2. Watch

One of my earliest memories is of standing in front of the toilet in the second floor bathroom at Jocelyn Street with my brother Brian. We were looking at our oldest brother Dennis’ watch as it lay submerged in the toilet bowl, trying to figure out what to do next.

Kevin, Brian and I were born in the span of three short years: first Kevin, then Brian a year and half later, and me a year and a half after that. We were each as different as three humans could be, but we were all of a piece. Kevin, Brian, and Mary Kate. Where one was found, the other two soon followed.

For the first few years of my life, we slept in the same room at the front of the second story of the house. Bunkbeds for the boys and a roll-away cot for me. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I wondered if in those early years my placement in the family was somehow temporary. Was I given a roll-away cot because I was just passing through or were my parents just too busy to buy me a bed? At the time, it didn’t matter. The three of us lay in bed talking into the night and listening to the voices of our older siblings throughout the old house.

A couple of years after the toilet bowl incident, we were all in bed just before Christmas. Kevin got up to go to the bathroom. Brian and I drifted off to sleep until we heard the transom above our bedroom door creak open. “Ho, Ho, Ho.” said a slightly gruff voice through the transom. “What would you children like for Christmas this year?” “Kevin?” Brian said from his perch on the top bunk. 

“This is Santa Claus. Kevin’s asleep.” “Really?” I heard the hesitation in Brian’s voice. We were ninety percent sure this was Kevin, not Santa. But it was that ten percent that had us troubled. This would be a pretty sweet opportunity to get some first rate toys. After a minute Brian said, “I want a BB gun like Monk Topping’s.” “That’s a tall order,” said Santa. “What will you do for your brother Kevin if that BB gun is under the tree on Christmas morning?” “Kevin?” “Is that you?”

But when Brian and I stood before the sunken watch, Kevin was not present and, as was often the case, he was off the hook. That Saturday afternoon my mom had decided she would enlist the entire family to do yard work: raking, pruning, mowing, and whatever she could entertain the three youngest of us with that would do the least damage. I don’t remember what it was but it was certainly not entertaining for very long. I had to go to the bathroom, and Brian said he would take me.

We made our way through the house and up the long staircase to the bathroom. Houses built in 1910 didn’t have a first floor bathroom or even a half bath. At least this one didn’t. This one had a big, second story bathroom with octagon tiles on the floor, subway tiles halfway up the walls, and a gigantic clawfoot tub. I did what I needed to do, and Brian began to play with Dennis’ watch. I slid off the toilet and Brian came over to push down the lever for me. But in reaching for the handle, the watch slid out of his hand and into the dirty water. 

We looked at each other. Neither one of us wanted to reach in and retrieve the watch. Brian said, “Should I flush it? Then I can get the watch.” I nodded. He grabbed the handle and pulled, and we watched as the handsome watch Dennis had gotten for his high school graduation was lifted by the swirling water and carried off to the great underground sewer on its way toward the Potomac.

When we got back to the yard, Brian fessed up immediately. Dennis fumed for a good long while. Dad smiled and shook his head. Mom scolded us, but I remember thinking her face looked funny, like she was making an effort to be serious. We stayed clear of Dennis for the next few days, but he forgave us when Dad came home with an identical watch to the one we had given the sewer.