Chicago--Part 9

“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.