Unconventional

We walked back to his truck, then past it, and straight into a nearby cafe. Noah asked the hostess for an outdoor table. He chose one with a beautiful view of Tranent’s historic city square, but also one that was still in the shade.

“This restaurant,” he said, “was one of the first places Chase and I ever ate, when we came over from the States.”

I nodded toward the sporting goods store. “Is that how you knew about the trail cameras?”

“Nah. I knew about those from my grandfather. He used to take me hunting.”

“In Brooklyn?” I laughed. “What did you hunt, pigeons?”

“No, wise-ass.” Noah smirked sardonically. “He had a tiny shitbox cabin. A couple of hours upstate.”

Two very tall, very cold iced-teas arrived, and we ordered a little food. Noah declared he wanted to eat fast, though. He didn’t want to leave Chase alone, in case he ‘screwed up more things than he fixed’.

We settled back and relaxed a bit, enjoying that perfect stretch of time when morning finally gave itself over to afternoon. Noah eyed me over his glass, sizing me up. I on the other hand, had questions of my own.

“So you lived in Brooklyn,” I said, “and you hunted upstate sometimes. From what I gather, you’re a New Yorker, through and through.”

“Yup,” he sipped.

“So then tell me,” I asked. “How does a nice guy like you end up all the way over on this side of the pond?”

Noah let the straw drop from his gorgeous lips. He leaned forward a little, setting his elbows on the table like he was about to tell me a secret.

“That’s a very long, very sad story,” he said.

I cocked my head. “Sad?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

I sipped my iced-tea, staring back. Trying to read the impassivity that had suddenly made its way across his beautiful face.

“Well I’m a very good listener,” I declared, leaning forward myself. “So try me.”

Twenty-Three

MADISON

“It all started at seventeen,” Noah said, slowly stirring his drink with his straw. “Like most kids, we’d convinced ourselves we were bored. We had the whole City at our feet, and could’ve done anything we wanted.”

He paused, and I could see his eyes unfocus as he looked back. He was staring silently back through time, to a place that no longer existed.

“Well… for some reason, we wanted to steal cars.”

I listened attentively, as our food arrived. The waiter arranged our plates in front of us, but neither of us moved to eat a thing.

“It started off stupid really, like most things,” Noah continued. “Posturing. Joyriding. Seeing which of us could swipe the hottest ride.” He shrugged non-comittally. “It was a dick-measuring contest with no real winners. But it was thrilling to us. At least for a while.”

Noah reached down and grabbed a french fry. Or rather, a ‘chip.’ They covered them with salt and vinegar here, unless you asked them not to. As an American, it was just one of the things you learned to do right away.

“Anyway, it escalated when Tech started using our stolen rides to rob places.”

“Tech?”

“Yeah, that was his nickname. We all had nicknames. Shit, I don’t even remember what his real name was.”

I wanted to ask his own nickname, but I didn’t want to detract from Noah’s story. I decided to stay silent.

“Anyway, I wasn’t into that. The robbing places, I mean. Stealing wasn’t my thing. It just felt… wrong to me.”