me down on the same sofa in my mother’s living room where he had punched me in the gut. Like a misbehaving little kid, I was back in time out. He did not punch me this time, probably because my mother was standing right next to him. She was smoking a cigarette, looking a little crazy and definitely fuming under the surface as she stared at me with disappointed eyes. Clearly, Al had called her and filled her in on some of what happened, maybe all of my transgressions, who knows. I was about to find out.
“Al says you horribly insulted his wife, Aunt Sally, during one of the songs in your show last night, is that true Vin?” my mother asked. “I want to hear it from you. I want your version of what the hell happened?”
“It’s true,” I admitted.
My mother started pacing and chain-smoking.
“Why, Vin, why would you do that?” she asked. “You don’t even know her. Please tell me I raised you better than to say your auntie prefers whatever the fuck you said … in front of all those people I might add.”
“I just changed the rhyme. The guys in the band kind of pushed me to do it. I know it was stupid and I’m sorry to her and to you, Uncle Al,” I said.
Al shook his head in disgust. My mother wasn’t satisfied either. I got frustrated.
“Uncle Al, you told me to become a rock star and your orders were something like, ‘I don’t care how you do it, just do it and do it fast,’” I said, attempting to stand up for myself. “I called my mother a stripper, which she is. I called you a mobster, which …
“I am not a mobster,” Al protested. “I’m a business mogul.”
My mother actually forced a laugh through her angry tears.
“Yeah, and I’m a Broadway actress, Al,” she said.
“Yes, I crossed the line,” I continued, “but my point is we’re trying to find our way as musicians right now and part of that is trying different sounds, different lyrics, whatever. We need the freedom to do that to get to where we want to be and where you want us to be. You and that goon of yours have no right to barge onto the stage with guns blazing and stop our show! The Afterglows didn’t even get to perform because you couldn’t control your anger!”
“Shut the hell up, you little punk!” Uncle Al erupted.
“What?!!!” my mother exploded, throwing a punch in his direction and missing wildly. “Are you fucking crazy?!!! Going after Vincent with a gun?”
Apparently my uncle had left out that little detail in his version of last night’s events to my hysterical mother. She also didn’t read the paper or listen to the news much so she had no idea what happened at the Heartbreak. She had worked until 1 a.m. as a “den mother” at the Roxy the night before and her struggle to deal with that painful transition was burden enough. All of this mayhem completely sent her over the edge.
“Get the hell out of here!” she shouted as she attempted to push him toward the door. He was too strong, fought her off with his burly arms and barely moved an inch.
“Don’t change the subject!” he demanded with crazy black eyes and his finger pointing here, there and everywhere. “This little punk disrespected me and my wife. And as long as Vin is going to rat me out for attempting to fire a bullet up his ass, which I had every right to do in that situation, I will let you in on a little secret, Danielle.”
My mother stopped her feeble assault, backed up with messy hair and took another drag on her cigarette. Here we go, I feared. Pandora’s Box was creaking.
“What now?” she said, her eyes bracing for more tears and disappointment.
“In September, this little shit went into the bedroom of my senile mother, his own grandmother, and stole cash and jewelry to pay off his bookie! He got behind betting football games and he stole from his own helpless flesh and blood. How do you like that, Danielle?!!” Uncle Al shouted, making sure every word slammed into the defenseless ears of my mother.
I slumped over on the couch and covered my head with both hands, waiting for the onslaught.
“No!!!” my mother screamed like I had never heard her before. “Vincent would never do something like that. You’re a liar!”
“Ask my sister Marie, if you don’t believe me,” Al yelled. “Pick up the phone right now and ask her. I dare you!”
My mother raced toward her cell phone on the kitchen table, but I popped back up and stopped her in her tracks before her hand touched the phone.
“Ma, I’m guilty! I did it. Uncle Al is telling the truth,” I shouted, just wanting all of this to be out in the open and over with as soon as possible.
My mother froze in place. Then she picked up the vase of flowers on the kitchen table and hurled it toward my ducking head. She threw the clear-glass vase so hard that it sailed over me on the sofa and spun down for a violent crash landing on the hardwood floor in the hallway. My mother had spanked me plenty of times when I was much younger, but she had never thrown glassware at me.
I cringed as I slowly raised my head back up and looked at her. Uncle Al stood there and watched as my mother rushed at me and shook me violently with her hands. She also slapped her only child across the face, which was a first. I knew I had fucked up, but this definitely made it sink into my heart, soul and brain. In a strange way, Uncle Al had let me off the hook with his unique plan of discipline. My mother, on the other hand, would not let rock music be my road to redemption.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped as she suddenly pushed back from me like I was cancerous and snarled at me in disgust — 18 years of her parenting thrown under the bus in one fell swoop, just as I had feared weeks ago when I thought my uncle and I agreed we would never tell her. But he ratted me out just as I had ratted him out for trying to assassinate me at the Heartbreak Lounge. A rat for a rat. I had new respect for Friday as I thought about him sitting in jail at that very moment. The poor gangster probably would be a free man right now if it weren’t for a couple of beauties like Al and me.
Strangely, as we all stood there in silence for a few awkward seconds and contemplated the utter dysfunction of the entire situation, Uncle Al began to gaze at me with much softer eyes and an expression that almost seemed sympathetic toward me. It truly was a turning point in our relationship and I’ll never forget it. Sort of like Saturn did with a few uplifting words at the end of our depressing conversation last night outside the police station, Uncle Al’s subtle change of face handed me one precious slice of hope out of this family picnic basket full of shit.
All that stood in the way of me returning to my band and making more music was apologizing to my grandmother. On that All Saints Day evening at least, Uncle Al’s plan of discipline and loan sharking would have to take a back seat.
Confessing to nana became my first mandatory step in a long road to redemption in the crushed, glassy eyes of my broken-hearted mother. And once it was done, I think we all started feeling slightly better.