Yahtzee

I pulled up to Brandy’s place on Reynolds Road in Winston-Salem and there he was, waiting for me like he always is. I tell him I will be there about nine in the morning and it usually ends up being 9:15 so he waits on the porch with a coke and smokes until I get there.

“Hi Brade” he says.

“Brade?” I ask with a big smile

“Yeah I changed it to Brade”.

I giggle and we’re off to a good start. It’s the brand new year but same as it ever was, Brandy jumps in and we’re off to find a place that’s open on New Years morning so we can get a cup of coffee and play some Yahtzee. This is new. We played board games when we were young to kill boredom and when we started playing board games again recently, all our competitive spirit as brothers came right back.

“Get beat.”

When we were boys and it was time for me to kick his ass in ping pong or basketball or poker, I would wander around the house until I found him and tell him…

“Get beat.”

I broke out the Yahtzee board game Sunday and he said it first.

“Get beat.”

I laughed pretty loudly, so did he, loudly enough so the old men and women sitting around us looked over, it was just like old times only not at home, we were in a Panera’s.

As I opened the box of Yahtzee, I pulled out the blue cup, the five dice and the score pads, he looked and exclaimed, right out of the blue…

“Inoculation.”

“Inoculation? What??”

“It’s what they do to cows.”

“Ok” I said.

It took me a second, but I figured out exactly what he meant, somehow his signals got out of whack again and what he meant to say was…

“Operation.”

This game reminded him of the board game “Operation”, another board game we played when we were growing up. I am pretty sure that is what he meant, it seems like thoughts hit his head and they come out all weird, unlike anyone else’s thoughts, but a family member or anyone who grew up with him can piece all this together pretty quickly to understand what he means. I figure this schizophrenia is just that, jumbled up memories and thoughts mixed up with weird voices that just come out of his mouth all fucked up.

I am so happy he is happy. He gets bored, but it’s better than being stressed out daily, I figure he has it made. He never worries about money, he has plenty of cokes and smokes, and he doesn’t have to go to work and deal with assholes. At the Walk For Hope this year, a caring volunteer asked me if I had a relative that suffered from mental illness and I told her that I do have a relative that is mentally ill, but he definitely is not suffering. And much of that may very well be a result of the Walk For Hope.

“Is Nick coming up Saturday Brade?”

“Yeah pretty sure.”

Next weekend it should be nice again, good gracious I am playing some good golf.