Chapter Five – The Morning After

I awoke the next morning nauseated and slightly ashamed of myself. Ten years of blaming my dad for all our problems; tens years to build up my anger. And did I tell him how angry I was with him? No. I hugged him. I acted like the same seven-year-old little boy he left behind that day. Even worse, I found myself admiring him for what he had done.

Thinking back on my visit, I realized that he must know that I am not the same little boy, but he didn’t bother asking me how my life was going. Maybe he knew how shitty things had been and he didn’t want to have to listen to me tell him. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

I couldn’t think about my father anymore, so I called Ryan, knowing he would be good for a distraction. He didn’t disappoint. We sat on the railroad bridge, our legs dangling out over the water, a bag of greasy burgers and fries from Bubba’s Diner between us. When we were kids we would come out to this bridge and lay side-by-side on the pylon as the trains raced overhead on the track. It was exhilarating. The trains stopped coming around these parts a few years back, though, so now we just came here to hang out.

Ryan was downing his fourth burger; I had barely touched my first. Luckily, he was too distracted to notice my lack of appetite.

“So then she leans across the table at me, and she is totally fallin’ out of her shirt, and she tells me that she wants to go up to my room. Just like that! And so I’m thinkin’ I’m pretty hot stuff. I mean I know I am, but the chicks down there don’t care that I’m a Jew.”

He’d been telling me about the impromptu trip he and his older brothers had taken to New Orleans Friday night. Mostly I had been listening silently, with a couple “mmms” and “uh-huhs” and well-placed laughs, but I sensed he was looking for a little more from me now.

“So, what happened, man? Did y’all go back up to your room?”

He laughs, “Yeah. And there I am, puttin’ my very best moves on her,” – I didn’t bother pointing out that he didn’t have any moves – “and she says, ‘ya don’t gotta romance me sweetie, I’m a sure thing.’ But I keep going with the mushy stuff, ’cause I know chicks like that, and you know what she says then?”

I sat silent longer than normal conversation allowed, but Ryan didn’t seem to notice. “Well, what did she say?”

“Get this. She says, ‘really, son, your buddies paid good money for me. Don’t go and blow it on all this sappy stuff.’ Can you believe it? Brett and Tony paid for a hooker for me.”

Ryan’s older brothers were always getting on him about his lack of action, but this was taking it a little far even for them.

“You’re kidding,” I said,

He held up two fingers, “Scout’s honor.” Ryan had never been a boy scout.

“So did you do it?”

He blushed. “Nah, man. I let the girl keep their money and we played cards all night. I can get my own girls. I hope they lost a lot of money on that little game.”

I finally finished my burger and checked my watch. Shit. It got late fast. I jumped up from my seat. “Man, I gotta get to pick up my paycheck before Lou won’t cash it for me anymore. Let’s go.”

Lou ran a little dive bar downtown called Sloppy Seconds. His business practices were shady and I am pretty sure he would be shut down if a health inspector came within a twenty-mile radius of his place. I felt dirty just going into the bar, but it was the only place in town (other than the bank, and I learned long ago that going in there was not worth the looks the tellers gave me) that would cash my paycheck for me. Lou always took my check without complaint, just so long as I got there before the evening rush picked up.

I was assaulted by the usual wall of smoke when I opened the door to Sloppy Seconds. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light as I stood in the entry way, blinking back the tears brought on by the thick haze. The faint smell of maraschino cherries pushed through the stench. How is it that no matter how strong the other smells are, the cherries always manage to hold their own?

Lou had to go to the back room to get my cash, so I took a seat at the end of the bar, as far from any of his patrons as I could. The jukebox in the corner played a classic rock anthem through crackling speakers. My eyes burned. God, could he hurry up?

A book of matches hit the bar in front of me and I looked up to see where they had come from. A man with red-rimmed eyes and clothes that looked as if he had been wearing them a week slumped onto the stool next to me.

“S’your daddy who kilt that bastard, huh?” His speech was terribly slurred.

I stared at him. Never in ten years had anyone talked to me about my dad, and now this stranger asks about him just when I want nothing more than to forget him completely. Great.

I didn’t respond, and the man fell silent. After a few minutes, he shuddered. I turned to see fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He pulled at his hair, grabbing great tufts in his chapped hand.

Before long, he was sobbing uncontrollably. I stood and slowly made for the door – I could get my money from Lou later. Two steps from the bar a rough hand grabbed my arm. He was surprisingly strong for how wasted he was.

“You gotta help me, son.” He sobbed loudly. “Help me.”