Murder Most Foul

Monday night

I was standing in a group with three other guys, in what looked like an alley. One of the guys was someone I had known many years ago -- Timmy M. The last guy to join the gathering was my twin brother, Andrew; he'd happened upon the rest of us by accident. I waited until Timmy was looking elsewhere, and then I took a metal pipe from my coat; I whacked him in the head with it, and he fell to the ground, apparently dead. Suddenly I was overcome with remorse; not that I had killed another human being, but that I had done it in the presence of my twin brother, making him an unwitting accomplice. I turned toward Drew, not knowing what to say. He shocked me by affecting a cold, cynical demeanor, and said, "Oh, was Timmy here?" The implication was that we'd get rid of the evidence, and no one else would be the wiser.

*****

I'm happy to say that this depiction of my brother Andrew couldn't be farther from the truth, and I don't have murderous feelings toward anyone. Well, OK, maybe John Lennon's killer, but I'm certainly not going to act on them.

Timmy M. was a funny and somewhat goofy guy who was a regular in the AJBC (American Junior Bowling Congress) league Drew and I joined some 30 years ago at the late, lamented Bowl America Pla-Mor alley in Arlington, long since replaced by a hotel or something. I haven't seen him since I was in high school.

Timmy was involved in one of the most ridiculous scenes I've ever witnessed, on a snowy night, near the back corner of the Washington Golf and Country Club in Arlington. He and another bowling buddy, Derek G., met up with a bunch of us in order to hop the fence and go sledding on the driving range, which was the largest hill for miles around. All went well until the sledding was over, and it was time for us to leave. (There were about a dozen revelers in our group, and many others that we didn't know). The road leading up to the fence was narrow, and Derek had parked his heavy, 1970s model Plymouth Barracuda near the gate; he'd have to back out to get to the main road. To accomplish this, he asked Timmy to open the huge, long, right door of the car, and stand on the carriage, looking backward (over the roof) to ensure that Derek, who was driving, didn't hit anyone. Timmy did as he was ordered, and made sure that Derek didn't hit any pedestrians. Unfortunately, Timmy didn't notice, and didn't report, that as they rolled backward at 3 miles per hour (or whatever it was) the open door on his side was approaching a fire hydrant. The resulting collision pretty much sheared the door off of the car. I said something along the lines of, "Man, that sucks..." and walked home. That may have been the last time that I saw them. I never did hear what happened to the car, or how they got home that night.

Sometimes my wife has trouble sleeping, and she'll ask me to tell her that story. I don't think she's ever heard the entire thing. Anyway, that's probably why I was thinking about Timmy. I hope he's well, wherever he is.