The car was their sanctuary. A bubble of fraternal warmth against the bitter cold of the Hackensack winter. Gino sat behind the wheel, his stoic gaze fixed on the neon sign of Michelangelo’s Italian Restaurant, casting a red glow on the freshly fallen snow. Beside him, Lonnie slouched in the passenger seat, his breath fogging the window as he stared out into the night. The silence between them was heavy, weighted with the absence of their father, who had always needed to be the one to fill the spaces with his laughter and stories.
Gino’s hands rested on the steering wheel, but his mind was far away, lost in memories of the countless meals they had shared at Michelangelo’s. He could hear his father’s voice, vibrating across the table as he regaled them with tales of his childhood in the old country. The restaurant had been a constant in their lives, a place where they celebrated triumphs and mourned losses, always with their father at the head of the table. He knew eventually those vibrations would fade and his father’s voice would become muffled and hard to remember. He stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed on the restaurant’s front door.
Lonnie shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. He glanced at Gino, taking in the deep lines etched into his brother’s forehead, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Gino had always been the responsible one, the son who had stepped up to take over the family business when their father’s health began to fail. Lonnie, on the other hand, had always been the dreamer, the one with his head in the clouds and a sketchbook in his hand. Their father had loved them both fiercely, but differently, accepting their unique paths with unwavering support.
“Remember spending the night here after you graduated?” Lonnie asked, his voice soft in the stillness of the car. Gino nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He was so proud of you, couldn’t stop talking about how you were going to take the business to new heights. Damn…that old man was really convinced you were goin’ places.”
The smile left both of their faces.
The brothers lapsed into silence again. The car felt suddenly too small, too confining, the weight of their grief and frustrations and disappointments pressing in on them from all sides. Lonnie’s hand reached for the door handle, the urge to escape, to run, nearly overwhelming. But Gino’s hand on his arm stopped him, a silent plea to stay, to face this together. He just wasn’t ready yet.
He just couldn’t do it.
The car felt cramped and old. Years of unresolved their unresolved issues, between each other, between themselves, and between their father made their musty. Gino stared off through the window, watching flurries dance against the neon lights. He hadn’t been alone with Lonnie in years, not like this. There was too much history between them, too many unspoken grievances and petty bullshit that settled like a dense fog. Even their father’s death couldn’t lift it completely.
Lonnie fiddled absently with the cracked leather on the door handle. “You remember when this place first opened?” he said, voice low and distant. “Must’ve been what? Jesus, twenty years ago now? After Tony D’Angelo’s first communion party. Madone that first communion.”
Gino’s jaw clenched at the memory of that day. Pop, whiskey on his breath, dragging them out of the pew the second the host touched Tony’s tongue. Lonnie crying. Gino with fire behind his eyes.
He needed his Pall Malls. Couldn’t even let them finish the service.
“Yeah, I remember,” he grunted.
Lonnie let out a dry chuckle. “Man was a piece of work, huh? But he always showed up when it counted. Showed up and showed off.” There was a bitterness in his voice.
Gino felt it too, that familiar resentment. Pop meant well, but he had a way of turning everything into a grand gesture, a spectacle. Even as Gino built the family business into an empire, it was never enough. Pop wanted his name in lights. He wanted his son to be a star.
The silence stretched between them, taut and frayed. Gino drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “We should get this over with,” he said finally. “Say our goodbyes and be done with this shit.”
Lonnie sighed, shaking his head. “Just like that, huh? The old man’s barely in the ground and you’re ready to move on.”
Gino felt a flare of anger in his chest. “Don’t start, Lon. Not today. I’m just being practical.”
“Practical,” Lonnie scoffed. “Right. ‘Cause that’s what you are. Mr. Practical. Mr. Responsible. The golden son.” His words dripped with sarcasm.
Gino’s grip tightened on the wheel. He thought about all of the violent and hateful things he could say to his brother in that moment. He formulated the exact combination of slurs that he knew their father would use against him in a moment like that. He knew just how easy it would be. The old man didn’t leave him much but he left him that.
Gino took a deep breath, tried to center himself. “Look, I’m not saying I don’t miss him. I’m just saying we need to face reality. There’s arrangements to be made, people to notify. We can’t sit in this car forever. We gotta shit or get off the pot.”
“I know. I know. We really need the dough. He was an old bastard but the least we can do is give him a funeral that he deserves.”, Lonnie said, as he turned around and started moving some canisters around from the back seat.
The two brothers each put on a couple of tattered ski masks and got out of the car, each carrying a jerrycan of gasoline. As Gino pulled a lighter out of his pocket, a newspaper clipping fell to the ground. It read –
“Michelangelo Barrone
Hackensack – Thursday, February 12, 1987, at age 61. Predeceased by his wife Marianna. He is survived by his two sons, Gino and Lorenzo. Michelango was the owner and proprietor of Michelangelo’s on Sussex St for over twenty years. Michelangelo enjoyed spending time with his two sons and rooting for his favorite team, the New York Jets.
Friends may call on SATURDAY from 4pm-7pm. On Sunday, all are invited to his Funeral Mass at 4pm at St. Thomas on Bridge St. In lieu of flowers, donations may be directed to the New York Jets, as per Michelangelo’s request”.
Wow! I love how the ending turns out. It’s sudden, but I also can see the tension building that brings this conclusion up naturally. I loved the way you described the tension between the brothers as well. Trapping two characters in a small space gives way to such a wonderful tension-building scene. Gino gave me a lot of emotion, especially through his dialogue and Lonnie shows so much through his small actions. What a great piece!
Oh wow thank you so much! I was really drawn to confining myself and the characters to a small space for this story since I tend to use sprawling landscapes as a bit of a narrative crutch sometimes.
Coincidentally, I based Gino off of my sister and Lonnie off of myself (don’t worry, we’ve never committed any arson – our lack of organizational skills could never)