Who Shit in My Boots??

The visits to Miami often included an evening’s stay at my grandmother’s house. Referred to as “Granny Friel” you would never find her without a Pall Mall dangling from her lip and a salty brimmed Budweiser can semi dented on the side to allow for easy grasping. The house sat literally unchanged as the neighboring areas grew with the eras they witnessed. The fluorescent orange shutters had dulled over the years as well as the sky blue front door. Inside the house lay a thick fog of cigarette smoke and dust and the sound of my granny coughing became a familiar ring in the back of our ears. The most popular sight of the abode was the Florida room, or the television room where a pale white blanket of flesh and fat enveloped the lime green sofa. The occasional moan that emitted from underneath the massive presence was the only indication that it was, in fact human. “Hi Uncle Tim,” I hollered with joy as I ran to embrace his enormous stomach. “It’s good to see you, I missed you,” I said as I tried to wrap my arms around him. “What the fuck is that, he screamed as he jumped up swinging his right arm into my forehead launching me past him into the side of the end table, scattering National Enquirers across the dimly lit room. He sat up with a face of wrinkles and indentions that were left from sleeping on the television remote. “Oh hi Gregory,” he let out with a relieved smile. Picking up a half smoked cigarette and blindly reaching for his lighter he questioned, “What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

I would often find myself roaming in the backyard of the Friel estate which consisted of about two acres of dry crab grass speckled with the remains of once drivable cars, now retired to stand upon cinderblocks, the paint jobs rusting away under the scorching heat of South Florida’s sun. There was a large pool on the deck that I cannot remember ever being full. It had formed a sort of ecosystem in itself and now resembled a miniature version of a steaming swamp. We witnessed generations of hideous frogs and lizards come and go as they belched and urinated their way into our lives, not much different than the other members of the Friel family actually.The patio had been screened in at one time but now only long aluminum supports remained. Long grasses and weeds had grown over what was once a poor excuse of a greenhouse. This was where the various pets of the family had called home and taken refuge from my grandfather’s alcoholic “moods” over the years. Now it just sat there off in the corner, windowless and concrete colored. I could imagine it being used in 1939 Poland as a cell to beat unruly prisoners in. The only reason I know that it was once livelier was the black and white picture my mother kept in her jewelry box at home. It was a picture of her monkey Pepe Cleo Friel perched on the greenhouse doorstep. She named him Pepe after the gay Cuban gardener the family had hired and Cleo because my grandfather had brought him home for her after the hurricane, named accordingly. She loved this monkey, as any kid would. Hell, what kid wouldn’t love a monkey? They didn’t enforce many wildlife protection laws as they do now so anyone could basically own any kind of animal they wanted. My uncles owned baby alligators at one time but after being too much to handle, they brilliantly let them free in a local running canal. Back to Pepe; now my mom has been known to smother things; human, animal, most things. A lot of people have had animals run away or panic and leave but I guarantee my mother is the only person in the world that has actually forced an animal to kill itself. That’s not really fair as I’m sure it was a group effort of the entire Friel family that drove poor Pepe to his ultimate demise.“Screeech,” my mother would frequently hear when arriving back from school. Either her two brothers were feeding it pepper sauce or my grandfather was chasing it to beat him for shitting in his boots, but either way that monkey was never at ease. Next, it was my mothers turn to torture and humiliate him. She would squeeze poor little Pepe with so much love that one little “eep” was all that came out of his exhale. She would then bathe him, paint his fingernails, and tie ribbons in his hair. I can imagine Pepe fighting and struggling from the curling iron for a few minutes and then eventually giving in with a sigh and frown of acceptance as he was pampered into misery.It was a hot summer day when Pepe came upon a solution to his Friel family situation. Pepe waited until everyone left the house and my grandfather had drank himself to sleep. He had thought about this moment for weeks in advance, clinging onto a little blue baby sheet at all times, impressing the idea onto others that he truly loved this blanket. Finally they had allowed him the chance to keep it with him in his cage. Up and over the top of his cage the little blue blanket was thrown; Pepe had practiced this movement countless times before with pieces of ivy that had fallen from nearby trees and the loose braided hairs of his tail that he had collected over time. The noose was in place as Pepe looked around one last time with a hint of hesitation when he heard a voice shout through the air, “Alright motherfucker who shit in my boots?!.” The rope snapped and Pepe left this world with a relieved smile.

At night I could always look forward to a friendly game of Uno, a card game that used as much skill as one would use to breathe or blink their eyes. Seated at the head of the table was my great grandfather. This was the meanest person I have ever known and the constant dirty scowl on his face summed up his personality. His chin turned up so far that it literally touched the bottom of his nose and the glasses he wore resembled thick glass ashtrays as his eyes were magnified to a comical degree. “Give me a goddamned card,” he bellowed. “Dad for the last time we are not playing Gin, now put your hands down and pick up your cards. We’re playing Uno with Gregory,” she calmly instructed. Grandpa Worm always loved me and cherished my visits. “Who the hell is that? One of Terry’s bastard children,” he politely gestured. Good old Grandpa Worm I thought to myself. Little did he know that his utter disgust for life would bite him in the ass as he would ironically outlive all his children. By 9 o’ clock my relatives would all be drunk and or passed out. The only one left up were my Uncle Tim and I.Uncle Tim had a slight drug problem I would come to find out and for some reason most drug addicts constantly needed cash. As he approached me to ask if I needed a refill of my generic brand cola he noticed me admiring the money I had in my wallet. “Your dad give you money,” he asked softly as his eyes gleamed with anticipation of the answer. “Yeah he gave me a hundred dollars to spend while I’m here,” I said back. “You know, he said, it’s not good to carry one bill with you. You should get change so that way you can have five twenties instead of one hundred dollar bill,” he said with a sound of superiority and great wisdom. “Uh yeah that does sound right I guess. Do you have change,” I asked. “No but I can get you some,” he quickly responded as if he had been waiting for me to say that all night. “Okay,” I said and handed him my money. He left and informed me that he would be back in no more than twenty minutes.Several hours passed before I realized he wasn’t coming back. All I managed to do was cry and run to tell my grandmother. “That son of a bitch,” she screamed. “Did he take anything else?” She was referring to the set of china dishes she left out after we had dinner. In her drunken stupor she had forgotten to lock them away in her cupboard in the closet. He had in fact taken it all, including my hundred dollar bill.I didn’t see Uncle Tim the rest of that wonderful stay in Miami but my granny did reimburse me the one hundred dollars, but not before telling my dad about the ordeal. She told him to sit me down and let me know about Uncle Tim’s “problem”. When I got back home to my father though, he never spoke of the incident. But a week later after I finished mowing the lawn I asked him for my pay, only to hear him respond, “I’ll pay you but I need to get some change from Uncle Tim first.” I could hear him laughing to himself as he walked away into the house.