against the window. Looking out toward the bright neon signs of the taco shop across the street, he seemed to be collecting his thoughts; apologizing wasn’t high in his vocabulary.
“So—I’m really sorry about how I acted and not calling or anything. Uh…you understand…?”
He continued since I didn’t reply. “I’m sorry. Okay? Can you just forgive me?” He was looking at me now, irritation peeking through.
Unaware that I was holding my breath, I heard myself exhale, “Sure.”
I didn’t really expect a better apology than that, nor did I care for one. I just didn’t feel like being alone on my birthday.
Exchanging manly fist bumps and a hard pat on the back, we buried the hatchet.
“So, what do you want to do?”
Justin grinned. “I got a plan.” His eyes twinkled, which was never a good sign. Justin was back and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it.
Justin hung out with me while I washed my used ‘87 gold Volvo sedan. It was pretty beat up when I got it, but dependable. I needed something dependable in my life. We caught up on the last eight years or so of estrangement. He had two and a half girlfriends since—the half, being a one night stand—the current, being his on-again, off-again girlfriend Kelly Johnson, a real looker who wasn’t too bright in the noggin’ based on what he was telling me. She had already tried calling him six times since he came over. He promised that she wasn’t allowed to attend tonight’s festivities. I believed him. Justin was always very loyal to his friends and if Kelly wasn't willing to accept this, she might as well give up now and not waste her breath.
7
I got ready to go out. I wasn’t sure where Justin was taking me, but he told me to dress nicer than usual and that he’d be back around five o’clock to pick me up. At ten past four I dropped down to complete a set of fifty push-ups, hopped into the shower, shaved, put on layers of deodorant, and searched through my meager wardrobe until I settled on a blue button-up striped dress shirt, black slacks, and shiny black dress shoes—I still had a couple of business suits and shirts from my software development days.
I walked to the kitchen, ate the generic supermarket cupcake, turned the napkin around and wrote a note to Dad:
Hey Dad,
Justin’s taking me out for my birthday.
I’ll be back late.
Love, Liam
As I waited for Justin to pick me up, I decided to play Brian Setzer’s Stray Cat Strut on the guitar. Belting out the lyrics, I was just getting into my groove when—
“Meow- ow -OWWWW!” I heard in stereo from the porch.
I stopped playing and turned toward the door. I heard two sets of laughter outside. One was definitely Justin and the other was probably Lance Greenfield—a mutual friend of ours whom we got to know through Little League. I placed the guitar back on its pedestal, grabbed the keys and headed out the door.
“Hey guys. Nice harmony.” I smiled, trying to look pumped up. “So where are we headed?” By this time, I was curious.
Justin and Lance looked at each other and belted, “TJ!” They started dancing around me with imaginary shaker instruments in their hands, the Macarena , their song of choice.
I was already prepared for a wild night for three reasons: Justin was in charge, I just turned twenty-one, and we were guys. But TJ?
“I don’t think I have enough money on me. Can we stop by the ATM?” Checking to make sure I had my ID in my wallet, I noticed I only had a five and two ones.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m treating you.” Justin patted my shoulder, nudging me toward his black pickup truck.
“Thanks,” I said.
We parked the truck just outside the border and walked across taking the next available taxi. Before I knew it, Justin was taking us to the red light district in Tijuana. Brothels, strip clubs, prostitutes, and bars lined the streets of TJ’s north zone. This was the kind of place where men came to lose
“So—I’m really sorry about how I acted and not calling or anything. Uh…you understand…?”
He continued since I didn’t reply. “I’m sorry. Okay? Can you just forgive me?” He was looking at me now, irritation peeking through.
Unaware that I was holding my breath, I heard myself exhale, “Sure.”
I didn’t really expect a better apology than that, nor did I care for one. I just didn’t feel like being alone on my birthday.
Exchanging manly fist bumps and a hard pat on the back, we buried the hatchet.
“So, what do you want to do?”
Justin grinned. “I got a plan.” His eyes twinkled, which was never a good sign. Justin was back and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it.
Justin hung out with me while I washed my used ‘87 gold Volvo sedan. It was pretty beat up when I got it, but dependable. I needed something dependable in my life. We caught up on the last eight years or so of estrangement. He had two and a half girlfriends since—the half, being a one night stand—the current, being his on-again, off-again girlfriend Kelly Johnson, a real looker who wasn’t too bright in the noggin’ based on what he was telling me. She had already tried calling him six times since he came over. He promised that she wasn’t allowed to attend tonight’s festivities. I believed him. Justin was always very loyal to his friends and if Kelly wasn't willing to accept this, she might as well give up now and not waste her breath.
7
I got ready to go out. I wasn’t sure where Justin was taking me, but he told me to dress nicer than usual and that he’d be back around five o’clock to pick me up. At ten past four I dropped down to complete a set of fifty push-ups, hopped into the shower, shaved, put on layers of deodorant, and searched through my meager wardrobe until I settled on a blue button-up striped dress shirt, black slacks, and shiny black dress shoes—I still had a couple of business suits and shirts from my software development days.
I walked to the kitchen, ate the generic supermarket cupcake, turned the napkin around and wrote a note to Dad:
Hey Dad,
Justin’s taking me out for my birthday.
I’ll be back late.
Love, Liam
As I waited for Justin to pick me up, I decided to play Brian Setzer’s Stray Cat Strut on the guitar. Belting out the lyrics, I was just getting into my groove when—
“Meow- ow -OWWWW!” I heard in stereo from the porch.
I stopped playing and turned toward the door. I heard two sets of laughter outside. One was definitely Justin and the other was probably Lance Greenfield—a mutual friend of ours whom we got to know through Little League. I placed the guitar back on its pedestal, grabbed the keys and headed out the door.
“Hey guys. Nice harmony.” I smiled, trying to look pumped up. “So where are we headed?” By this time, I was curious.
Justin and Lance looked at each other and belted, “TJ!” They started dancing around me with imaginary shaker instruments in their hands, the Macarena , their song of choice.
I was already prepared for a wild night for three reasons: Justin was in charge, I just turned twenty-one, and we were guys. But TJ?
“I don’t think I have enough money on me. Can we stop by the ATM?” Checking to make sure I had my ID in my wallet, I noticed I only had a five and two ones.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m treating you.” Justin patted my shoulder, nudging me toward his black pickup truck.
“Thanks,” I said.
We parked the truck just outside the border and walked across taking the next available taxi. Before I knew it, Justin was taking us to the red light district in Tijuana. Brothels, strip clubs, prostitutes, and bars lined the streets of TJ’s north zone. This was the kind of place where men came to lose
Similar Books
