I Thought I Heard

I remember a whisper I heard when I
was seven; a uniformed policeman was
addressing my aunt, with whom I lived.
“Your brother, Mrs. Allen, was killed in
an automobile accident last night.”
Aunt Livy’s only brother was my dad, Tom
Lewis, Jr.  I was named after him, which
made me Tom Lewis, III.

I heard a sharp intake of breath and then
screaming.  I remember worrying about
how Aunt Livy was taking the news, but
then I realized that the heavy breathing
and screaming was coming not from my
aunt but from me.  But nobody else could
hear it.  They paid me no mind.

“His body was taken directly to the mor-
gue, Ma’am,” said the cop.  “There was
just no hope.  I’m sorry.”  She said some-
thing like, “Yes, that’s probably for the best;
I’ll phone the funeral home this afternoon.”
What I thought I heard was:  “Yes, indeed,
Tom should bring around $1.49 per pound
at the butcher’s; and I’ll see to it that Mr.
Lindsey doesn’t put his thumb on the
scale this time!”  

I startled, stared disbelievingly at Aunt
Livy but her face was the same as always.
The conversation between the policeman
and my aunt continued for several more
minutes with no further surprises.  I took a
deep breath.

“I’ll get out of your hair now, Mrs. Allen; I
know you must have just skads of people to
contact.”  What my aunt then said was,
“That’s correct, Officer:  his ex-wife, our
parents, his work, there’s just a hundred
things to do!”  

But, what I thought I heard was:   “That’s
correct, Officer, I have calls to make, invi-
tations to send out, caterers to call, for the
huge party we’re giving in celebration of my
brother’s passing.  You and the misses
should come, too.”  I didn’t hear his re-
sponse but she added, “Don’t bring a thing;
we’ll have noise-makers, balloons.  I think
we’ll even have fireworks.”  

As he turned to leave, the policeman
swiveled round to me and said, “Take care,
Young Man, things are going to be alright.”  
Then he smiled and left.  But, what I thought
I heard him say was, “You little shit!  If I catch
you out after curfew, for any reason, I’ll tear
your heart out!”  Then he grinned grotesquely
and left.

When the cop had gone, Aunt Livy, who had
been my guardian all my life, since even
before my mom and dad split up, said, “Well, I
guess you heard most of that, Tommy.  I know
it’s not easy to lose a parent–or a brother–but
we’ll manage somehow.”  She smiled sweetly
at me.

But, what I thought I heard her say was, “Now
I’m stuck with you, you little parasite!” She drew
her finger to her chin, thinking.  “But it might
not be all bad:  I could get his house!”  And she
smiled sweetly.  It was at about that time that I
began in earnest my life-long love affair with
Lithium and Quaaludes.