Anyone who ever had to sleep with a sibling, especially a brother had to have been doubled over with laughter when they first heard Bill Cosby’s “To Russell, My Brother, Whom I Slept With. The routine was recorded in 1968 in the Cleveland Public Auditorium, and released later that year, on a 12" vinyl record. I was not only doubled over, but tears were rolling down my cheeks because I was laughing so hard. I could not follow the whole story the first time I heard it because of my laughter. I had to listen to it several times because I was identifying with all of it.
Dean was the brother I slept with. We shared a tiny little room right off the living room. Any noise we made could easily be heard in the living room. Since there was no insulation and the house was tiny, you could ear any thing in any room.
We slept in what was called a three quarter bed, smaller than full and larger than a twin. The mattress was about 4” thin with buttons all over the place holding the stop and bottom together. Since we were little, our weight didn’t do much denting, but that did not stop the old wire springs from squeaking with every turn. The bed was just inside and to the right of the door. It touched three walls. For the one sleeping by the back wall, they had to climb over the one on the front edge. The climber was my brother. I often let him get in bed first.
It was not unusual to draw an imaginary line down the middle and divide up the territory. I could escape from my side, but he needed a passport to even get out of his country. I was not about to give him permission — ever. We fought over the line like Arabs and Israel — every night. The line continually shifted with each of us attempting to claim more territory, Our parents were usually sitting in the living room and when they could take it no longer, “I’m gonna come in there.” That was always the first warning and we knew instinctively that we had more time to settle the dispute.
Each would attempt to occupy any newly acquired land, as possession was 9/10’s of the law. That resulted in a shoving match back to back, and then the leg-to-leg and finally pushing and shoving with hands. Then came warning number two. “Don’t make me come in there.”
It would get quiet for a while with only whispered disagreements. It rarely stayed quiet, but we were not touching as we had retreated to the outside edge of our territory. But gradually, someone’s foot would brush against the other one and a scream could be heard at the neighbors, “He’s touching me.” The third warning had mom standing at the open the door with hands on her hips, “This the last time I’m gong to tell you. One more time and your dad is coming in here with the strap.”
This always became a touchy situation. She didn’t necessarily mean what she said. It took some careful calculating on our part to figure out if dad would be next and if he was, would he have “the strap.” The dispute would often continue in whispered negotiations, “I’m gonna kill you if you cross my line.” If a doubled up first hit a shoulder it was back to screaming and dad was in the doorway. If he was not holding the strap, we were safe, if it was in his hand we were both going to get a swat or two. As a prelude to the swat, each proclaimed their innocence and blamed the other. When hit with the strap is was always best to cry immediately then he didn’t use it as long.
I am nine years younger than our sister Gladys and Dean is three years younger than I, She eloped when she was eighteen or nineteen so I was nine or ten at the cease fire. Our bed sharing ended when she got married. There were only two children left at home and three bedrooms. The bed wars ended.
Not long before the truce, mom caught me with several large pieces of cardboard attempting to build the Berlin wall between east and west. I was having a very hard time getting it to stay in place. She stood at the door watching for a while and then asked, “What are you doing.” “Building a wall to keep HIM on his side of the bed.” “I don’t thing it is going to work.” “If I could borrow some thumb tacks and string I could tie it to the ceiling.” “If you did that, either one could roll into the wall and it would move at the bottom. You would be right back where you started.” I thought about it for a while and then said. “I’ll get some boards from the basement.” “No you won’t.”
That ended construction on the great wall of the bed. The fights continued until I got moved to another part of the world. Some nights were quiet. It always took someone to fire the first shot. I’m sure it was always him.
No comments:
Post a Comment