The Life and Times of Benny Alvarez Read Online Free PDF Page A

four feet past the hole. He unintentionally lets slip a swear word, and my father says, “Totally unnecessary, Crash.” But then my grandfather’s putt ends up short, and he says the same word, waddling over to Crash and placing his brown-spotted hand on Crash’s shoulder. “Never up, never in,” he says, and Crash nods, smiling broadly. My father just shakes his head, and for a moment, I’m a little jealous of Crash, wanting my grandfather all to myself.
    After golf, we go to McDonald’s, and my grandfather abuses the counter people because they won’t let him use his senior discount to pay for everyone’s meal. He does this every week, so they’re used to it. Then we take him home. Gloria’s waiting at the front door in the same outfit, ready for round fifteen. She invites us in, but my father says my mother’s expecting us for dinner.
    On the way home, I apologize to Crash for letting the “Crap” thing go on. “You know Grandpa would’ve beaten up on himself if he knew he messed up your name.”
    â€œWell, you could’ve gone with Cramp.”
    â€œYeah, I guess so,” I admit.
    â€œIs he losing it?” Crash asked.
    â€œStrokes aren’t like that,” my father says. “They mess up your wiring, so he has to try to retrain his brain, like he did the last time. Now even reading’s been taken away from him.”
    â€œWho took it away?” Crash asks.
    â€œFate,” I say. I’m not sure where that comes from, but my father seems to agree with me, while Crash probes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and nods, repeating his favorite phrase, “It’s a dirty trick.”
    â€œIt is what it is,” my father says.

Moving Targets
    I t isn’t unusual for my father to become more serious when talking about my grandfather. From what I’ve heard over the years, they butted heads most of their lives, and I guess my grandfather was pretty hard on him, especially when he was a teenager, which is hard to believe, considering how laid-back and jokey he is with me and Crash. Sometimes when the four of us are together, it’s like we’re all fighting for my grandfather’s attention: my father probably trying to make up for those lost teenage years, and Crash and me jockeying to be top grandson. When we were much younger, at a birthday party for my grandfather, I remember us pushing and shoving to see who’d help him blow out the candles, my grandfather seeming to enjoy it all.
    One day, shortly before his first stroke, he and I were hitting golf balls off a green mat into a stretch of black netting he had tacked across the back of his garage, and I surprised myself by asking if he liked Crash more than me. He moved the mat a few feet onto the driveway, so we wouldn’t break a club on our upswings; then he teed up an old range ball. Whack! I heard, the ball’s flight cut short by the net. He leaned on his driver with one hand and rubbed his chin with the other, saying, “What makes you think I like Crash better than you?”
    â€œMaybe ‘better’ isn’t the right word, but you always cut him slack.”
    â€œCrash acts like a tough guy,” he said, “but he’s a gentle soul. That kind of Alvarez is born with a ‘Handle with Care’ sign around his neck.”
    I laughed. “Crash, a gentle soul?”
    He teed up another ball and swung hard. Whack! “Your father was like Crash, Benny, and I made some mistakes there.”
    â€œI’ve heard.”
    He seemed taken aback by this confession. “Come here a second,” he said, placing another ball on the mat. “Let me see you swing.”
    I grabbed a five iron and made a pass at the ball, following its low trajectory into the net.
    â€œTake a shorter backswing,” he said. “That shot would’ve never made it over the water hole at Firefly.”
    He was trying