Commentary and Philosophy Poetry posted November 6, 2011 Chapters:  ...3 5 -7- 8... 

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Short Stories by Chochee Medina

A chapter in the book The Two of Me

The Battling Brothers

by QC Poet

Short Stories and Poetry by Chochee Medina
Chapter 7

My elder brother Jimbo (in the above photo) was in the wrong place at wrong time and had been shot in the leg during a drive by shooting sometime in late 1978 while parting in the notorious Pacoima Flats one night.

A year later one hot afternoon my brother Jimbo, my eldest brother Roy who was also known as "Crow'' for sharing with our friends a story told by our father that when you heard a crow caw - this meant there was some good or bad news for the person the crow was cawing at from the direction the cawing crow was facing (oddly enough this was too often a true statement) and myself, went to cool off at a local bar and have a few beers.

Jimbo as well as anyone else, who's had a few, would have a hard time walking a straight line especially if you had the leg problem Jimbo had.
Jimbo while walking back from the restroom, bumped into a guy in the bar near where we were sitting. This guy also somewhat drunk felt offended by this bump and immediately rose off his chair and started mouthing off at my brother.

I was feeling pretty good and buzzed by then and thought what the f*** is wrong with this guy - jumping up on my brother who obviously had a problem with his leg? Naturally I immediately went over and got involved by asking the guy if he was so F'en blind that he could not see Jimbo had a problem with his leg and could not walk perfectly.

My brother Jimbo got upset at me for this and shoved me to the side saying "I don't need you fight my battles for me". The crowd in the bar began to form around the three of us and as I argued with my brother as to which one of us would have the chance to fight the guy in the bar that got bumped. This guy after watching my brother and I argue about who was going to fight him - began to apologize and headed for the nearest door.

Shortly after this the bar tender declared - that's it you and your two brothers are no longer allowed in this bar at the same time - you're all too crazy alone and way too crazy when you're all together.
After that when ever we stopped by we each would be asked who are you with?

My guess is our engrained duality nature (good / bad) intensity rises even more when there was two or more of us brothers anywhere together.

The Two of Me
Short Stories by Chochee Medina
Battling with my Brothers
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