Mikey and the Chickadee

Chapter 7 - Part 2

I caught the 8:05 northbound and sat at the back. It was mostly empty so I felt unselfconscious about cracking open the beer and downing it quickly. It had been wrapped in a small towel and remained cool, but was not particularly satisfying.

Around nine o'clock I approached our meeting place and noticed Sloan slouched against the scarred brick face of a corner convenience store, buried in his phone. He didn't see me until I was a few feet away.

"Wyatt, where the hell have you been?" he asked, giving me a hug.

"Busy, I guess," I said. "I've missed you. You're still liking work?"

"It's okay," he said. "Not enough of the real meaty stuff. A lot of filing and shit."

"I know how you feel," I said.

"Marie said you might be moving. I hope that's not true."

"I haven't decided anything," I said. "I've still got time."

"How long have you guys been here?" Marie shouted from twenty or thirty feet away. She bustled past a slow-moving group and coaxed all three of us together into concurrent embrace. "There we go," she said. "Bring it in."

"We just got here," said Sloan, half of his face still pressed into my chest.

Marie stepped back, sizing each of us up. "Old glory, reunited. Are we ready?"

We decided to start with beers at a pub in the old part of downtown, which lay only a few blocks away. The interior shrugged with worn and dusty expanses of wood, uninterrupted, as though carved out of a single massive block, joints and floorboards long settled into a final, indelible resting place.

"You guys gearing up for tax season yet?" asked Sloan as we sat down.

"I don't talk shop with friends," said Marie, peering into her drink menu.

I knew this already and so did Sloan. After graduating, Marie began to express her distaste for the topic of work, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the innumerable nights spent wasting at the university library, quizzing one another, sharing homework answers and prepping for exams.

My phone buzzed and I clapped it down on the table, dismissively glancing at the screen. I saw that it was a picture message from Mikey and quickly examined it. He stood in front of a stately looking, large domed structure which I recognized as Idaho's capital building from a three-minute Monday-night Wikipedia research session. Underneath he had texted, "Greetings from Potato Land. Hope all is well with you back home."

I laughed.

"It's him," said Marie.

I looked up and met Marie's eyes, then Sloan's. "How do you know?" I asked her.

"You're never on your phone when we go out. It's one of your things."

"He's been out of town since Tuesday. It's the first time I've heard from him."

A server came by to take our orders.

"Let me see that," Marie said after they left, snatching my phone from across the table. "Oh, wow." Her face glowed opposite the screen as she manipulated the photo to get a closer look at him. "Oh, Wyatt. This man is a fucking find."

Sloan demanded a look.

"I'm not finished yet," Marie scolded.

I reached for it. "What are you doing?"

"I'm texting it to myself." She swatted my hand away.

"Stop," I said.

"Sent." She handed my phone to Sloan.