grassy incline
between two maroon brick buildings, heading through the common and the nearby
dormitories toward the train line.
Wait
until he sees the size of the fence which separated that end of campus from the
tracks, I thought to myself with a grin. I shot due north, keeping to the
hard, discolored grass of the block's front yards for better traction, up to
the bustling 55th Street, where I spun around a bus stop and stayed close to
the curb as I maneuvered away from a few shoppers before reaching the underpass
station. I fumbled for my ticket pass, slapped it into the turnstile,
bound up the short wooden steps three at a time, and crashed through the flimsy
spring doors that opened up to the long, empty Hyde Park station
platform. I trotted further down, hoping to catch a glimpse of Felix
struggling around the fence.
"Drop
the bag, you son of a bitch!"
Felix
rolled out from under the edge of platform to the gravel carpet beside the
inside rail, his hands cupped, holding an imaginary pistol at me. I
dropped my bag and dove down, stomach first, to the opposite side of the deck,
taking cover behind a large, two-sided metal bench. I held my own
illusory handgun, a simple Colt .45 automatic, it had to be, and peered around
the base of the seating area, ready to unload the gun into the little creep.
Felix
fired three times from behind my back. Shit! I jerked my back and
cried out, before slumping to my death against the bench. I lay
completely still, waiting until I heard my short buddy climb up from the
tracks. How the hell did he get under the platform? I looked up at
Felix's grinning little face, and then at his blood-stained leg. The
right knee of his dress slacks had been torn open, and, apparently, so had his
knee.
He
helped me to my feet and patted me on the arm. "You should see what
it looks like under there." We sat close together on the bench.
"No
thanks. Are you OK?" I brushed his hands off of his lap and
looked at the bloody horizontal gash running across the top of his
kneecap. "What was it? Nothing rusty, I hope!”
Felix's
smile was forced, this time. "I think it was a bottle.
Damn."
I
shook my head and reached for my school bag, pulling a souvenir bottle of cheap
Smirnoff vodka out as I propped an elbow over his leg to get a better
angle. "I can think of a lot of things I'd rather do with this than
pour it down your leg, Felix, but since we're buddies and all that, I'll make
an exception, just this once."
Felix
seized the bottle out of my hands. "Give me a sip,
first." He took a little swig, made a dirty look, and handed it back
to me. I had one, too, before leaning over to pour a few drops across the
entire gash. Felix moaned painfully. "God, that stings."
"Not
as much as a tetanus shot would." I bounced my fist on his thigh a
few times before throwing the empty bottle onto the tracks. His moan felt
like it was caught in my ears. The buzz of the neighborhood was a little
quieter than usual, as if the world had suddenly decided to be quiet and catch
its breath for a moment. I could feel the late afternoon sun on my face,
and wondered if Nicolasha had gone straight home, or might be watching us from
the street below. The wind was pretty calm. I assumed it was Chicago 's
way of telling me a particularly fearsome winter was on its way.
In
fact, it was something I was too unfamiliar with to recognize.
"So
why does home suck so bad for you, nowadays?"
I
began eyeing the old bank across the street and exhaled tiredly.
"It's a long and boring story, Felix."
He
patted me on the back again. You know, I thought, I've been touched more
this month than I had for the last three, maybe five years? "That's
what friends are supposed to be for."
My
face and voice were blank. "I thought we were just buddies."
"Well,
I'd like to be friends, too. Wouldn't you?"
Sure
I would, Felix. I'm just not very good at it, that's all. Ask the
guys
between two maroon brick buildings, heading through the common and the nearby
dormitories toward the train line.
Wait
until he sees the size of the fence which separated that end of campus from the
tracks, I thought to myself with a grin. I shot due north, keeping to the
hard, discolored grass of the block's front yards for better traction, up to
the bustling 55th Street, where I spun around a bus stop and stayed close to
the curb as I maneuvered away from a few shoppers before reaching the underpass
station. I fumbled for my ticket pass, slapped it into the turnstile,
bound up the short wooden steps three at a time, and crashed through the flimsy
spring doors that opened up to the long, empty Hyde Park station
platform. I trotted further down, hoping to catch a glimpse of Felix
struggling around the fence.
"Drop
the bag, you son of a bitch!"
Felix
rolled out from under the edge of platform to the gravel carpet beside the
inside rail, his hands cupped, holding an imaginary pistol at me. I
dropped my bag and dove down, stomach first, to the opposite side of the deck,
taking cover behind a large, two-sided metal bench. I held my own
illusory handgun, a simple Colt .45 automatic, it had to be, and peered around
the base of the seating area, ready to unload the gun into the little creep.
Felix
fired three times from behind my back. Shit! I jerked my back and
cried out, before slumping to my death against the bench. I lay
completely still, waiting until I heard my short buddy climb up from the
tracks. How the hell did he get under the platform? I looked up at
Felix's grinning little face, and then at his blood-stained leg. The
right knee of his dress slacks had been torn open, and, apparently, so had his
knee.
He
helped me to my feet and patted me on the arm. "You should see what
it looks like under there." We sat close together on the bench.
"No
thanks. Are you OK?" I brushed his hands off of his lap and
looked at the bloody horizontal gash running across the top of his
kneecap. "What was it? Nothing rusty, I hope!”
Felix's
smile was forced, this time. "I think it was a bottle.
Damn."
I
shook my head and reached for my school bag, pulling a souvenir bottle of cheap
Smirnoff vodka out as I propped an elbow over his leg to get a better
angle. "I can think of a lot of things I'd rather do with this than
pour it down your leg, Felix, but since we're buddies and all that, I'll make
an exception, just this once."
Felix
seized the bottle out of my hands. "Give me a sip,
first." He took a little swig, made a dirty look, and handed it back
to me. I had one, too, before leaning over to pour a few drops across the
entire gash. Felix moaned painfully. "God, that stings."
"Not
as much as a tetanus shot would." I bounced my fist on his thigh a
few times before throwing the empty bottle onto the tracks. His moan felt
like it was caught in my ears. The buzz of the neighborhood was a little
quieter than usual, as if the world had suddenly decided to be quiet and catch
its breath for a moment. I could feel the late afternoon sun on my face,
and wondered if Nicolasha had gone straight home, or might be watching us from
the street below. The wind was pretty calm. I assumed it was Chicago 's
way of telling me a particularly fearsome winter was on its way.
In
fact, it was something I was too unfamiliar with to recognize.
"So
why does home suck so bad for you, nowadays?"
I
began eyeing the old bank across the street and exhaled tiredly.
"It's a long and boring story, Felix."
He
patted me on the back again. You know, I thought, I've been touched more
this month than I had for the last three, maybe five years? "That's
what friends are supposed to be for."
My
face and voice were blank. "I thought we were just buddies."
"Well,
I'd like to be friends, too. Wouldn't you?"
Sure
I would, Felix. I'm just not very good at it, that's all. Ask the
guys
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