Angel

“Ian made me a man.”

“Was that so hard?”

Paul smiled and shook his head.

Ian’s playful expression changed. “Are you… sorry I did?”

“How could you ask that? No. Not in a million years.”

“He loves me,” Ian sang like a kindergartner.

“You’re a goofball.”

“But you love me! Enjoy your hiding.” Ian pushed the mop bucket out of the room singing “Like a Virgin” (off-key) as he went.

Paul laughed. He felt much better.

Chopsticks and Sushi

Mountains are storm gatherers. In the winter, storms bring high winds and deep, blowing snow. In warm weather, afternoon thunderstorms bring flash floods. Hikers on high mountains, usually the tallest objects, are often struck by lightning. The hiker who starts up the mountain on a clear sunny day may find himself suddenly, without warning, in inches or feet of snow. Storms on the mountain come without warning.

As Paul filled his plate with rice, egg rolls, and salt-and-pepper shrimp, Ian explored the back of the Great Wall Buffet. The back was where they kept the salad bar and the trays of sushi. He filled his plate with an assortment, plus seaweed salad and miniature octopus from the salad bar. He sat down at the booth armed with two sets of chopsticks in red paper sleeves.

“Here,” he said, offering one of the sets of chopsticks to Paul.

“I don’t need those,” Paul said. He reached out to take the fork and knife, neatly wrapped in a napkin and fastened with a green paper ring, from the table.

Ian snatched it away from him.

“Yes, you do,” he said, holding the cutlery up over his right shoulder.

“Give that back.”

“No, use these.” He put the chopsticks down on the table in front of Paul.

“What is that you’re eating?” Paul asked.

“Sushi. What are you eating?”

“Real food.” Paul pulled a napkin from a black dispenser on the table and put it on his lap.

“You have no adventure in your soul,” Ian said.

“Not for raw fish and octopus, no. Give me my fork.”

“No,” Ian said. “That’s cheating.” He tossed the silverware over his shoulder onto the table of the booth next to them. It landed with a clatter and bounced onto the seat. He took his own chopsticks out of the sleeve, picked up a piece of raw salmon bound to a ball of rice with a strand of seaweed, dipped it into the green dot of wasabi sauce on his plate, and popped it into his mouth.

Paul shook his head. He took the chopsticks out of the paper sleeve and looked at them with suspicion.

“You do it like this,” Ian said, moving his index finger to manipulate the top of the two chopsticks in his hand. “It’s kind of like holding a pencil.”

Paul tried to pick up a piece of shrimp and sent it skidding across his plate. Ian reached over and snapped it up with his own chopsticks and popped it in his mouth.

“Hey!”

“You’d better learn fast or I’m going to get all your food.”

“I can’t do it. Give me my fork back.”