Drama Queen
Eddy Arnold made Brooks feel like a queen, as I wrote earlier. But Brooks was quite capable of being a queen without any help or prompting... a drama queen.
I have wonderful, tender, loving memories of my sister, and others have shared such moments here already. But there was another side of Brooks. Probably, being her little brother, I tend to zero in on those moments that leave me weak with laughter rather than warm and fuzzy.
And after all, this IS a party, a celebration, and all I can think of is how Brooks could make me laugh just by being who she was. She had a great sense of humor. Dad used to say she enjoyed a joke more than anyone he'd ever known. He said she laughed at a joke at least 3 times; once when she heard it, once when she "got" it, and once when she told it.
But the laughter she brought into my life was much more than jokes. It was her very approach to life that was sure to crack me up. Here's a case in point.
I probably wasn't much more than 8 or 10 at the time. Brooks and I were home alone one day. We must have been living in Texas, since there were scorpions around. Not a major problem, but even one is too many. Anyway, on this particular day I was sitting in the living room. I could see through the swinging door into the kitchen where Brooks was doing whatever she was doing; washing dishes or making lunch, I suppose. Those details are forever lost in time. I think I was reading at the time. Anyway, suddenly there came a shriek from the kitchen that brought me halfway out of my chair. I looked up in time to see a tiny little scorpion scurry across the kitchen doorway and under the door that was back against the kitchen wall.
"Rick! Rick! Come kill this thing!" There was sheer panic in her voice.
Already I'm laughing. The scorpion, I swear, was a baby, maybe an inch long if that. It was barely visible as it scurried across the doorway. "I think you can handle this one," I told her.
"What do I do?"
"Smack it," I said, barely able to talk.
"With what?"
"The flyswatter should do it." By this time I'm having a hard time staying in the chair.
Sure enough, here came Brooks, tip-toeing, sneaking across the doorway, her arm held high, the flyswatter in her fist like Thor's Hammer, ready to smite the wicked. She reached out to pull the door away from the wall. Just at that moment the scorpion must have figured out his hiding place had been discovered, because suddenly he came scuttling out... right toward Brooks.
Bad move, scorpion. But it was too late to warn him.
Brooks screamed as she went straight up in the air, then came down swinging the flyswatter. She put all her weight and momentum into that swing and when the flyswatter hit the floor -- KA-WHAM! -- I swear the shingles must have shifted on the roof. The scorpion was dead center.
Now there were tears in my eyes, but I could still see Brooks stooped over with the flyswatter still mashed against the floor, the handle bent with tension. "I think you got him," I managed to squeak out.
She started to raise the flyswatter. Yes, that poor scorpion was more mush than anything else, but that was the problem. The tail decided to stick to the flyswatter while the limp body dropped down and hung there, flopping around in a very menacing way.
I don't really remember exactly how it went after that. There was a series of shrieks punctuated by a series of WHACKS! as Brooks brought that flyswatter down again and again. She must have smacked what was left of the scorpion 4 or 5 times before she ran out of steam. By this point I AM on the floor.
"I think you got him that time for sure," I told her.
I did my duty for my sister and told her I would clean up the remains.
Easiest job I ever had. I think most of the scorpion had been melded into the linoleum. I know there wasn't much left that looked at all biological. I might have picked up a piece or two of leg, but that was about it.
My sister always did have a rather dramatic flair.
Happy birthday, sister! And thank you for that and so many other wonderful memories. I love you.
I have wonderful, tender, loving memories of my sister, and others have shared such moments here already. But there was another side of Brooks. Probably, being her little brother, I tend to zero in on those moments that leave me weak with laughter rather than warm and fuzzy.
And after all, this IS a party, a celebration, and all I can think of is how Brooks could make me laugh just by being who she was. She had a great sense of humor. Dad used to say she enjoyed a joke more than anyone he'd ever known. He said she laughed at a joke at least 3 times; once when she heard it, once when she "got" it, and once when she told it.
But the laughter she brought into my life was much more than jokes. It was her very approach to life that was sure to crack me up. Here's a case in point.
I probably wasn't much more than 8 or 10 at the time. Brooks and I were home alone one day. We must have been living in Texas, since there were scorpions around. Not a major problem, but even one is too many. Anyway, on this particular day I was sitting in the living room. I could see through the swinging door into the kitchen where Brooks was doing whatever she was doing; washing dishes or making lunch, I suppose. Those details are forever lost in time. I think I was reading at the time. Anyway, suddenly there came a shriek from the kitchen that brought me halfway out of my chair. I looked up in time to see a tiny little scorpion scurry across the kitchen doorway and under the door that was back against the kitchen wall.
"Rick! Rick! Come kill this thing!" There was sheer panic in her voice.
Already I'm laughing. The scorpion, I swear, was a baby, maybe an inch long if that. It was barely visible as it scurried across the doorway. "I think you can handle this one," I told her.
"What do I do?"
"Smack it," I said, barely able to talk.
"With what?"
"The flyswatter should do it." By this time I'm having a hard time staying in the chair.
Sure enough, here came Brooks, tip-toeing, sneaking across the doorway, her arm held high, the flyswatter in her fist like Thor's Hammer, ready to smite the wicked. She reached out to pull the door away from the wall. Just at that moment the scorpion must have figured out his hiding place had been discovered, because suddenly he came scuttling out... right toward Brooks.
Bad move, scorpion. But it was too late to warn him.
Brooks screamed as she went straight up in the air, then came down swinging the flyswatter. She put all her weight and momentum into that swing and when the flyswatter hit the floor -- KA-WHAM! -- I swear the shingles must have shifted on the roof. The scorpion was dead center.
Now there were tears in my eyes, but I could still see Brooks stooped over with the flyswatter still mashed against the floor, the handle bent with tension. "I think you got him," I managed to squeak out.
She started to raise the flyswatter. Yes, that poor scorpion was more mush than anything else, but that was the problem. The tail decided to stick to the flyswatter while the limp body dropped down and hung there, flopping around in a very menacing way.
I don't really remember exactly how it went after that. There was a series of shrieks punctuated by a series of WHACKS! as Brooks brought that flyswatter down again and again. She must have smacked what was left of the scorpion 4 or 5 times before she ran out of steam. By this point I AM on the floor.
"I think you got him that time for sure," I told her.
I did my duty for my sister and told her I would clean up the remains.
Easiest job I ever had. I think most of the scorpion had been melded into the linoleum. I know there wasn't much left that looked at all biological. I might have picked up a piece or two of leg, but that was about it.
My sister always did have a rather dramatic flair.
Happy birthday, sister! And thank you for that and so many other wonderful memories. I love you.
Comments