The Accidental Ofrenda

The night of November 2nd, the last day of Day of the Dead, I was driving home after my usual second shift at the Children's Hospital. My usual route home had a road closure because someone ran into a fire hydrant and flooded the whole thoroughfare. As I was struggling to find my bearings after being dumped onto a side street, I saw a little red and green restaurant. It was a Fratelli's Pasta Palace. "That's funny," I said out loud, because I talk to myself sometimes. "I thought they closed all those a long time ago."

In truth, I knew for certain they closed down over a decade ago. There were no locations left in Phoenix, or anywhere else in Arizona. I knew this because a long time ago, on every payday Friday, I would take my little brother to Fratelli's for dinner. 

Luis was a pain in the ass. He was born with Kabuki Syndrome, which, along with distinctive flattened facial features, arched eyebrows, wide-set eyes, and large ears, also caused him to have significant problems with feeding. As a newborn, he would not eat at all, which combined with all his other issues, caused him to spend the entire first year of his life in the neonatal intensive care unit. He had a tube in his nose that went down to his stomach and that's how he got his food. Eventually, surgeons placed a gastronomy feeding tube into his stomach so he could get enteral nutrition. Open the button, use this big syringe and a tube to squirt in the food, and that's how he would eat. It was a whole thing. 

The condition also gave him the longest most beautiful eyelashes you'd ever seen, and he very quickly learned how to bat them flirtatiously at his favorite nurses. I mean, the kid was developmentally disabled, but he definitely wasn't stupid. 

It was called Kabuki Syndrome because people who had it would be very pale, like kabuki theater actors I guess, and for the last of 5 children born to Mexican parents, his caucasity was a subject of much teasing. When he turned 16, we joked that he needed to hurry up and get his driver's license so he could drive the rest of us around. At that time in Phoenix, we had a sheriff who was particularly fond of pulling over those of us with browner complexions. Well, it was funny to us.

But basically he never got very good at eating. When he would eat, it was usually junk food, like chips or donuts. It was always a struggle getting him to try any new food, but I guess that first year when he was being fed through a tube in his nose, and then through the g-tube, it severed the connection between hunger and food. He would get hungry, but he knew he could wait it out until he got his enteral nutrition and in the meantime, he would graze on only the tastiest treats. Clever boy.

All those years ago, on one payday Friday, we drove to the Fratelli's and it was closed, for good. The food there was essentially mall food-court quality Italian-reminiscent food, but they would give you  unlimited garlic butter breadsticks, and the food wasn't bad, just kind of bland. You can't really go wrong when your main ingredients are pasta and cheese. But Luis loved it. Anyway, that time they were closed, so we had to go somewhere else that night. 

And then there it was, down a random side street, a Fratelli's. I almost never ate fast food anymore. I sighed. Some breadsticks would really hit the spot right now. 

I went through the drive through, ordered a half-dozen breadsticks. I paid, got that weird aluminum foil/paper bag of breadsticks, tossed it onto the passenger seat, and began my drive home. 

With my eyes on the road ahead, I reached over for a breadstick and felt something soft, warm, and...pudgy? This was not a breadstick. I looked over and saw that pale face, long eyelashes, and toothy grin. It was my little brother, Luis, still nineteen years old, just as he had been when he died. 

"Hey man! Looking for this?" he said, and held out a breadstick. I snapped my eyes back to the road. 

"Luis?" I said.

"Yeah?"

"You're dead."

He chewed thoughtfully on a breadstick, then said "Yup."

"Okay," I said. "Just making sure. Still, could you put your seat belt on? You're making me nervous."

"Okay!"

"I'll take that breadstick now."

He handed me one. I held it, but I didn't eat it.

"Luis?"

"Yeah?"

"Coming back on the Day of the Dead is pretty damn Mexican."

He laughed. 

"Hey man, do you still talk to Jose?"

"No, he moved away a little after you died."

"Oh. Did you get that job at the animal shelter?"

I had to think back. "Yes, I did actually. About a year after you died. I don't work there anymore though; I mostly just help humans now."

"That's cool too! Hey, are you still not talking to our older brother? 

"No, Luis, I mean, yes I'm not talking to him. I don't talk to him." 

"Why not again?"

"Let's just say he's more dead to me than you are."

"That's pretty dead" he chortled, spraying breadstick crumbs everywhere.

"Luis, come on, man, you know that stuff that pretends it's garlic butter bleaches everything it touches!"

He did not apologize.

"Hey Luis, when I dream about you, am I just dreaming or is that really you?" 

"I hope not; your dreams get really weird."

"Luis, can I ask you a serious question?"

"Yeah man, sure, there's one breadstick left."

"Oh, is that how this works?"

"Not really, but I am gonna leave after I eat this breadstick."

"Okay. Here goes: did we hold on to you too long?"

He munched on the last breadstick and thought about it. "No, I don't think so. I wasn't even conscious for the last few days, so all that stuff they were all trying to do to keep me alive was pretty much for the family. It was probably good to feel like you did everything you could."

"Thanks, little brother. I kinda think you're lying, because you know I feel really bad about that, but thank you anyway."

"Man, shut up!" He laughed, crumpled up the empty foil bag, and threw it at my face. I turned away, and when I turned back, Luis was gone.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

"I'M BACK HERE NOW!" Luis shouted, popping up out of the backseat. I cursed and swerved and nearly hit a tree. He laughed hysterically. I regained control of the car, and this time when I turned back he was really gone.

"Damn you, boy," I said, wiping my eyes. "How are you still such a pain in the ass?"

THE END?