I had that conversation with Helena after she advised me that Jay Jacobs had been murdered. She didn’t want to talk about his death or murder, she was wounded or distraught…I couldn’t tell and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t speculate…I’m no psychoanalyst. I didn’t want to probe either, what do I know, I’m just a reporter trying to write a story. Helena wanted me to keep speaking about anything but that. She empathized with my story. She thought I was a real man because I exposed my vulnerability. Women always seemed to fall for that.
It was dreadful for her to speak and I could hear the reluctance in her voice with some whimpering over the phone, something was terribly wrong. She asked about my family in Los Angeles. I hadn’t missed home or the landscape, maybe some friendships and relatives…my social network, but other than that I could almost get the same things in Houston as in L.A. but I missed the weather though. I detested humid sub-tropical, but L.A. from afar seemed somewhat backwards now, a bit stagnant in the evolutionary stage of world development. Yeah I know, that sounded a bit contradictory because I had already made a decision to move back home after this story was penned, but it would be temporary. I was now considering Washington, Oregon, or Alaska, a Pacific Northwestern landscape with more majesty, who knows.
Texas was empty for me now, I had waited enough time for Chloe to return, I would be doomed for destruction if I remained a recluse here…stagnant. Texas was a lost cause as well. In L.A., I had a problem right from the beginning because I asked my brother to pick me up from the Tijuana-San Diego border on the U.S. side. First mistake, if you have siblings like mine, do not ask them for a ride…that type of favor will cause you long-term suppressed strife. I asked my brother for a ride, I mean―why wouldn’t I, we had that type of relationship where we relied on each other for important matters. We were ecstatic about seeing each other after such a long time. He took his wife and kids as well, but on the ride home it was business as usual for us.
Let me explain. My older brother and I have always had a conflicting relationship of ideas and opinions. From something as insignificant as food preferences, to religious or political dogmas, we were always at odds. I coined it, ‘the little brother complex’, because he maintained a complex about almost everything…it began on the ride home. For example, he wanted to see pictures of Texas on his phone while he swerved on the freeway lanes, while I considered it a safety hazard. And then it carried over to parenting techniques, and sibling relationships, absolute tedium.
And when I asked him to drop me off in San Pedro for my interview at the port instead of going to his house because he wanted to grill fish, he became disgruntled. I told him we would catch up the following day or whenever else to have a backyard barbeque, but on the day I arrived, I would be swamped with a burdening workload. Besides, I had made prior arrangements to meet with some friends for dinner at an old hangout, C&O’s, in my old neighborhood. My brother hadn’t mentioned what he had planned prior to that drive, the barbeque was a surprise. It was thoughtful, but I had plans. Was I supposed to drop everything to have dinner with his friends and family because he picked me up from San Diego? Was that the price I had to pay for asking such a favor?
Well it didn’t even cross my mind, besides I called him for about three consecutive days trying to reschedule until we settled on that following Friday. I guess there were other outside factors bothering him as well but he never conveyed it. I saw my parents as well that afternoon, my mother crumbled down in whimpering yelps after having a broken heart because her youngest child had abandoned her, while my father was as placid and neutral as usual…a straight realist.
So we all met at my brother’s house for the barbecue, friends and relatives, at some point I made a wisecrack before leaving about him having a DUI. He found it arrogant. In fact, my brother’s friend took it as an offense and fueled a flame on my brother’s behalf about dedication, honor, pride, gas money, etc…including other nonsense I couldn’t grasp. But there it was―gas money. Real-tough guy machismo, you understand.
Everything I said now seemed to be offensive. It was filtering through the portal of his friend’s drunkenness instead of his own. What cowardice, but I apologized to my brother anyway while I ignored his drunken idiot friend. He didn’t even deserve a glance from my direction. Who was he to offer an opinion? My mother began weeping again because her children were at a crossroads, so my father waltzed between us with his imperial Stalinist mustache to calm the tense air with diplomacy. She was a different story though, but let’s just say―I made my peace with her for the moment. My brother had parted oceans between us by maintaining his passive-aggressive silence, but it was enough for me to assume where he and I stood in the grand scheme of things. Oh, and just to clarify, I lied to my parents about breaking up with Chloe.