Uncle Gil

by Max Gutierrez/Special to PNN

Uncle Gil was bad. Uncle Gil was nothing. Uncle Gil’s teeth were falling out. He had no money and he had no sense.

That’s what everybody said. Watch him when he comes to your house—he might steal something.

I stood next to the window of our house on Eddy Street. I looked at the cars floating by. They reminded me of fish with big fins darting in all directions.

The church down the block with its crumbling cupola stood alongside a liquor store. 8 or 9 men stood laughing and drinking in front of it as the church stood in silence.

I saw one of the men walk away from the group. He wore a gray suit with creases in the pants that were razor sharp. A black tie hung from his neck over a shirt that was whiter than fresh milk. He walked with a certain rhythm or cadence—as if music that only he could hear were being piped into his ears. The man’s face came into clear view. I opened the window.

“Uncle Gil! Uncle Gil!” I cried out.

The air was warm and sticky. I ran through the living room and down the stairs. I opened the door. I looked in both directions.

Where was Uncle Gil? I walked out onto the sidewalk. The cars continued to pass and the trees waved gently in abrupt spurts.

Where was my uncle? Maybe he went to church. He was dressed for it. Yes, that was it—he was at church saying a prayer. When he’s through with his prayer, he’ll come to our house and stay. He’ll tell me his stories and make funny sounds with his lips and cheeks.

I sat on the stoop in front of our house. The neighborhood kids began passing by. They rode bikes and cruised by on roller skates.

“Go get your bike and ride with us” one of them called out.

“I’m waiting for my uncle Gil”, I replied.

The church bell rang and the men in front of the liquor store scattered away like flies. Maybe I should go back into the house, maybe uncle Gil is playing a joke; maybe I didn’t see him at all. Maybe it was a guy that looked like him. I sat and heard the faint sound of footsteps that became louder. It reminded me of the sound of a small horse. My father walked like a horse and worked like one. That’s what he always said.

“What are you doing? He asked, his 5” 3’ frame looming over me.

“I’m waiting for Uncle Gil”

My father spit on the ground. His trousers were stained with dirt and paint. He reached towards his shoulder and kneaded relief into it with nubbed fingers.

“Uncle Gil” my father laughed, “He’s not gonna show up. He’s only good for 2 things…drinking and not showing up”.
My father looked down at me and laughed

“Your uncle Gil never worked a day in his life”

I thought about what my father said. I never worked a day in my life either. I liked Uncle Gil. My father always talked about work and how his body ached all over. Uncle Gil never had aches and pains and wore nice clothes. My father walked to our front door.

“You’re gonna be waiting forever. That no-good uncle of yours is out blowing his money, kid”

Dad disappeared into the house. I sat thinking about his words. Maybe I was going to wait forever. I began to wonder how long forever was. The sky darkened a bit when I saw a figure a half block away. As the figure got closer, I recognized the slacks with the razor sharp creases.

“Uncle Gil!” I cried, springing to my feet.

Uncle Gil reached out and ran his hand over my full head of black hair, tossing it out of place.

“How ya doin’ kid?”

I looked at Uncle Gil’s tie. It was black. He smiled.

“Uncle Gil”, I said, “You have teeth!”

Uncle Gil smiled wide, wide enough to cover the sky.

“Yes…you have to smile to survive”, said Uncle Gil.

We sat down and watched the cars pass by.

“Survive what?” I asked.

“Never mind”, Uncle Gil replied.

We sat for a while saying nothing.

“How are you doing in school?” Uncle Gil asked, yawning.

“I’m doing ok.

Uncle Gil ran his hand over his pants, making sure the creases were still there.

“Just study hard, kid. Get your education. They can never take that away from you”.

“Who’s they, Uncle Gil?” I asked.

Uncle Gil looked at me. He reached into his jacket pocket.

“I got something for you”

Uncle Gil put his two fists out towards me.

“Pick one” he said.

I looked at both fists. I pointed to the left one. Uncle Gil opened his fist. In it sat a silver dollar.

“Wow” I said.

“Buy yourself an ice cream”

I looked at the silver dollar. It looked new. I didn’t want to spend it.

“What’s in your other hand, Uncle Gil?”

He opened his right fist. In it was a candy, a sucker wrapped in bright cellophane.

“Who’s that for?” I asked.

“For your father” Uncle Gil answered, sticking the sucker into my shirt pocket above my heart. We sat and he laughed with bright teeth that covered the sky.

© 2007

Max Gutierrez