Don't Forget to Write

Train Ride to Yuppytown (Downtown)

We stopped abruptly at a quiet corner. Bruno pulled out a flask and offered it to me. "Don't wanna hit a dry spot," he said. I took a deep swig. Whiskey. He winked at me and I nodded my approval, then we continued downtown. "You still have a lady back home? You were dating someone when we first met, but I haven't heard about her."

"It didn't work out."

"How long you two date for?"

"On and off for three years or so."

"That's a long time for a young stag like you! Why did it end?"

I didn't say anything at first, but Bruno looked at me with his eyebrows knitted together and those eyes that were kind and welcoming, but also pierced through any and all bullshit. "She cheated."

"No shit. How'd you find out?"

"I went to drop a birthday gift off at my old friend's house early one morning and I found her car parked out in front."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I went in there, thinking maybe she slept on the couch or something. But she wasn't in the living room. Went into his room. There they both were. Naked and asleep in each other's arms."

"What did you do?"

"I was filled with rage," my heart was racing and my breath was short just thinking about it, "I wanted to punch him, or tear his walls down, break down a door, burn the whole place down... something violent. But then I was more sad than angry, so I just told them to go to hell, turned around, got in my car, went to the liquor store, but a bottle of whiskey and flask, and spent the day at a park drinking and skipping rocks."

"Damn." Silence for a few seconds. "Well, now you're in a city of millions of beautiful single women."

I shrugged, "not too interested in relationships."

"Neither are they." Bruno raised his eyebrows at me three times with a sly smile, then pulled the flask out of his pocket and pushed it into my hand. I took a long swig, and suddenly we were in a mostly empty subway cart. There was a young couple whispering in each other's ears on one end of the subway, and an older black man in a tweed jacket across from us on the opposite side. The old man looked up over the yellowed pages of a novel at us as we drank and he chuckled at us. "Oh, to be young again."

"Care for a swig, good sir?" Bruno asked the old man.

"Oh no, thank you son. I don't drink liquor anymore." Bruno shrugged and took a swig for himself. "Are you men celebrating or mourning?" he asked.

"Bit of both," I said.

"Mostly celebrating," Bruno interjected. "My friend Peter here just turned 21 last week, we are celebrating tonight."

"Thirty-one?" the man exclaimed. "You're a bit old for birthday celebrations, aren't you?"

"No no, twenty-one. "

"Twenty-one? Good heavens boy. You look older than hell."

"Yeah, it's the beard that does it," I said.

"I think it's the eyes, they look wiser than your age." I hit Bruno; See, I'm WISE. "The ladies do like an older man, so it might be a good look for you." I raised the flask in a cheering motion and took a swig. "You said you were doing a bit of mourning as well as celebrating. May I ask what it is your mourning?"

I swallowed the whiskey down hard and said: "We're soccer players, but both of our seasons got cut short."

"Why is that?" I told the man an abbreviated version of the NYU game up until the point where I passed out and pulled my beanie up to show him the scar. He recoiled when he saw it, so I tucked it back under my hat. Then Bruno told his side of the story from what he remembered. "I see. You two must be quite close, eh?" he asked. "Brothers not by blood, but by bond. That's what I see. Anyway, this is my stop. Have yourselves a good night." He smirked, "Try not to get into any fights."

We wished him a goodnight and said we try to avoid trouble. At the next stop and stepped out of the station into a busy intersection. Bruno led me down a couple of streets until we reached a bar with tinted windows that stretched from the floor to the top of the second story. Neon lights shone all along the outside and a line of people stretched around the corner.

"There isn't a bar in the world worth waiting in line for" I said. Bruno shushed me and walked right up to the bouncers. There were two of them, each of staggering height and at least 300 pounds. One was white with long brown hair and a beard, the other was black with a completely shaved head and face. Both stood with their arms crossed, feet shoulder length apart, and a scowl on their lips.

"Ralphie, Mark," Bruno addressed them. They nodded back at him and the black one, Mark, said "What's up, Bruno?" Bruno motioned for Mark to get closer. Mark hunched down to reach Bruno's tiny frame. It looked like a father bending down to listen to his young son. Bruno spoke quickly and with lots of hand motions, I couldn't hear what he was saying but Mark was nodding along. When Bruno was finishing up he pulled out two ten-dollar bills and said, loud enough for me to hear, "so what do you say my man?"

Mark nodded to the door and pushed Bruno's hand away, "Keep the cash, buy the kid a drink on me."