“Solomon,”
I said walking up behind him. “I don’t
want to go. I would like to stay here
and finish out my shift, if that’s alright.”
He turned, looked up at me and gave
me a smile. His gray eyes took me in,
making me feel comfortable. “You have
been a great addition to our community Leopold.
You are conscientious and caring.
I sometimes forget that you have not been with us all that long.” He sighed.
“You are being confronted with your past and now it is up to you to
decide what you want to do. We are not
forcing anyone to stay here, and it’s important for your friend to know
that. But it’s also important for you to
know why you’re here. Now go.”
I watched him walk away. I turned and walked past Clarence without a
word. As I pushed to door open, I heard
Roscoe roar to life as cars revved to life, joggers ran past chatting, and
busses moaned as it pushed off from the curb, carrying people to the jobs they
probably hated.
The door clanked shut behind me and
I turned to see Clarence looking at me, his face scrunched in what was either
disgust or pity—not that there was much difference between the two when it came
to Clarence. “What?” I said.
“What? That’s what you’ve got to say for yourself?” He grunted.
“C’mon.”
“Where are we going?” I said.
“This way.” We walked in silence for a while going east
past Damen Avenue. We passed houses with
small front yards. Our silence held
until we passed a few tables sitting outside a small bar and had come to the
corner of Wolcott. The blue and yellow
sign hung to the side of the building, creaking beneath the caress of a gentle
breeze, and said Four Moon Tavern.
“We’ll eat here,” said Clarence.
“You could have eaten at the Grill,”
I said quietly. “We make really good
pancakes.”
“I don’t want to give a cult like
that any more money than I have to. No
offense.”
“If all you want to do is fight,
then why are we even bothering with this?”
I said, but I followed him into the bar anyway.
We sat down at a table streaked with
sunlight and the man standing behind the bar offered us menus and went to get
us water.
“I’m not allowed to eat any of
this,” I said looking at the menu.
“You’re not allowed.” He repeated without surprise. “That’s fine.
I figured you wouldn’t have money to pay for anything anyway.”
I patted my pants without thinking
and said, “No. I don’t have any
money.”
“Yeah.” He said still studying the menu. The barman came back and set two glasses of
water in front of us.
“Know what you want?” he said
casually.
“I think we’ll have two Harolds and
stick with water to drink.” The barman made
a couple marks and turned toward the bar.
“I told you, I can’t eat that.” The barman turned around with a questioning
look.
“Two Harolds,” Clarence repeated,
shooing him away. “I’m guessing you have
not had a whole lot of square meals. But
if you don’t want it, I’ll have him box it and we’ll give it to a homeless
person somewhere. Alright?”
“Fine.” I said clenching my jaw.
“So.” Clarence took his glasses off and rubbed his
eyes. “The man with me this morning was
a private detective I hired to track you down.”
“I figured you weren’t there by
coincidence.”
“I don’t do coincidence, you know
that.” He smiled, but it drifted from
his face as quickly as it appeared.
“Look. I don’t know what you’re
going through, but this isn’t the way to deal with it.”
“You don’t know how I’m dealing with
whatever it is I’m going through.”
He paused, and gave me the smile he
always used to give me. The smile that
told me he knew a lot more than I thought.
And in that moment I remembered that I had known Clarence since
elementary school when I stopped some kids I didn’t like from taking his lunch
money. It was the smile he gave me so
many times when he’d help me study for any of subjects I needed extra help to
pass. “So, why don’t you tell me what
you’re going through?” His voice was
smooth and calm.
“I—Why—Master Solomon.” I stammered, feeling my breath catch in my
throat. “Heaven is supposed to be this
place where it’s calm and serene and you don’t have to deal with any bullshit. So, I’m getting that now.”
“You’re getting a calm and serene
life?” He asked as if trying to
understand.
“Yes. I’m happy.
I don’t have to deal with murders or people being completely shitty to
each other. I don’t have to deal with
anything. It’s great.” I tried not to let my voice sound as
defensive as I sound, but I knew my old friend had picked up on things.
He pulled his glasses off his face
and ran his hands over his nose. The
waiter brought out the food—two plates of biscuits and gravy with two fried
eggs on top. “Anything else?” the waiter
asked.
“No,” Clarence said. “Thank you.”
He turned his attention to me.
“Can you really say no to that food?”
“I’m being tested.” I said quietly. I felt my stomach gurgle and I silently
cursed it.
“I’m not testing you. I’m offering you food.” He said as he dug in. He took a few bites before he began talking
again. “Look, it is not a sin to be glad
you’re alive. But this—whatever this
is. This isn’t living. This is you giving up living. This is you dying little by little, piece by
piece.”
My face flushed, but I stayed
stubbornly silent.
“Look. Your ex-girlfriend died. She was killed by someone you thought you
could catch. Maybe someone you should
have caught—I don’t know. And instead of
dealing with the fallout of that, you came here and what, joined a cult?”
“It’s not a cult.” I said.
“Fine. Let’s say for a moment it’s not a cult. You still just abandoned your life. You left without a word to anyone. I didn’t even know you were fired.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you.” I said feeling my anger rise. “I’m sorry I was dealing with all that
alone. But—“
“I’m sorry too. You—I should have checked in more. I knew this case was eating at you.” He was looking me right in the eye. It wasn’t often that we had conversations
that were this uncomfortable. I remembered
one time in high school when we were pursuing the same woman, but that was ages
ago.
“Thanks.” I said quietly, feeling the silence wash over
the whole room drowning all the conversation and the clanging of the cooks in
the kitchen. After a few minutes music
ebbed back into the room. It took me a
couple minutes to remember the song. It
started slow and familiar, transporting me back to my bedroom where I had
listened to it for the first time so many years ago. I listened and loved it in the way that only
a fourteen year-old can love a piece of music they don’t quite understand.
Everybody’s
got a secret sonny, yeah, something they just can’t face. Some folks spend their whole lives trying to
keep it, they carry it with them every step that they take. And the drums and guitar kicked in,
tearing the room apart in front of my eyes.
Till
one day, they just cut it loose. Cut it
loose or let it drag ‘em down. Where no
one asks any questions or looks too long in your face… Without thinking about it, I reached for
the fork in front of me and started cutting into the egg, letting the yolk flow
over the biscuits and gravy. Yellow
mixed with the gravy, overtaken until I couldn’t tell it had ever been there.
As I brought the fork to my mouth, I
felt defeated. I was failing. Failing in a big way, and suddenly I felt as
if everyone knew I was failing, except me.
I had not noticed when I drank myself silly, ran away from my home town,
joined a cult, and clung to the idea that all this was normal. And the warmth of shame flushed my face and
clenched my chest. I nodded in answer
to an unasked question.
