My brother told me "not to worry about it" when we talked about paying for the funeral. My mother was out of cash. Just a couple thousand dollars. And you see down in the US, they like to charge lots of money for these kinds of events. She just didn't have enough. I had picked up my oldest sister and we went to my mom's house. My brother lived with my mom in a sort of "Grey Gardens" set up. Big Sister and I were talking about paying for the funeral. My mother at this point was chilling at the funeral parlour. "How much do you think we can count on from Middle Sister?" my oldest sister asked. "What about little sister?" As we calculated the totals, I thought I should ask Brother, but it was kind of a rhetorical asking because I knew, and I knew that my sister knew that Brother didn't have any money. That's partly what I mean by the "Grey Gardens" set up.
"How much can you contribute?" "Don't worry about it." Not only was the response as baffling as it was vague, but he said it in a yelling, out-of-control tone. This is standard for him, but even in this circumstance, I found it rash. "Of course, I am going to worry about it, because big sister and I are the ones who are going to have to split the difference of the shortfall." Said in my best calm voice. Oh, I admit, I was trying to fuck with him. It's my only defence. Speaking to him is like asking a warden to get one of the tough pitchers in jail to assault you. "Don't worry about it." Maddeningly, he said it again. His words are a big wall of chaos designed to keep you out. "Everybody's contributing, how much will you give?" "200 hundred dollars." "When do you think you'll be able to get it to us?" Guess what he said? "DWAI" I had been at my mother's house for twenty minutes. It was the first time I'd seen him in two years.
