Kicking Reality

Harry doesn’t make eye contact, wringing a hand towel while chewing on a piece of tobacco. “You’re a lightweight. Maybe a glass of Ginger Ale.”

I scrunch my face, shuddering at the thought. “What about a martini?”

He throws the towel onto the bench, resting his palms on the edge of the counter while watching me. “You’re that Chase kid.”

I nod, smiling politely and putt

ing on the charm. I didn’t know where this was going but by the way Harry was watching me furtively, it didn’t look good.

“One of,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Emerson.”

His stare doesn’t budge, making me very uncomfortable.

“You’re the one that left the gate open and let Rufus out.”

“Rufus?” It jogs my memory, and without raising too much suspicion, I glance sideways tapping on the counter pretending it wasn’t me. Of course I let Rufus out! He was an overweight bulldog that looked sad behind the wired gate. I thought he needed to live a little. Mind you, I was eight. My perception of living meant running wild without a care in the world. How was I to know Rufus would run away and never come back?

What’s that saying again? Something about letting something go and if it doesn’t come back, it was never meant to be.

“So about that martini?”

He bites down on his teeth, releasing a small growl while grabbing a glass and making the martini. I take the opportunity to wander over to the jukebox. Scanning the songs, I notice there is nothing after 1990, leaving very few choices. I settle on some Prince then head back after grabbing my martini from Harry.

“You know what his problem is?” Ash shouts, sliding the cue between his fingers and aiming straight for the red ball that is nestled amongst the others in the corner.

I shrug, looking at Logan for some insight as to what we were talking about because a moment ago it was Star Wars.

“He’s a dick,” he finishes.

“Wait, Dad is a dick?”

“Yep,” he says with reassurance.

“In all fairness, he’s done nothing but support you. Remember when you were fourteen and you begged to do that soccer camp in Spain? Dad took time off work so you could go.”

His eyes lift to meet mine, full of anger and resentment. “So what? He wanted his only son to play soccer.”

I had a whole argument panned out. It involved telling him that he was ungrateful and should thank Mom and Dad for the sacrifices they made so he could play. Ash and Logan lived and breathed soccer. When they turned thirteen, it was clear their obsession wouldn’t go away. Suddenly, it was soccer training after school each day and no longer the trips to the lake where we would devise our plans to prank people in our neighbourhood.

That year was defining for me. It was always the three of us, whatever we did or wherever we went. I tried to play with them but didn’t have their passion or drive. I found myself pulling away and hanging out more with the girls at school.

Funnily enough, you stop hanging out with boys and all the girls wanted to do was talk about boys. Boys, boys, boys. The world just couldn’t exist without them.

Life changed after that. With Logan’s dad being a deadbeat and never showing up to games, Dad took it upon himself to quit his job and travel with the boys to various soccer camps. Logan’s mom, Aunty Reese, was Mom’s best friend. She was having a hard time with the divorce and worried that Logan would rebel.

There would be no time for rebelling. They proved they had the skills even at a young age. Dad, Mom, and Aunty Reese agreed that home schooling would work best given their hectic schedule leaving me alone to fend for myself in high school.

I shouldn’t complain; I had fun. I dated boys, did the whole cheerleader squad thing, and lost my virginity in senior high to a guy named Dick. Such false advertising. His ‘dick’ was all talk. One of those jocks that talked the talk but definitely did not walk the walk.

Everyone was so proud of Ash and Logan. They had a bright future ahead and I just sat back and watched, until my life did a complete one-eighty. I guess as kids, none of us expected to be here. Our lives were constantly under scrutiny and in front of the cameras being judged by the whole world.

Alessandra sat on the stool beside me, drinking water and keeping quiet. Ash continued to act like a dick and went back to ignoring her. This wasn’t her fault. She fell in love with a loser. Should I even be using the word love? How do you fall in love with someone after knowing them for five minutes? Impossible.

“I’m sorry about my brother.” I lean in towards her trying to make my voice heard over the music.

“Your brother is . . . passionate,” she responds with a gentle smile.

“Interesting choice of word. You can call him an asshole, it’s okay.”