2

I spent the rest of the day in the park watching homeless people pick up cigarette butts and giving them cans of cheap beer from my backpack. I’d have rather been home but the likelihood of a return visit from Rachel was entirely too likely. I could imagine her hammering on my door until Greg the grumpy old bastard next door pointed his shotgun at her. It was a good day to not be found. The only downside would be clearing the thirty hysterical voice mails I knew were piling up. Sad apologies, anger, threats. I wondered where along the line I became so broken I didn’t care. It’s not like I don’t have emotions, I just don’t have the same ones everyone else seems to have, or the signals are crossed and I’m seeing blue where it should be red. My father can’t see a lot of colors, maybe I can’t feel certain things. Perhaps a further sign of my deficiency was that I counted it a positive. From my point of view the shit other people seemed to go through was something I was happy to avoid.

Around four I shook myself from my introspective reverie and slouched off to Tom’s. Tom’s is a totally unremarkable little sports bar that Ron and I often meet at. It’s a neighborhood bar where married men go to get away from their wives, which is why Ron was always there. To be fair to Melanie, she seemed reasonable as far as wives go, but she’d always hated me. Ron claimed to not understand it, but I understood and so did she.

I slid into my usual chair and set cigarettes, lighter and a half dollar on the bar. Eric eyed me as he leaned over the sinks, scrubbing glasses.
“You’re looking a bit rough, need a whiskey?”
“Not this early, actually just a beer and a burger while I wait for Ron.” Eric nodded, sent the ticket back to the kitchen and poured a beer with no questions. I am a creature of habit, so at least I had that in common with other people.
Eric was one of the good types of bartenders, the ones that leave you alone when you want it. The best kind can draw you out even when you don’t want it, but those kind are rarer than a virgin on Bourbon Street. Still, I was happy to be left to my food, lost in a morass of grease, ketchup and tabasco for a while. When I pushed the basket away and drained my beer, Eric wandered up.
“You look a bit better. Having a bad time of it?”
“Eh, women, you know how it is.”
“You fighting with your girlfriend?”
“I think the fighting is over.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said and poured another beer for me.
I gave him a sideways look, “Sorry for what? I think I’ve finally gotten rid of the girlfriend I never wanted.”
“Back to the bachelor life?”
“Hell, I’ll settle for simple quiet,” I said, picking up the coin and spinning it on the bar top.
“Well have one on me buddy.”
“Thanks Eric,” I checked my watch, “Ron ought to be here in about five minutes or so.”
“Cool, I’ll get his drink.”

Ron drank martinis, and nothing else, or rather I should say he drank a big fucking glass of gin with a token olive in it. I like a vodka martini every now and then but Ron, he doesn’t do anything but that nasty well gin and nothing to cut it. I’d grabbed his drink thinking it was water one night. The bastard had eaten his olive, and since Tom’s isn’t the sort of place to have a martini glass, it was just a glass of clear liquid. I was shocked to make it to the bathroom before emptying my stomach. It’s disgusting, he thinks it’s classy.
I knew Ron had arrived without turning around, and even before Eric called out a greeting to him. The front door of the bar was an ancient relic, a solid chunk of wood with a hydraulic arm intended to keep it from slamming but also often succeeded in keeping the door shut. Ron had long ago solved this problem by simply running full force into the door with his not inconsiderable weight.
“You are gonna break that thing one of these days,” Eric said as Ron sat down next to me.
“Good, then old Tom will finally have to cough up the bucks for a new one.”
This was a ritual between the two, I think I’ve heard that exchange three nights out of every seven for the last three years. I made a spinning motion with my finger, indicating the broken record nature of the exchange.
“Beers don’t need stirring, nor do martinis,” Eric said, sliding the glass of juniper hell to Ron and completing the final part of the ritual I’d added about a year ago. He wandered off to the other side of the bar where Jeff and Ace were arguing over their bill.
Ron took a sip of his gin and looked at me.
“You all right there? You look a little off color.”
“Hell, I’ve been drinking since she showed up at my door this morning.”
Ron frowned, “I didn’t think you were that wrapped up in that girl.”
“I wasn’t, I’m celebrating.”
“Heh, you’ve always been a bit of a bastard. Look, spill the details.”
“About?” I looked sideways at Ron.
“C’mon, I remember Jen, she still as hot as ever? Why is she in town? You get laid?”
“Yes, visiting family, no.”
“Eloquent as ever.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, “It wasn’t anything, just catching up, we were friends for a long time before the whole dating thing you know.”
“For a guy who has had as many girlfriends as you, you sure know shit about women,” Ron sipped his gin and smirked at me.
“So what, she looked me up to rekindle an old romance while she’s here for a weekend? That doesn’t even make sense. We split up because she was going to Florida. I’m still not going there, and she is going back.”
“Did you discuss that?”
“No, the subject never came up.”
“You know, I never understood why you didn’t go there with her. I mean, Florida, beaches, babes, bikinis, and best of all, not here.”
I laughed and signaled to Eric for another beer.
“You ever listen to yourself? You think I should have moved out of state to continue an exclusive relationship and your argument is women in skimpy clothing.”
Ron snorted and chewed on his olive for a moment, “You can look, still.”
“If I want to look, there is this thing called the internet, lots of looking to do there.”
“Yeah, well, Melanie moved the computer into the kitchen which pretty much ended that for me,” he said and frowned into his almost empty drink.
“Fuck this, I’m tired of wasting breath on women, you want to lose a game of pool?”
“You’re buying.”

Three games into it, I was down all three. Ron had gotten better over the years, he’d even talked his wife into letting him have a table in the basement with the argument that he’d stay home more often. He hadn’t missed a night at Tom’s yet, but I could tell he’d been using the table at home, and my concentration was all but non-existent. I was enjoying myself nonetheless, distraction always seems to have a place.
I was racking for the fourth game when a woman walked up. She was tall, fair and few pounds past skinny but attractive enough to catch Ron’s eye.
“You boys up for some doubles?” she asked, striking a pose straight out of some billiard sales magazine, cue in hand. I rolled my eyes.
“Loser buys,” Ron said simply and handed her the cue ball. I snorted and lifted the rack free and turned around straight into my other opponent. I stared into dark brown eyes and a slightly asymmetric but beautiful face. Some distractions have more place than others, I thought.
“Pardon me,” I said and moved to one side.”

Two games later, it was obvious Ron and I were no contest for the two, who had introduced themselves as Erin and Dawn, and Ron begged off, claiming he had to get home to his wife.
“Oh, tired of being beat by a woman already? Running away?” asked Erin, the blonde.
“Oh no, I’m going home for a proper beating by a woman,” quipped Ron as he settled his tab. I racked my cue and headed for the bar.
Erin grabbed my arm, “You’re not up for a bit of one on one with me? You got a wife at home to spank you as well?”
I shook my head, “No, I’m just done being beat on in general.”
Erin smirked and walked back to the table.

I sat at the bar, nursing a beer and staring off idly at the television, making up new dialogue for the muted movie smeared across the maladjusted colors of the screen. This only added to the hilarity and I smiled a lot. I had just completed a rather witty bit in my head when I became aware of Dawn standing next to me. I turned my head slightly towards her and nodded. She’d hardly spoken during our games, a vivid counterpoint to the volume of her partner.
“Where is the bartender?” she asked, “I need some more change.”
“He’s changing a keg in the back, but I’ll let you in on a secret, there is a bill changer in the back where the payphones used to be.”
“I don’t really need fifty in quarters.”
“You don’t?”
“No, you and your friend were buying the games earlier, remember?”
I smiled and picked up my half dollar and spun it again.
“Good luck charm?”
“More of just something to do with my hands, devil’s playground and all that.”
“Catholic boy? Pardon me, I have to run screaming out the door now.”
This time I laughed.