stuff."
"Does it work?"
Brian shrugged. "I don't know. She's so busy helping families that she's never home. It's kind of funny, actually, that part of it." But he didn't look like he thought it was funny at all.
And then there was this long, awkward silence.
"Is that how you know about that passive thing you called me?" I had to ask.
"What, passive-aggressive? Yeah, I guess so."
That made me feel better, knowing there was a reason he knew fancy terms like that. He'd picked them up from his mother. "So is your mom like Oprah Winfrey?" I asked. Because that was the only person I could think of who would do stuff like trying to get families to talk to each other.
Brian nodded. "Yeah. In fact, my mom
is
Oprah Winfrey."
"She is not," I said. "Oprah Winfrey doesn't live in Wisconsin."
At that we both cracked up.
"So is your mom ever on her show?" I asked.
"Oh, all the time. They're like best friends."
Which made us laugh even more.
Once that whole Talk Back thing came out, though, I couldn't get it out of my mind. That image of Brian and his truck salesman dad and Oprah Winfrey sitting around the kitchen table, talking through family problemsâsheesh. That was hard enough. But it also seemed like Oprah Winfrey was rubbing off on us too, and all our talk.
Friday morning as we were painting Brian said, "So, your brothers are working at a football camp, right?"
I shrugged.
"What's with you?" He waited but I didn't say anything. "Okay. Is this one of your 'I'm waiting for you to say something' silences or one of your 'I'm trying to figure out what to say' silences or one of your 'I don't want to talk about it' silences?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay. I just think you might want to talk about it. In our family we talk all the time."
"About my brothers?" I asked sarcastically.
"About problems. That's what you do in a familyâyou talk about things."
"And all that talk makes you happy?"
There was a bit of a silence. "Drop dead," he said.
And we didn't say anything else until lunchtime, when things kind of went back to normal.
Jogging that afternoon, Brian asked what I was up to for the weekend and I said, "Nothing," which pretty much summed it up, and then just to be polite I asked what he was doing.
He sighed. "Colleges. We already went out a couple of times, but I'm narrowing it down now, and I want to talk to coaches before the season starts..."
Silence.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
"What? It's great, your looking at colleges. That's real important."
"Why? Aren't you thinking about that stuff?"
I had to laugh, but it wasn't one of those laughs like it was funny. It was one of the laughs like it wasn't. "A, we can't afford it. B, I'm only going to be a junior, and C..." I didn't want to bring up C.
"What do you mean, you can't afford it? Your brothers are going."
"Yeah, on football scholarships. Which if you haven't noticed I can't get."
"There's basketball. You should be able to get something, at least."
"Yeah, well, they don't like it too much when you miss your sophomore year because your dad won't get a stupid operation. And they also don't like too much those big fat F's on your transcript." It's funny, part of me didn't want Brian to know in a million years about my failing, but the other part felt it was really important to tell him.
"They'd understand about your dadâwait, an F? You flunked a class?" Brian was so surprised he stopped running. I kept walking, at least, because I had to do something.
"Yup. Sophomore English." I kicked a stone out of the road.
"But you're notâcome onâ"
"You mean I'm not a total idiot?"
"That's not what I meant." Though it kind of was.
"Me and Curtis, a couple of morons. Wouldn't your mother have fun with us."
"Come on, stop it. What happened?"
I kicked another stone. "Nothing. I was supposed to write these papers and I didn't because I was so busy with the farm, and I flunked."
"If you wrote the papers could they change
"Does it work?"
Brian shrugged. "I don't know. She's so busy helping families that she's never home. It's kind of funny, actually, that part of it." But he didn't look like he thought it was funny at all.
And then there was this long, awkward silence.
"Is that how you know about that passive thing you called me?" I had to ask.
"What, passive-aggressive? Yeah, I guess so."
That made me feel better, knowing there was a reason he knew fancy terms like that. He'd picked them up from his mother. "So is your mom like Oprah Winfrey?" I asked. Because that was the only person I could think of who would do stuff like trying to get families to talk to each other.
Brian nodded. "Yeah. In fact, my mom
is
Oprah Winfrey."
"She is not," I said. "Oprah Winfrey doesn't live in Wisconsin."
At that we both cracked up.
"So is your mom ever on her show?" I asked.
"Oh, all the time. They're like best friends."
Which made us laugh even more.
Once that whole Talk Back thing came out, though, I couldn't get it out of my mind. That image of Brian and his truck salesman dad and Oprah Winfrey sitting around the kitchen table, talking through family problemsâsheesh. That was hard enough. But it also seemed like Oprah Winfrey was rubbing off on us too, and all our talk.
Friday morning as we were painting Brian said, "So, your brothers are working at a football camp, right?"
I shrugged.
"What's with you?" He waited but I didn't say anything. "Okay. Is this one of your 'I'm waiting for you to say something' silences or one of your 'I'm trying to figure out what to say' silences or one of your 'I don't want to talk about it' silences?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay. I just think you might want to talk about it. In our family we talk all the time."
"About my brothers?" I asked sarcastically.
"About problems. That's what you do in a familyâyou talk about things."
"And all that talk makes you happy?"
There was a bit of a silence. "Drop dead," he said.
And we didn't say anything else until lunchtime, when things kind of went back to normal.
Jogging that afternoon, Brian asked what I was up to for the weekend and I said, "Nothing," which pretty much summed it up, and then just to be polite I asked what he was doing.
He sighed. "Colleges. We already went out a couple of times, but I'm narrowing it down now, and I want to talk to coaches before the season starts..."
Silence.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
"What? It's great, your looking at colleges. That's real important."
"Why? Aren't you thinking about that stuff?"
I had to laugh, but it wasn't one of those laughs like it was funny. It was one of the laughs like it wasn't. "A, we can't afford it. B, I'm only going to be a junior, and C..." I didn't want to bring up C.
"What do you mean, you can't afford it? Your brothers are going."
"Yeah, on football scholarships. Which if you haven't noticed I can't get."
"There's basketball. You should be able to get something, at least."
"Yeah, well, they don't like it too much when you miss your sophomore year because your dad won't get a stupid operation. And they also don't like too much those big fat F's on your transcript." It's funny, part of me didn't want Brian to know in a million years about my failing, but the other part felt it was really important to tell him.
"They'd understand about your dadâwait, an F? You flunked a class?" Brian was so surprised he stopped running. I kept walking, at least, because I had to do something.
"Yup. Sophomore English." I kicked a stone out of the road.
"But you're notâcome onâ"
"You mean I'm not a total idiot?"
"That's not what I meant." Though it kind of was.
"Me and Curtis, a couple of morons. Wouldn't your mother have fun with us."
"Come on, stop it. What happened?"
I kicked another stone. "Nothing. I was supposed to write these papers and I didn't because I was so busy with the farm, and I flunked."
"If you wrote the papers could they change
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