Real Gentlemen

Jack pulled off the highway onto the shoulder, slowing down on the gravel, before turning into a short little muddy driveway. We were picking up Lester, who lived with his old man in a little Cape Cod, just a little shack by the side of the highway. We pulled in behind a red beater pick-up truck. An old yellow refrigerator stood guard at the corner of the house, the fridge doors set to the side, leaning against peeling clapboard siding. The knee-high weeds blew in the breeze and a swing set sat rusting in the corner of the small yard.

Jack hit the horn. Through the car window, I saw the front screen door of the shack swing open hard and fast, slamming against the clapboard siding as Lester strutted out the door and down the two steps.

The screen door slammed shut behind him and we heard a voice yell something from inside. Lester raised his hand over his shoulder and stuck his middle finger straight up back towards the house, as if he was cursing not just his old man, but his whole lot in life.

Lester was wearing a white wrinkled dress shirt with the top button fastened close. His black belt was strapped tight around baggy jeans. He sported a pair of knicked up black dress shoes that hadn’t been shined in years. But it was Lester’s hair that struck us all.

“What’d you do to your sideburns? “ Jack asked as Lester climbed in the back seat next to me. Jack adjusted his rearview mirror to get a look.

“I trimmed them off. Sideburns are for commies.”

“Dude, you look like a felon.” Tony said. Tony was twisted around in the passenger seat looking wide-eyed at Lester.

“Turn the fuck around.” Lester said, shoving Tony in the back of the head. Lester turned to me in the backseat and chuckled.

Lester’s sideburns had been shaved off, his hair above the ears cut straight out. His face was taut, with darting eyes and a hawkish nose. He was fidgeting with his hands. Tony was right; I imagined we’d picked up a convict who’d just gotten out of the pen. His hair was short and tight.

Jack, Tony and I had been friends since freshman year. But Lester was new to our crowd. One day, when Jack picked me up to see a varsity basketball game, he stated, “We’re giving Lester a ride.” And that was it. Lester was in, but it didn’t last long. I’d had the other guys figured out, but nobody ever figured Lester out.

We’d usually hang together on Friday and Saturday nights and cruise around. Eat at the local diner or catch a movie. Sometimes there’d be a school dance or a party. You know, typical small town excitement.

“What do you girls got planned tonight?” Lester asked with a sneer. He had this strange way of demeaning those he was with.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go to Hanks Place and eat. Did you eat?” Tony asked nobody in particular as we pulled back out on the road.

“I’m thirsty.” Lester said. “Hey, Jack. Make a right, will you? I want to grab my stash.” Jack turned right at the stop sign. On our left, the Brandywine Creek meandered alongside the winding road. Lester leaned forward, looking ahead. “This is it.” He glanced out the rear window. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Lester hopped out, and climbed an embankment into the woods on our right. Jack kept looking in the rearview mirror to make sure a car didn’t sneak up from behind. Lester reached around a tree and brought out a bottle, then scampered down and hopped in the car. “Go.” He said.

“What have you got there, Lester?” Tony asked from the front seat.

“A little Wild Turkey.” Lester said. “If you’re good, I may even share it with y’all.” He popped the lid off and took a swig.

“Goes down smooth, boys.” He announced, taking a deep breath.

We passed the bottle around, each taking a swig. Jack waved the bottle away since he was driving. I lifted the bottle and felt the warmth of the whiskey course through my chest. We cruised along with the Brandywine on our left, the sun setting beyond the marshlands. The road meandered alongside the water’s path, and Jack took it easy. We were in no hurry.

After a bit, Jack pulled the car into a gravel parking lot by some hiking trails. We sat in the parking lot and passed the bottle around as the sun slowly faded behind the hills. We talked about baseball, movies and girls. Jack shared some dirty jokes.

“You getting hungry?” Tony finally asked.

“Let’s go to Hanks Place.”

“Sounds good.”

As Jack and Tony kept talking, Lester sat silent next to me. I smacked him in the shoulder. “You up for Hank’s Place?”
“Yeah, Hank’s Place sounds good.” Lester said. He was looking out at the fields, his hands fidgeting with the bottle.

“You okay?”

“Did you ever feel you got to fight for each fucking inch in your life?” Lester asked.

I just looked at him. His eyes were red. I wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or something else.

“Nah, you got it good.” He said, and then looked back out the window for a second as he cradled the bottle on his lap. “Your parents are still together, eh?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes you got to take what you can get. It might not be what you’re expecting, but it’s okay all the same.”

We took a booth at Hank’s Place. The waitress asked, “What’ll you have?”

We ordered burgers and sat back. The waitress brought sodas. Jack poured salt on the table and started shaping designs with it.

“What are we doing tonight?” Lester asked with a sigh. “This cruising around is boring.”

“I don’t know. Anyone know of a party?” Tony asked.

“No.”

“I don’t.”

“Wanna see a movie? Jack asked.

“I don’t want to see a damn movie.” Lester looked around. “This town is full of chumps.” He looked at us. “Let’s shake things up. Let’s start a fight,” he said, then a little louder, “Let’s kick some ass.” The three of us looked at him.

“Dude, settle down.” Jack said.

Tony said, “Let’s drive down to Maryland. I heard there’s a strip club off Route 1 that we can get into.”

“I ain’t driving to Maryland tonight.” Jack said. “My dad would kill me if we got caught down there.” He shook his head. “Christ, that’s all I need.”

It looked as though we’d end up sitting in some parking lot, listening to the radio and dusting off the bottle of Wild Turkey. But then, in a flash, I looked up and saw this gorgeous girl standing at our booth.

“Hi Tony.” She said. “What’s going on tonight?”

Tony introduced Jack, Lester and me to Shelby. Shelby, just like the car, I thought. Shelby had beautiful auburn hair nicely tied back in a ponytail. She had big blue eyes and a flirtatious smile, damn, that was a fine smile. She was dressed real nice, wearing a green perky sweater. She had her act together, and I could tell she liked Tony.

“I’m with my friends.” She said, pointing to a booth back in the corner. Three girls in the booth were looking over at us and giggling. Shelby said, “We’re hanging out at my house tonight. You should come by for a little bit.”

“Are your parents home?” Tony asked.

“Right now they are, but they’re going to the Huffman’s house for a party.” She smiled at Tony. “You can come hang out, they won’t be home until after eleven.”

When she left, Tony smiled. “Well, boys. We got some plans now!”

“What does she want with chumps like us?” Jack asked innocently.

“You’re killing me.” Tony grinned.

“Where does she go to school?” I asked.

“Villa.”

“Oh no, a private school girl?”

“Don’t worry. Shelby’s cool.” Tony said. “Her dad’s a bit of a hard ass, but we’ll stop in for a bit and then scram before he gets home.”

Lester was all lit up next to me. I’d never seen this guy smile like that. The waitress brought out four plates with burgers. Tony, Jack and I started eating but Lester was giddy, as though he’d never been to a girl’s house before.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

Lester shot me a look. “No problem.” He grabbed the ketchup and poured some on his fries as he tapped his foot under the table.

I glanced over at Tony, who just shook his head.

After we ate, I hustled out to the car to get the front seat but Tony called “shotgun.” I was stuck in the back with Lester again. I climbed in. Lester took the bottle out from underneath the front seat and took a prolonged swig.

“Let’s get laid.” Lester said with a laugh, then louder, “We’re gonna get laid tonight!” He punched the back of the seat and laughed, “Yeah, baby!”

My burger wasn’t mixing well with the Wild Turkey. The thought of riding in the back with a hopped up Lester was making me nauseous.

Jack headed out on the highway and Tony told him to turn onto a side road. After a ways, Tony said “I think this is it, yeah this is right,” and Jack turned at a big, oversized black mailbox onto a long driveway. There was a white fence on either side.

“She lives up there?” Jack asked. “Whoa!”

A big white stately mansion was silhouetted against the night sky. The driveway crossed over a little bridge before curving gracefully up the hill. Off to the side a huge barn was nestled into the enbankment. Our headlights swept across the field and we saw horses grazing inside the fences.

“This is some house.”

“Wait until you get inside.” Tony said.

“Hell yeah, nice.”

We walked up to the front porch and Shelby greeted us at the door. The four of us stepped inside a massive foyer. To our left was a large formal living room with a baby grand piano, sculptures and paintings on the wall. I felt like we were in a museum.

We followed Shelby down the hall and saw the kitchen opened into a den. Shelby’s three friends were standing at the kitchen counter with soda cans in their hands. Two of the girls were giggling as we entered the room. Shelby introduced us to the girls. They were her classmates from the private school, and they were all dressed nice, definitely a notch above the public school girls we knew.

There was one girl, Marissa, with long black hair in a ponytail and rosy cheeks, nice round eyes and a cute laugh. I made my way over to chat her up before Jack had a chance. I wanted to stake my claim.

The two giggling girls were introduced as Kate and Erma. Kate was tall and thin, with blonde hair and a pale quiet face. Erma was tall as well, but heavyset with a mischievous face and a hearty laugh.

“You guys want a Coke?” Shelby walked over to the refrigerator.

Lester acted like a gentleman and opened the refrigerator door for Shelby. As she knelt down for the soda, Lester reached in over her and pulled out a bottle of champagne off the top rack. He held the bottle for all to see and then made a drinking gesture.

Shelby placed a few sodas on the counter and turned to Lester. “Hey, give that to me. Are you trying to get me in trouble?” She took the champagne and held it carefully in her hands.

“My parents are celebrating their wedding anniversary.” Shelby said. “They’re going to drink this when they come home tonight.” She looked at the label. “It’s a Clos du Mesnil that they’ve been saving for just this occasion.” She placed the bottle gently back in the fridge and then handed the sodas out. One girl pulled a small bottle of rum from her bag and poured a shot into her soda can. They passed the bottle around, each carefully pouring a shot into their cans.

Tony asked, “How long have they been married?”

“Twenty years today.” Shelby said.

Erma jumped in, “It’s so romantic, they still love each other after all this time. You’re lucky Shelby, to have them together like that.”

“They make such a cute couple.” Kate said. “I hope I’m that lucky.”

“Face it, Shelby.” Erma joked. “Your parents are my heroes. Here’s to Ed and Jeanne!” she raised her soda can in a toast and the girls clinked their cans together.

“To Ed and Jeanne!” They said.

Erma looked at the boys. “My parents got divorced two years ago. It’s been a mess.”

“Yeah, but you have to admit it’s been better than when they were always fighting.” Kate said.

“Yeah, ” Erma replied, “but only because they both feel guilty. Hell, I got a new car out of it!” She let out a boisterous laugh.

We made our way into the den, and sat with the girls and talked. They told us about Villa, how they didn’t like the nuns, how they wish they had boys at their school. We were having a good talk. We were getting to know them. We didn’t often get a chance to meet girls like this. It was like a different world.

After a bit of small talk, Shelby took Tony by the hand and they disappeared out to the hall. Jack was joking around with Kate and Erma, and Erma was laughing really loud at Jack’s jokes.

I was talking to this girl with the black ponytail, Marissa, asking her questions and getting to know her. The whiskey and the burger and the rum had smoothed out a little. She was a refined girl with a sparkle in her eyes. She told me she wanted to be a veterinarian, and that she loved to ride horses.

Across from us Lester seemed a little lost. He was sitting next to Kate on the couch, but her attention was firmly on the conversation with Jack and Erma. Lester was listening in, and occasionally saying something that was basically brushed off by the girls. Then, Lester put his hand on Kate’s knee. She got up and moved. This made Lester start fidgeting.

After a short while, Jack looked at his watch and announced we should leave. “She wanted us to leave before her parents get home.” Jack said. “We don’t want to cause any problems.”

“I’ve got to take a squirt.” Lester said, and disappeared.

Jack went to find Tony and Shelby. I stayed and talked to the girls. I felt like Marissa and I had hit it off. I wanted to ask for her number, but felt strange with the other girls sitting with us.

Jack returned a few minutes later, and then Tony and Shelby came in laughing.

“You ready to go? Where’s Lester?”

“I don’t know.”

We opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Down in the darkened driveway, we could barely see Lester leaning on the car smoking a cigarette.

The three of us said goodbye to the girls and gave them hugs like we’d known them for years. It all seemed very mature, on the porch of this big stately farmhouse, we felt like real gentlemen.

We walked down to the car. “What are you doing Lester?”

“Just waiting for you ladies.” He said as he flicked his cigarette butt.

As Jack pulled down the driveway, Lester said with disgust, “Private school girls.” Jack stopped at the end of the driveway and saw car headlights coming down the dark country road. He waited for the car to pass, but the car started to slow down.

“Damn, this must be Shelby’s folks.” Jack said.

“Shit.” Tony winced. The car suddenly accelerated and passed by. Jack slowly pulled out onto the road behind them.

Lester rolled down his window and a damp chill seeped in, giving me the shivers. Lester reached under the front seat and pulled out a bottle in the dark. I thought a shot of Wild Turkey would warm me up. He took the bottle and leaned toward the open window, then wrestled with the top until we heard the “pop” of a cork that scared the hell out of Jack.

“What the hell was that?” Jack asked. Tony twisted in his seat.

“Here’s to twenty years of love and marriage.” Lester toasted, then I watched him raise the bottle and take a prolonged swig. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and then he turned and held the bottle towards me and asked, “Who’s celebrating tonight?”











___

Snoring

Frank lays in the dark listening to his wife snore. He reaches through the thick covers and nudges her, hoping a change of position will bring an end to the rhythmic sounds. He takes care to prod her lightly; he doesn’t want to wake her. She is lying on her side, facing him, snoring soundly into his ear. He touches her gingerly but she doesn’t move. He nudges her again; more firmly and she moves slightly, readjusting herself as she sleeps. The sound of her snoring stops and he hears water moving through the radiator pipes, swishing around as the water races to and from the boiler.

Her snoring starts up again and he sighs. He’d made a mistake. He’d made it a habit to go to bed before his wife, she liked to stay up and catch the whole prime time line up anyway. She surprised him tonight when she turned in early. He was reading in bed when she came in and grabbed her pajamas. He thought she was putting the pajamas on and going back downstairs, but instead she came out of the bathroom and climbed into bed. She turned the light off on her side of the room. He cut his reading short and flipped off the light, but knew he wouldn’t beat her to sleep. Once in bed, she fell asleep quickly and effortlessly. He needed to turn, nest, run through recent events, think through tomorrow’s schedule. The pressure of trying to beat her to sleep added to his consternation, which of course, made it harder to relax and fall into a doze.

He lays in the dark now and reminisces about deer hunting season, when he sets his alarm for three forty-five am, and then twists and turns in bed through the night, never really attaining a deep sleep.

He thinks of going downstairs, getting something to eat, a peanut butter and jelly with a glass of milk perhaps, but then remembers he is trying to lose weight, in fact has taken off five pounds in the past week, since his visit to the doctor’s office.

He thinks maybe he will go to the den and hop on the computer. He could read the news, check the sports, or research this sleep apnea thing.

Instead, he lies on his left side, facing her, and straightens out his left hand under her pillow. He hopes to tap the pillow so she will flip around or something. She is comatose, and her snoring grows louder.

He had been growing tired at work all the time, falling asleep at the wheel, in meetings, always yawning. He’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, like he’d been suffocated, without breath. He joked with people that when he would wake in a panic, he expected to see Celia standing over him clenching a pillow in her hands.

But once he drew a deep breath into his lungs, Frank would fall back to sleep. In the mornings, he would only faintly recall the episodes. This had been going on for a year until Celia finally convinced him to see the doctor.

The doctor ordered a battery of tests to check Frank for sleep apnea. Tomorrow afternoon, Frank would be checking into a hospital for a one-night stay. The doctor explained Frank would be wired up with patches on his chest and his back and be observed through a one way mirror. The doctor explained they would monitor his sleep, track his breathing and listen to his snoring. They would print out and review charts and graphs with his vital statistics.

Lying in the dark, Frank envisions red and black cables coiling down off the bed into various whirring machines. He pictures scientists standing behind tinted glass, staring at his sleeping face as spittle rolls down his cheek.

Earlier in the day, Frank mentioned his upcoming tests to his friend Bill while they were having lunch.

“Oh Christ. No.” Bill said. “My brother-in-law has that.”

Bill told Frank that his brother-in-law had these same tests done and he ended up needing a tracheotomy. Bill explained how the surgeons sliced a hole in this man’s throat and inserted a plastic tube. During the day, the brother-in-law would cap the tube that protruded from his neck and breathe normally. At night though, he would take the cap off and air would flow through the hole while he slept. In the morning, he would place the cap back on, put his glasses on and brush his teeth.

Frank rolls onto his back now and lifts his fingers to his throat. He lies in the dark and pinches the flesh of his neck. He pulls away the fat tissue and underneath he feels the neck muscle. He shutters at the thought of a straw being inserted through there.

He stands up and walks to the window, the wooden floorboards creaking below. He looks out at the half-moon and the side yard. His cat jumps up on the windowsill, and he strokes her as she rubs against him.

He wonders if anything is safe anymore. When he was a kid, he sat on his mother's lap as she smoked cigarettes. They didn’t wear seatbelts in the car. He thought about the farmhouse he grew up in. They played for hours in the basement laden with asbestos and lead paint. At fourteen he started working at the local gas station, pumping leaded gas in cars, catching whiffs all day long, eating fast food during his lunch break. One by one, everything in life has been deemed dangerous, and now they’ve determined that a night’s sleep could kill you. He thinks maybe he’ll try to sleep on the couch or take some Tylenol PM.

He looks into the yard and sees a light come into view, and then he sees the source, a car is driving slowly down his street. He determines it must be the newspaper delivery car. The car’s headlights turn off and he watches the car creep slowly along under the moonlight. He then witnesses someone running across the neighbor’s front lawn. He glimpses a shadow, really, nothing more than a shadow running through the yard.

The shadow walks onto his neighbor’s driveway and up to their two cars. The shadow stands at the driver’s side door for a second, and then runs around the front of the car and stands at the passenger side door. The shadow opens the door and the light inside the car flickers on. The light in the car is dim, but he can tell the person is young, possibly a teenager, and is leaning in, opening the console hatch, rummaging through the glove compartment. After sixty seconds or so, the shadow closes the door and is holding a bag.

“Fuckers.” He whispers. He has heard the stories of teens ransacking cars in the neighborhood at night. His neighbor Rocco had left his garage door open one night last summer and had a case of beer stolen.

He runs to the closet where he keeps his shotgun. “Celia, Celia, someone’s breaking into cars.”

She stirs, rolls over and falls back to sleep. He reaches into his shotgun bag and pulls out three shells of birdshot, and loads them into the gun. The sound of a loading gun stirs Celia. “Frank, what are you doing?” She sits up as if in a dream state.

“Some shits are breaking into cars.”

She wakes up and walks to the window. She rubs her eyes. She can see the shadow and the slowly moving car.

“Frank, we should call the police.”

“Go ahead.” He says. “I’m going downstairs. I’m going to scare those little shits. I bet they’re the same pricks that stole Rocco’s Michelob.”

He runs down the steps and looks out the front bay window onto his own driveway. His car is parked out front and he has not been locking the doors. He tries to recall if anything of value has been left in the car. He has some change, his turnpike transponder, a few CD’s, nothing worth much.

Celia dials 911. Frank hears her on the phone as he looks out the front window onto his driveway. He sees the shadow running towards his car through the yard.

He thinks he will wait until the shadow is about to open his car door and he’ll turn on the front light. He envisions running out and catching the kid, pinning him down, scaring the hell out of him, teaching him a lesson.

The shadow approaches his car and checks the driver’s side door. The shadow opens the door and the light inside the car flickers on. Frank watches from behind the curtain and then takes a few steps to the hallway table and finds his key ring. He picks the keys up carefully to keep them from jingling and returns to the window. He looks at the key remote’s three buttons; lock, unlock and alarm. The kid is lying across the front seat digging through the glove box when Frank presses the alarm button with his thumb.

A loud, obnoxious siren wails in the night and the kid pokes his head up like a rat, confused and frightened. After a second, the kid realizes the alarm is coming from the car he is in. He hops out of the car and sprints out of sight. The person in the car is driving the other way and speeds up, pulling away before twisting their headlights on.

Frank turns on the light over the garage. He unlocks the front door, grabs his shotgun and heads outside. He walks around to the door of his car, which sits open. He looks in, the glove compartment is still open, the console box in between the seats open. On the floor by the gas pedal rests a blue backpack. He rests his gun against the rear seat driver’s door and reaches down for the bag.

Inside the backpack, he sees music CD’s and envelopes, turnpike transponders, and a cell phone. He hears change sloshing around in the bottom. He turns around and sees a police cruiser slowly making its way down the street. The car stops and a heavyset policeman climbs out.

“Put your hands up.” The policeman says, drawing a gun.

“It’s okay.” Frank says. “I live here. My wife called you.”

“Put your hands up.” He repeats.

Celia comes to the front door in her robe.

“Frank!” She calls out.


In the east, the sky is starting to give way to lightness, but the moon stands firmly in the western sky as if it will not give up the night. As they talk with the officer, lights gradually flicker on in the neighbor’s second floor windows. Frank sees Rocco’s wife peering out from behind her curtains. He waves to her, but she looks away and shuts the curtain.

“You’ll have to call Joanie and let her know what happened.” Frank tells Celia.

“God knows what she’s thinking right now.” Celia smiles and takes hold of his arm.

Frank recounts exactly what he saw and the policeman takes notes. He writes every detail down, holding the pen with his beefy fingers, asking questions to clarify Franks’ statements. Frank watches the officer’s face as he scribbles, and is surprised how old the officer appears to be, and wonders what life is like for this man, working through the night out in the countryside.

“There’s not much hope we’ll catch them. Rummaging through cars is considered minor these days.” The officer informs them. “I get concerned when they start vandalizing cars, breaking windows or shimmying locks to get inside. That’s a sign they’re addicted, getting desperate.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

“More than you’d think. You really should lock your car door, that’s the best deterrent. Most often it’s teens looking for money or things they can pawn.” He shuts his notebook and sighs. “I keep busy at night. Used to be I could get peace in this township during the overnight shift, but these days we’re busy non-stop.”

He looks down the road towards the darkness. “I grew up down the road here. Always kept our front door unlocked. Hell, we’d leave the keys in the car at night. Nobody tried anything. Kids were taught to have respect back then. These days…” He shakes his head, “It’s a terrible age we live in.”


Celia puts a pot of coffee on. Frank looks at the clock and decides he’ll call out sick. He’s not slept. He wants to eat a bowl of cereal and head to bed.

“Celia,” He says, “You should call out sick too. We can sleep in, and then go to the diner for brunch, maybe catch a matinee.”

“I can’t,” Celia said. “I wish I could. I’ve got too much on my desk today.”

He pours milk on his cereal and eats at the kitchen table. He looks out into the backyard, into the woods behind his house. The woods stretch far and wide; they stretch back until they reach the highway.

Celia sits down at the table with her coffee. “How did you know they were out there?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was looking out the window when I saw the shadows.”

She sits quietly for a moment, reflecting on what’s happened.

“I was sound asleep when I heard you loading the gun,” She pauses, and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know what was going on at first.” She looks at him and tears well up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches out and holds her hand.

“You gave me quite a scare.” She cries softly.

He looks out at the window and thinks of the teen, possibly still hiding in the woods, or maybe he’s out to the highway by now. He wonders if the kid has met up with the driver. If they are laughing about the incident or pissed off, having left the loot behind. He thinks for a second they might return for the backpack or possibly to put a scare into him. He wonders how the police officer can tell how desperate they are. He wonders how he will sleep tonight. He wonders how he will ever sleep again.








4/15/09

Shane

“Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.” – James Joyce


Shane woke up facedown in the alley with a thunderous throbbing, the smell of piss had permeated his jeans and his mouth was parched, his tongue a dried piece of cork. He pulled himself upright and leaned against the cool brick and shielded his eyes from the morning dawn. He dozed off for a few seconds, and then heard laughing children.

With his hands shading his eyes, he looked out towards the light. Two girls dressed in their Catholic school uniforms were passing by on the sidewalk. They stopped and stared at him. The girls wore white polo shirts and plaid skirts, their hair in ponytails. A younger boy stood with them. The boy wore a bowl cut on his freckled face and carried a lunchbox with a cartoon character on it.

The three innocent children silently studied the drunkard sitting in the alley.

“Pogue mahone.” The man scowled from the darkness.

The two girls scrunched their faces in disgust and moved on down the sidewalk, but the little boy stood there silently staring.

“What d’ya want, lad?” The man asked.

“Mister. Are you okay?” The boy asked.

“Fuck off, kid.” The man said, and buried his head in his hands. He tried to moisten his lips, his tongue tasted like sandpaper. He closed his eyelids tightly trying to ease the throbbing in his brain. When he looked back out the boy was gone.

He tried to piece last night together, fragments slowly poured through the fog. Frank Ryan was laid out, arms crossed like a wax figure in his mother’s parlor. Walking through the meadow to St. James Church. Women weeping. The casket’s burden shared amongst friends. The unsure footing on the mud as they lowered Frankie in the ground. A pour of Guinness, a shot of Jameson’s at Euston Tavern. Toasts to Frankie. The sounds of Molly Malone. Uncle Patrick playing the fiddle. Handing a hot toddie to his Aunt Bridie. Raised glasses to Frankie. Kids running through the bar. A pint of Smithwicks. Mary Maguire’s tongue down his throat. Mikey McCormack cursing the proddy’s, as though they’d poisoned Frankie’s liver.

He slowly stood in the alley, holding onto the wall for ballast. Every muscle ached as he straightened his back. He reached in his pockets and found: a funeral card with St. Joseph’s picture, a button, a pack of matches, a scrap of paper with a phone number, a few euro’s, a half pack of fags.

With the back of his hand, he wiped his nose and noticed a smear of blood. He touched his nostrils and felt a crust of blood encircling the nostrils. He wiped the back of his hand on his pants then pulled out a cigarette. He had to search again for the matches. He lit the fag and inhaled. He coughed up some phlegm and spit it on the wall. He snorted in twice and cleared his passage. He crinked his neck and took the palm of his hand and rubbed the cheekbones under his eyes.

He heard more voices walking down the sidewalk. He made his way to the end of he alley, and leaned against the wall smoking his cigarette. The breeze felt good against his clammy skin. Two short old women walked by with little pull carts on their way to the market.

He motioned to them and quietly said, “G’ Morning,” but they didn’t pay him any mind.

The sunlight was slowly revealing itself on the buildings across the street. He thought of a few days before, sitting by Frankie Ryan’s bed, passing a bottle back and forth with Richard. As Frankie lay there, quietly dreaming of foreign lands, they recalled their roundabout a few years back - the money lost at that track in Tipperary, Seamus catching the clap, the bare knuckles brawl in Madrid. The priest was waiting outside for last rites. When the hospice lady came in, she cursed them both and took their bottle.

“Lord help you both.” She muttered, handing the bottle to the surprised Father McCue as he entered the room.

Richard was up and out as if he’d seen a banshee, but Shane stood over the bed, looking at his best friend’s gaunt face – Frankie’s sunken cheeks covered by three day beard stubble, the only noise in the room Frankie’s shallow breathing. Shane leaned over stroking the hair of his fair friend, then bent at the waist and gently kissed Frankie on the forehead. Shane stood and made the sign of the cross. He walked by Father McCue with his head down and tears in his eyes.

Shane flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk and exhaled. He looked down at his jacket and brushed the dirt off. He looked both ways and the street was now quiet. Across the street, old man Connelly emerged through a large wooden door. The old man placed a wedge of wood underneath, and then disappeared inside. A Smithwicks sign flickered on in the window.

With that, Shane licked his parched, gummy mouth and felt a second wind kick up. He licked his lips, then lifted his tired frame off of the building, “One more, just me and Frankie.” He said quietly as he stepped off the curb.










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