THE KID'S THERE by the door, leaning against the brick wall under the blinking Budweiser sign. Gets deposited there almost every night by his old man. I’m half-drunk. It’s like I never left. Everything’s different. Everything’s the same? Sounded better when Sheri said it in French.
I’m not the same guy is what I’m trying to say.
Nicky’s behind the bar. Sings out to me over the crowd. “Joey Mac!” Throw Nicky a smile. Been here before, I guess you could say. Recent events have kept me away for a while. I appreciate the welcome, make a mental note to thank him later when my business is done. Depending on how it goes, of course. My cousin Jeannie and her ex are down at the end of the bar. Ex looks up at me a few times and I can see the two of them whispering sideways to each other. He drinks C.C. and Cokes. Yeah. The last time I saw them together, I played his face while Neil Young slashed those metal strings on Like a Hurricane which Nicky had turned up high for the pure, poetic fury of it all. Jeannie had been talking to some other guy for too long and Ex didn’t like it. I send a look that says ‘best look away and mind your own f’ing business or I would be more than happy to perform an encore.’ If he has any sense in that lug of a head, he won’t be doing any of that again.
Everything is so messed up. Those who should be together are not. Those who shouldn’t, are.
Haven’t been thinking straight since the whole thing with Sheri. The place is packed. I stumble and push through the crowd, daring someone to respond. No takers. They know me. Or about me. Or think they do. There are more than a few glances at my right hand tucked in my jacket pocket. A flicker of commotion along the far wall where the booths are. A small unnatural movement that grabs your attention somehow. Like how a tuft of grass shudders when a snake slithers underneath. The old gang is huddled together blocking the booth. Big Vinnie plants himself in front of me, puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Been a good day, Joe,” he says. “Can we let it stay that way?”
My eyes stare back at me from a mirror over his shoulder. I slide his hand off. He takes a step back and the rest of the group split open. Sheri is staring down at her drink on the table. She’s got both hands on it like it’s keeping her warm or it’s the only thing that makes any sense to her. She knows I’m here and she knows I know she knows but still takes a few seconds before looking up. The whole place gets kinda quiet except for the music which Nicky turns down a little. All eyes are on me. Nicky shakes his head from behind the bar. He looks sad kinda. He’s a good guy, one of the few here who I care much about excluding Jeannie. And Sheri.
“Joe,” Sheri says. Just that. Joe. She’s looking up at me, not turning away. Those eyes. Jesus. I wanna melt away, slip through the cracks.
“Hey Sheri,” I say before I lose my nerve. “I got something for you.” Someone gasps when I slide my hand out of my pocket. I hold up a small, wrapped box about the size of a paperback. The wrapping paper all little snowflakes dropping on green trees over a bright red background. It’s all bunched up and torn with lots of tape holding it together.
I set it down on the table, slide it over to her. “Happy Birthday. Had it done before we….” I couldn’t finish the sentence. It took a moment before I could speak. “Sorry about the paper. All I could find.” My words gurgling, spit out in liquid bursts. I don’t care who sees or hears me this way. We stare at each other. Her eyes close slowly like she’s drifting away to some other time or some other place. I wanna say, ‘take me with you, baby. Please take me with you.’ But I don’t. She leans her head just a little bit left and looks up at me again, her lips turning up in that shy smile that always made me weak. It’s over. These things can’t be undone. I am so tired of being angry. I intend to keep this pain to myself.
Sheri pokes at the gift. Laughs a little.
“Yeah,” I say. An old joke. My wrapping skills were never very good. I shrug. “Used to have some help.”
She picks it up, rips the paper off, opens the box. That photo of us sitting on the rocks at the summit of Neahkahnie Mountain with the Pacific extending out beyond to where the sun is halfway over the horizon. Silver frame. Sheri just stares at it. Her eyes mist over.
The way the sunlight shimmered gold on the water’s surface.
That was a good day.
“Joe,” she says.
“There were some good times, right?” I say. “I wasn’t always a complete fuck up.”
A mascara trail flits down her cheek.
“A couple,” she says. Those far away eyes again. “More than a couple.”
I make a stop at the bar to talk to Nicky on my way out. ‘That wasn’t too bad, right?’ I smile, wipe at my eyes with my jacket sleeve and slap a twenty down in front of him. “To the good days, Nicky. You won’t be seeing me around here no more. Probably for the best.” Ex is looking at me from down the bar with a confused look on his face. Can’t blame the guy. No one has ever seen me cry like this. I walk over and push my way into the space between their stools to talk to Jeannie. “Going away, sweet pea,” I say. I put a finger under her chin and lift her face up just a little so she can look in my eyes. I cock my head in Ex’s direction. “Is asshole here being good to you?” She nods. “Yeah,” she says. “He is. Really, Joe.” She seems good. I turn to him. “Keep it that way, fuck-face, or I will rip your lungs out and eat them in front of you.” He gulps a little, nods. I pat him on the back and let out a laugh. “Kidding, bro.” Lean into him and whisper in his ear, “I‘m a vegetarian.” Slap him on the back of the head like we were the best of friends.
The kid is still out there against the wall. The light is blinking on and off over him.
“Hey, mister,” he says. “You OK?”
“Trying to be, kid,” I say. “Trying to be.”
— JOE McAVOY
Joe McAvoy lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife, Kyle, and their English Lab, Rosie. His short fiction, essays, satire and poetry have appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals across the U.S. and internationally.