That Was Then, This Is Now

As usual, the last thing on Mom's mind was herself. We had no more than got there and got hugged when she started telling us about this poor kid across the hall who never had anybody visiting him.

"How do you know that?" I asked. "There's so many people comin' and goin' around here. How do you know about some kid across the hall?"

"The nurse told me. Poor kid, he's not any older than you and Mark--"

It figured--I mean her finding out about it. If there was a lame dog within three miles, she'd find it. It didn't bug me much though. Thanks to her, I had a brother.

"Bryon, promise me you'll go over and see him."

I frowned. "Look, I don't know the guy. I'm not going to just walk in and say, 'Hi there. Want a visitor? My mother tells me you don't have any.'"

"Bryon," Mom said, "just go talk to him. He won't talk much to the nurses. He's been hurt pretty badly, poor thing."

"I'll go see him," Mark said. "Bryon'll come with me." I gave him a dirty look but he continued, "Who knows, maybe one of us'll end up in the hospital sometime with nobody to come and see us."

That was just the kind of junk my mother eats up, and Mark knew it. When we left I stopped him in the hall. "What's the idea of telling her you were going to go see that kid?"

Mark shrugged. "I am going to. Why not?"

This was typical of Mark as it wasn't typical of anyone else. "Well, I'm not going. I'm going down to the snack bar here and get a hamburger. Ain't you hungry?"

Mark shook his head. "Naw. I'll meet you down there later."

I took the elevator to the basement, where the snack bar was. I sat on a stool at the counter--after sitting at the bar at Charlie's I had got used to it--reading the menu over and over, thinking about all the food I'd get if I could. I loved to eat. I could put away more food than anyone I knew. I was five-ten at sixteen and still growing, but I went through my lanky period at fourteen and I had a good build, of which I was proud. I should have gone out for football, I guess, but it didn't much appeal to me. I liked neighborhood football games, but all that practice for the real thing seemed like a bore to me. Besides, I knew I couldn't put up with a coach telling me how to play. I never have been able to accept authority. I don't know why. I figure it was because of this cop--these two cops--who beat me up once when I was thirteen years old. I had gone to the movies with these other guys--I forget where Mark was--and we drank a fifth of cherry vodka in Coke and got drunk. That stuff tasted terrible, but I was a dumb kid and I drank it just to show I was as super-tuff as the rest of them. When the movie was over and I was staggering around alone on the streets in the dark, these two cops picked me up, drove me out to a hill on the other side of town, slapped me around, and left me there. I never forgot it. It didn't stop me from drinking, but it sure ruined any respect I ever had for cops. Yeah, sure there are good cops somewhere. I just never met any. Ever since then I've made it a point to mouth off to cops. That's probably why I never met any good ones.

So I was sitting there, reading the menu, when I heard a voice say, "Can I take your order?" and I looked up at this really cute chick. She gave me a big smile and said, "Hi, Bryon! What are you doing here?" I was racking my brain trying to think where I knew her from; she did seem kind of familiar, so to stall for time I said, "I'm here to see my old lady. She's just getting over an operation. I didn't know you worked here."

"I just started this week. But you knew I just got back, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, about to go crazy trying to remember who she was. She had this groovy long dark hair with a sheen to it like charcoal--long hair with bangs just drives me crazy. There aren't too many chicks who can wear their hair like that and still look good. And she had these big, beautiful gray eyes, dark gray with black eyelashes and the eyelashes were really long, but they weren't fake. I am a long-practiced studier of girls, and I can tell about things like that.

"Gosh, you've grown," she said. "You must be a foot taller than when I saw you last."

"Yeah, well, it's been a long time," I said. If I had grown a foot it must have been. "How you been doing?"

"Oh, pretty good. I was lucky to get this job. Listen, give me your order. I'm not supposed to stand around talking to the customers."

"Sure. I'll have a hamburger and a Pepsi."

She took my order and left, and I was about to lose my mind. She couldn't have been someone I had dated--I date a lot of girls, but I was sure I could remember them if I saw them again. Anyway, she seemed friendly, and, after you break up with someone, she's not usually friendly. She seemed so familiar I could have sworn I'd seen her recently. Whoever she was, I wanted to see her again. I had already noted that she wasn't wearing a boy's ring around her neck, or any other sign that she was somebody's personal property--I'm in the habit of looking for things like that. I have gotten into some tight spots with boyfriends I didn't even know existed.

"Here's your hamburger."

I looked up at her and she gave me this really great smile, a smile that lit up her face. I knew I'd seen that smile recently, and then it struck me who it was, and I was so surprised that I said it out loud: "Cathy!"

"Yeah," she said, almost as surprised as I was, "who'd you think it was?"

"The last time I saw you you had short hair and braces," I said, forgetting that a lady-killer should never remind a girl of her gawky age when she was skinny and ugly, or fat and ugly, or short-haired with a mouth full of metal.

"Yeah, that's the truth. Bryon, you mean you didn't recognize me?"

"No, I didn't." I couldn't see why that should shock her so much. Even back in the days of braces and short hair we weren't exactly best friends. I had never paid any attention to her. "I just recognized you because you look so much like M&M when you smile."

"I am going to take that as a compliment," she said, giving me my check. "M&M is a beautiful child and he has a beautiful smile to match his mind."

"He's a good kid," I agreed. She turned to go, and I said, "Wait!" without thinking, so when she turned, I stuttered a little. "I mean--I haven't seen you in a while--I'd like to talk to you sometime--" I really wasn't living up to my self-image. I never stutter.

"All right," she said, "we'll talk sometime."

I wanted to ask when, but didn't. You should never be too eager with chicks. It gives them ideas.

/>   I waited around for Mark, but he didn't show up so I took the elevator back to Mom's floor. I went and looked in the room across from Mom's where that kid was supposed to be. I saw him all right, but no sign of Mark. That kid had been hurt bad. He had bandages around his head and across one eye, both arms in slings, and stitches in his lower lip.

"Hey, are you Bryon?" He looked at me out of his good eye. "Mark said to wait for him here; he'll be right back. He went across the street to the drugstore to buy me some comics."

I could tell from the way he talked that he came from a neighborhood like mine. This was likely--it was a charity hospital. "Come on in," he said. "Pull up a chair."

I did. I didn't know what to say to him.

"You're Mark's brother? You don't look much alike."

For a minute I really felt good about Mark's telling this guy we were brothers. Of course, we didn't look alike--Mark with his gold hair and strange gold eyes and slight, tense body, and me, big and husky with dark brown hair and eyes--so I said, "No, I guess we don't."

"I got a brother--older--we don't look much alike either."

I looked around for a No Smoking sign. "Can I smoke in here?"

"Sure, as long as you don't get caught. Would you mind giving me a few puffs?"

"O.K.," I said. I lit up a cigarette and put it between his lips. When I took it back he said, "Thanks. I haven't had a cigarette in a week. My name's Mike Chambers."

"Mine's Bryon Douglas. Man, you look awful. What happened?" I asked. I was beginning to be glad I had come in after all. It must have been rough, being kept in a hospital that gave you the creeps, with nobody to talk to.

"I got beat up," he said with a wry smile.

I couldn't believe it. I thought he'd been in a car wreck or something. "What does the other guy look like?" I said finally.

"It's a long story," Mike said. "You got time for a long story?"

"Sure," I said. I really do like listening to stuff that's happened to other people. I guess that's why I like to read.