“Hey man,” Brian says to his buddy, as they drink their
fourth beer at the bar at Fredrick Douglas and 118th street, “How
you been?”
Micah shrugs his narrow shoulders and gives a wry smile. He’s been
pensive all night.
“I don’t know. Fine I guess.”
The two take a swig of their beer, and glance up at the
television screen above them. The Nets are absolutely smashing the Heat,
causing the commentators to be giddy about the team’s surprising mid-season
run.
Suddenly, a gust of wind accosts the two young men. A short, stocky, light skinned man
wearing a light blue sweatshirt, a gray sweatpants walks in. He looks around
and then heads to the bar, sitting
two barstools away from Micah.
“Gimme three rum an cokes” he says in a quiet tenor voice,
his eyes glancing around appraisingly.
“Expecting friends?” inquires the bartender. The short man shakes his head no.
Brian yawns loudly, and takes down more of his Corona. He’s exhausted.
“I saw your ex over the weekend,” he says to his friend.
“Yea?” asks Micah.
“Yea.”
The two are silent for a moment as the bartender passes three cocktails to the light skinned brotha at the end of the bar.
“She says hi,” Brian continues, lazily.
Micah nods.
“She tell you everything?”
“Everything?”
“I know you guys are good friends...”
“I know you guys are good friends...”
“Yea. She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“…Oh.”
The Net’s lead is insurmountable and the bench of both sides
is playing now. The bartender changes the channel to the NHL Network. The
Devils are on.
“Hey,” calls the stocky figure. “Y’all want these?” He pushes the 2 rum and coke toward
them.
Micah and Brian look at one another. Brian shrugs, and the two grab
the drinks.
“Cheers” says the generous man.
“Cheers” reply the two men at the bar.
“You guys ever try special K?” asks the short man, after a moment. The three had silently been pondering
the 2nd period of game.
“You move fast,” Brian chuckles, taking a swig of the rum and
coke.
Micah stares at the floor and says nothing.
“Three more,” calls the short man, having downed his rum an
coke in a single gulp.
“Woah,” says Brian, surprised.
This time, the man with the sweatpants laughs. “I got you
yo. Chill.”
Brian looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t think
of what. Micah tentatively takes a
swig of the first cocktail, and washes it down with his beer.
“What do you do?” the light skinned man asks, looking deep
in Micah’s eyes.
“Me?” Micah says dumbly, struggling to look away. He hadn’t
meant to look at the man at all.
“He bad at English?” blue sweatshirt addresses Brian.
“Aw, be nice,” Brian says in an amused voice. He’s getting a
little drunk.
“I’m a writer,” mumbles Micah, feeling a little
embarrassed. “Poetry.”
“That’s nice man.”
“He needs INSPIRATION,” Brian says ponderously, finishing
his rum and coke, just as the fresh drinks arrive.
“I don’t
need-…..I should go,” Micah says , “I got work tomorrow pretty early.”
“Woah! Woah! You got a LEAST another drink to finish!”
Sweatpants swags, in his easy manner.
Micah takes a deep breath. He’s feeling uncomfortable.
“Your deal?” Brain asks blue sweatshirt.
The short man shrugs twice. Brian gets it.
“I’m gonna go pee,” he says unconvincingly, and stumbles away
from the bar, toward the back of the restaurant.
“Your friend seems cool” the short man says. He’s moved over
a seat. Micah can smell his aftershave.
“Yea,” Micah says uncertainly.
“You always uptight?”
“I dunno.”
“You gotta chill man. You’ll get an ulcer.”
“Ok.”
Sweatpants laugh openly at Micah’s “ok.”
“Your girlfriend know?”
“Huh?”
“Did she find out?”
“I…what are…you.”
“Never mind.”
Micah takes a huge drink of his drink. He can feel his heart
beat quickening as little shorty’s hand rests gently , almost imperceptibly, on
his leg.
“You’re friend won’t miss us, will he?”
Micah lowers his head.
“I got a lotta good shit at my place. Come on.”
Shorty with the blue sweatshirt waits patiently, as the
Devils score yet another goal.
“Ok,” whispers Micah.
He’s terrified. He’s elated. He’s ashamed.
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