Broken Pieces

"Here is some paperwork we need you to fill out," the doctor said eventually, passing a clipboard over her desk, "I will give you some privacy. A counselor will be in shortly." The doctor stood up and walked around her desk.

"You don't uh...need me to like..." I stumbled, trying to spit out a fear I'd had ever since I first got the call, "To like identify..."

"Oh no honey, you don't need to seem them like...you don't need to see them now. We know who everyone is," The doctor said, for the first time sounding like a person. I realized she had probably just been speaking from rote memorization before. Insert commiseration here. My question made her a person.

"Oh thank you," I said and felt some level of relief. I was not ready to see my parents. I suddenly thought about the funeral and felt unbearably tired. The doctor slipped out the door and closed it behind her, leaving me alone. I picked up the papers she'd handed me and leafed through them briefly. So much information. I sighed and started to fill them out, they would keep my mind off of things.

I was only working for five minutes or so when I hear someone jiggling the door handle. I set my pen down on the clipboard and looked over my shoulder. The door opened and a woman walked in quickly.

"Doctor Garner, I am sorry it took me so long, my name is..."

"Debra?" I asked. The woman was wearing a thick winter coat and the hood was covering her eyes, but I recognized her. She looked up quickly.

"Oh my, Roxie. You aren't the Doctor...but I suppose this is her office," she said.

"Yeah..." I noted. Suddenly she realized why I was there, the same reason she was. She quickly sat down in the chair next to me and grabbed my hand.

"Oh Roxie, I am so sorry that this happened," she said, her voice containing all of the emotion that Dr. Garner's lacked.

"Thank you Debra," I said. Then I realized what Debra was doing here and I felt my breath catch in my throat, "Does Andy know?" my voice sounded choked. Debra took a deep breath and nodded her head slowly, and then sighed. Debra had been Andy, my brother's, personal tutor when he was a kid. Even after he'd grown up and stopped going to school, Debra remained close with my parents. And with Andy. She was probably his best friend.

"How did he take it?" I asked, my fingers growing cold.

"Better than you'd think," Debra said, "I mean he is devastated. He is going to be devastated. But he is staying strong. He even offered to watch my dogs while I came to the hospital." I nodded my head. That sounded like Andy.

It was so strange that in all my thoughts about my family upon hearing the news that I didn't once thinks about my older brother. This affected him more than just about anyone else. My brother had been born with a mild intellectual disability. They used to say that he would grow up to have a mental and emotional age of a seventh grader, but they didn't like to talk like that anymore. Andy still lived with my parents (I felt so ashamed it had been nearly a year since I'd seen him too) and their death meant a complete change in his life. It meant...What did it mean?

"Debra, what happens to Andy?" I asked. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of that, "How is his trust fund?" I knew that Debra served as an advisor to my parents as it related to my brother. She would know what was happening.

"One thing at a time," Debra said, sensing my unease. She still sounded like a teacher, despite the fact that she was getting pretty old and had surely retired long before. "I don't know what happens to your brother now. Your parents and I...we figured there was still time to make more definite arrangements." I closed my eyes and took a breath. Andy must've been so scared. He, like his younger sister, hated uncertainty.

"What is he going to do? Where is he going to stay?" I suddenly realized that I was the only adult family member Andy had left, and I had no idea of what was best for me, let alone him.

"Calm yourself," Debra said again, in her teacher voice, she reached over and touched my hand, "We will figure this all out."

"I just...I thought I had a long time before this happened. I thought I would have kids of my own before I was taking care of my parents' kid," I said wistfully, realizing how fucked up my life was at just that moment.

"I know honey. But that is the way life works. We will work this out," she said. She had such a calming demeanor, I soon found myself nodding in agreement with her.

"Okay...Okay..." I said, trying to get myself ready, "So his trust fund?" I asked. My parents, for all their faults, had wanted to take care of my brother. They had been putting money aside for him as long as I could remember. I needed to know that he had enough money to live on. But Debra was shaking her head.

"Your parents planned on working another 20 years. There is considerable money put away. But not enough to meet all of his needs for the rest of his life," I felt my heart sinking. I couldn't afford myself, "But he does work you know. He contributes to his upkeep."

"He works?' I asked, I had no idea. Debra nodded.

"He works at the elementary school. Has for several years now. Maintenance. Works under my old friend Mr. Ghent," she said and started telling a story about the head janitor. I was shocked; I should have known my brother worked. I realized just how removed from my life he'd been.

"Okay, so he can work and he can use money from his trust fund to supplement it. I can help with that," I said. I took accounting classes in college. In theory, I could keep a budget together based on the trust disbursements. I was feeling a little bit better. But then there was a larger issue.

"Do you think he can take care of the house?" I asked, thinking of my parents ugly ranch house in the suburbs.

"Oh no, it is far too big a project for him. The house is for a family, not for a solitary man," Debra said and that made sense. But I was already thinking it was a blessing in disguise.

"Well why don't we sell the house? We can put the money in the trust fund and move him to an apartment. Any other money that is coming to me too, he can have it," I said. Suddenly things seemed brighter. Andy would be taken care of and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. I couldn't handle the responsibility. But once again, Debra was shaking her head.

"You're parents just got a second mortgage last year to pay for your mother's surgery. The house has almost no equity. You will need to sell it as I doubt the both of you can make the payments. But you'll be lucky to get a couple of thousand dollars in profit out of the sale," Debra explained. I felt deflated, but not entirely.

"Well we will move him to a smaller apartment then," I said, desperately searching for something that would stick. Debra just kept shaking her head.

"Well you raise the larger point now. I do not believe that it is in Andy's best interest to live on his own," she said. I had been dancing around this issue, not wanting to talk about it. I had no concrete idea of what I was afraid of, but even barest outline of a thought regarding Andy's living situation filled me with a deep sense of foreboding. I guess I knew what was coming.

"Why not? I mean I remember when he was a kid they said he could grow up to be self-sufficient. He has a job. He will be okay. I can give him money when I can afford to," I said. Feeling a bit panicky again. This was starting to sound like my role was going to be expanded. I couldn't handle it. I cared about my brother, hell I was just willing to give away my inheritance to take care of him. But I needed to be able to support him from a distance.

"He is capable of living on his own," Debra said, obviously choosing her words carefully, "He is self-sufficient in many ways. But...take his job for instance. He does excellent work, but requires close supervision. The same is true in his life in general. He can function on his own, but he does so much better when he has support. Close support." I felt my fingers starting to shake. I could not handle this level of responsibility.

"Can he...Can he stay with you?" I said, suddenly striking on a desperate, but feasible plan. I just could not handle this, "You can handle his trust and money and everything. I am sure you do now. It will be like nothing changed." I said. I felt myself hyperventilating. Debra squeezed my hand and smiled sympathetically.

"I am 78 years old and not in the best of health," Debra said, "I already sold my house. I am moving to Arizona. To be with my daughter and her family." She said. I felt like my legs were kicked out from under me.

"No...I...you can't," I said. I needed Debra to be here. She needed to take care of Andy. I couldn't do this. I was pathetic. I'd screw him up like I screwed myself up. The sudden realization of the nature of my condition struck me. I had spent the entire trip to the hospital trying to figure out what my parent's death meant to me and now I found that I'd focused on the wrong thing. My life was about to change in an infinite number of ways and I was not ready. My father was right, I was stupid. My mother was right, I was a loser. In their death, they would prove to everyone that they were right and I was worthless.

"I have to go honey," she said.

"I can't..." I started again. Now the tears started. I don't know if I was sad about my parents, or frustrated with my own inability to behave like an adult, ashamed of the way I thought of my brother, or scared by how poorly I would do as a caretaker. I am sure it was all of that. Plus a lot of self-pity. I buried my face in my hands, letting the tears fall. Debra rubbed my back and spoke gently to me. Eventually, I was able to get myself together. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at Debra. I was so scared.

Debra looked at me deeply, and I could sense she was going to say something. I hoped (though I did not believe) that she would say that she'd changed her mind, that she would stay and take care of my brother. If nothing else, I hoped she would say something of comfort. But instead she said, "You are an adult. So is your brother. No one can make you take him into your home. But even if I stayed...I will not be here long. He is very soon to be your responsibility. You can step up and take a wonderful man into your home, your brother, and let him make your life better. Or you can selfishly think only of yourself and thereby deprive yourself of a good friend and condemn your brother to a much harder life." Every word she said was the truth I suppose, but it was so hard to hear.

"I am so scared. I am not good enough to do this," I said.

"That's life," she replied.

* * * * *

Viewing. Funeral. Bad food. Sad relatives. Pitying glances. A lot of money spent. You know how those things go and you don't want to hear about them anymore than I want to talk about them. Suffice it to say that the accident that killed my parents had spared their faces so they looked like themselves in their boxes and that when the funeral was over, the last two people in attendance were Roxie and Andy Fuller. They were going home together.

I had told Debra the night of the crash that I needed to think about what I was going to do about Andy. But, I guess I never really had any other plan. Listen, I know that I am was a totally shitty person and I have done just an amazing amount of things in my life that I am not at all proud of. But, I knew that Debra was right. Andy could not live on his own and he didn't really have anywhere else to go. He had to be with me. In the long run, I felt certain that he would be worse off with me than with just about anyone else. But, I was better than nothing. Hopefully.

"Hey Andy, you ready to go," I said. He was looking down into the holes, side by side, where we'd planted our parents. In the four days since my parents' death, I had come to terms with it. Like I said, we were not what anyone would ever consider close. I still didn't like that they were dead, but I accepted that it was the way things were. Andy had always had a better relationship with my parents. He took it harder. Mom condescendingly babied him though he didn't complain so he wouldn't hurt her feelings. Dad didn't care what Andy's IQ was so long as he turned out tall, strapping, and handsome. Andy achieved that goal, so dad was happy.

Andy was around 6'4 and a big guy. He fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum for a big guy between being chubby and beefcake. He sort of looked like a former high school football player who'd let himself go a little bit. But just a little bit. So you know, a sort of stocky muscular build with shortish legs for his height. He had short blonde hair and blue eyes (family traits) and generally looked like an attractive young guy. Hell, he was an attractive young guy (I had to stop qualifying things). I used to get a kick out of seeing cute girls walk up to him, lay on their charm, and then watch as it went over his head. They thought he was being withholding and dickish, which made them throw themselves at him even more.

"What?" he asked in a flat voice.

"Come on man, there is nothing left here, let's go back to the apartment," I said. We'd already contacted a real estate agent about putting the house up for sale. She thought we could sell it for enough to clear the debts, which was as best we could hope for. We'd been staying there before the funeral, but now it was time to return to real life. Andy had already moved most of his stuff into what had once been my cramped living room but was now his bedroom that morning. We were roomies.

"Yeah Roxie, okay," he said in the same flat tone as he looked up from the graves. I saw him take a deep breath and shake his head. Then he turned and faced me. His eyes were a little bit watery, but he looked no worse for the wear. But he looked like he needed a little affection. I couldn't bring myself to hug him, so I reached out my hand. He took it (his large hand essentially enveloping mine) and we started to walk down toward my parents car (they each had a car, one that belonged to my dad and was crushed. One that belonged to my mother, it was now mine). There was some snow on the ground and the wind blew fiercely across the open fields of the grave yard. I pulled my coat up over my throat. Andy didn't seem to notice, he was lost in thought.

"Today was a hard day," I said to him and he just nodded, "you doing okay Buddy," I called him the nickname I'd given him when I was a small child. He smiled when he heard it.

"It was okay, because you were there," he said. I was taken aback slightly. I rarely made things better. In fact, I was sure I looked like an ice queen. I hadn't cried. Just stared at the coffins with a blank stare. People thought I was glad they were gone.

"Of course I was there. Where else would I be?" I asked rhetorically.

"You just haven't been around in a long time," Andy replied, looking over at me. I refused to meet his eyes, "I miss you."

"Yeah, I missed you too," I said quickly, "I am sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. Just letting you know I missed you," Andy said, squeezing my hand. I realized that he had grown up quite a bit. I guess I had fallen into the trap of thinking of him as a child or something forever. He was not a child, he was a man.

"Well you are going to get more of me than you can stand, roomie," I said playfully, I pinched his nose like I used to do when we were kids. He laughed and gently pushed me away.

"We won't get tired of each other. We are family," he explained. I didn't know what to say to that. I had gotten pretty tired of all of my other family members long before they died. Now I was looking down the barrel of a 50 year roommate situation. I was not feeling optimistic.

"Well it isn't all going to be fun and games there Andrew," I said, poking his chest with my free hand, "We have to make sure we figure out how to live together." I don't know why, but I was always able to speak so much more comfortably with Andy than with other people. He also brought out a more playfully side of me, even at a funeral it seems.

"Everything will be okay sis," he said, "I know you are worried. But everything is going to be good. I go back to work tomorrow." Andy was giving me a deep look as she spoke. I hadn't expressed any concern, I guess he just picked up on it. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I had to avoid underestimating him.

"You like your job?" I asked. Andy smiled broadly.

"Yeah, we have a lot of fun. And I like the kids," he said. "Do you like your job?" I snorted and thought of Dale and the taste of sickly cum.

"Not really," I said honestly. Andy nodded.

"Maybe get a new one," he said.

"Easier said than done," I responded. Andy shrugged. By that time, we had reached the car and I released his hand.

"You can find a job you like, you don't have to do what you don't like. I worked at McDonald's for a week and then I told Debra that I'd rather go back to school. I guess she thought I was serious," Andy said and I laughed. Hard to blame him there.

"Well, I will think about it," I said, brushing him off and unlocking the doors to the car.

"You should," Andy said, opening up his door and sitting down. I breathed in the crisp air for a moment longer and looked back over the gravestones to where my parents were planted. Then I too opened my door and sat down.

"Well, let's get going," I said as I buckled into my seat. Andy was looking over at me.

"Did you look at Mom and Dad just now?" He asked. He must've seen me looking over my shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess I was," I said.

"I know you didn't like Mom and Dad that much," he said. I was a little shocked by that. I mean, not that he knew. It was hard not to know. But just that he would bring it up.

"No, it's not..." I started, but Andy lifted up his hands, to show that he wasn't done talking.

"I know you didn't like them because they were meaner to you than they were to me. I love Mom and Dad a lot. But I understand why you didn't want to see them very much. I just want to say... I am not mad at you for not coming over very much. And I am sorry about Mom and Dad. But I am not sad we will be living together. I love you Roxie," Andy said. I could tell by the way he spoke that he had been trying to say something to me for a while and that it had been difficult for him.

I suddenly remembered that, when I first heard about my parents' death, I recalled briefly a few fond memories of my childhood. I suddenly realized that almost all of those memories centered around my brother. He had always been such a big sweetheart and we'd had a lot of fun together. Countless hours in the backyard building forts and chasing lightning bugs, going down to the community pool on summer mornings, staying up late on school nights to sneak television in the guest bedroom. These were all the good memories of my childhood, my parents were just incidental to that. Andy had been my best friend.

Then I remembered how infrequently I had thought of him in the last few years and how much less contact I'd had with him. Something about those happy memories made me uncomfortable. I wanted to be away from them. I had let my best friend slip away and I had been too self-centered to even feel guilt about it. I now realized he felt the need to apologize in some way, to me, for my absence. I felt disgusted with myself. I knew that I didn't deserve his love. I wanted to tell him how I felt too, but I couldn't. I didn't deserve that, I didn't deserve to feel good by saying those words.

Now there he was, sitting in the car across from me, waiting for something. I didn't know what to say, and all the anxiety I felt about my future piled up on my shoulders, heavier than ever. "Yeah Buddy," I said, feeling the words catch in my throat, "I know. Hey let's get something to eat."