American Yarnprose>Sunday Dinner With Andy Asoopopulanzani, As Told To Billie T. Hijena

Sunday Dinner With Andy Asoopopulanzani, As Told To Billie T. Hijena

Now, this story goes way back Billie. To a time that was never there. A time I had never been to and yet, I was always placed in the middle. A long time ago I was a friend of this guy, Andy Asoopopulanzani. We were friends in high school.

Always ate our lunches together on the same table and bench. Same lunches. Same conversations. Oh, Andy was a real winner of a friend, Billie. And in more ways than one it probably wasn’t a good thing at all. We all have our growing pains and we definitely had ours.

I used to make fun of him all of the time, but in a lot of ways, we learned from each other and I suspect those early days of making up characters in situational comedy sketches that we used to do, more or less paved the way for my cynicism. We parted ways during my sophomore year in college, after I had mailed him a cassette tape declaring my independence from him for the umpteenth time, coincidentally on the fourth of July.

And I always fought tooth and nail with him and his sister Laurie, whom I had always admired. I think what really was a sticking point between Andy, his sisters and his parents and I, was the suicide of his eldest sister Marisa, whom had killed herself by leaving the car engine running in an empty restaurant parking lot. I had always wondered about that, especially since it was early fall, and it was feeling like Injun summer, as the temperature was 70 degrees that day.

His family however, contended it was a cold fall day and only 40 degrees. And they all insisted it was an accident, but I was never believed it. Although details of her death were minimal and kept secret, I knew some of the particulars of the day that Marisa was arguing with the mother who was the kind of mother that loved picking her children’s friends.

Very overbearing and aggressive.

And from that viewpoint, it didn’t seem like an accident at all. For years to come his parents never allowed anyone in Marisa’s room and it became a barren creepy death memorial of sorts. When it came time for them to move in that apartment, that room was the last to be packed up. And it was the mother who insisted on packing Marisa’s room up. Her husband never got in her way, for if he did; he was liable to have been slaughtered by his wife.

Anyway, one night, Billie, he invites me over for dinner. His dad is broiling chicken. Both of his sisters Laurie and Lindy are there. So, we're sitting at the table waiting and his dad is finally done and he brings a plate full of chicken over to the table. And he says to me, "Would you like a chicken breast?" and I say to him, not even thinking about it, I say, oh wait, the teakettle is screaming (good climatic timing). Can you hang on for a second or two, Billie?

Okay, I have my tea and I can see you're just chomping at the bit waiting to hear what I have to say, Billie, aren’t you?

Okay. So, I say, not even thinking about it, I say, "I take all the breast I can get." Now, his sisters, both of them, their faces turned bright red. Andy was laughing so hard, that his sides hurt. And his father had no idea what I was talking about and just couldn’t understand what was so funny.

I was pretty humble myself because I meant it. See, in our household Billie, when my Ma made chicken, it was always my Dad and my brothers Benjy, Joseph & Louie who took the breast meat.

I always ended up with the legs and the wings. So when I said that, I was only thinking about that. Nothing more, nothing less. I only realized later how funny it must have sounded.

I didn't really think about these childhood memories until recently because I am now starting to write about them, Billie.