Don't Forget to Write

Principals

The next day Bruno and I went to Randal's Island to meet with Moose for our first day of coaching. Moose coached the middle schoolers. Bruno coached the age 6-9 age group. I was left with the snot-nosed, germ-carrying, potentially pant-pissing youngest group, which made me miss the pain-in-the-ass high school kids I used to coach. Coaching children was often more difficult than coaching teenagers. Most of the battle is just keeping their attention and preventing them from running amok all along the field. And, when I did have their attention, it annoyed me to have to teach them the fundamentals of how to swing your leg and make contact with the ball to make it go in a straight line. It seemed ridiculous that kids this young should even be in an organized team sport. They could barely run without tripping over themselves, let alone run in the right direction and follow complex commands like 'pass the ball' 'use your feet' 'no, don't punch that kid.'. It was all too complicated for the poor twerps who were still learning small motor functions. They were a bunch of selfish little bastards running around with nothing on their mind except that they wanted to kick the round white thing for no reason other than it was something to do. But they were, at the end of the day, adorable. And for all the headaches they brought, they also brought a smile.

While my principals and common sense conflicted with this job description, my financial needs outweighed my morals. I needed the cash, I couldn't walk up to the parents and say "here, take your money back and put your kid in a more useful activity," so I kept on telling four-and-five-year-olds how to bend their knees and where to kick the ball, kept on making silly jokes and stories about animals, and I kept on getting paid for it.

That weekend, when we had received our first paychecks, Bruno, Moose, and I went to the pub for a drink or two to celebrate our occupations. I always only went in for a drink or two, but tonight, like every other night we went out, we stayed until Bob turned the lights all the way up, lowered the music volume and hollered "last call!"

I had been talking to Karen while she cleaned glasses on our end of the bar. "You know what I like about you?" She asked.

"Everything?"

"Don't be shitty."

"I'm just kidding."

"What I like about you is that you don't spend much time on your phone. Usually people our age at a bar are taking pictures, texting, scrolling through social media, doing anything to pull themselves out of reality, even though they are at a bar, which by design is already meant to transport people out of reality and into a safe place with alcohol and friends."

"Well, thanks. I always thought phones were weird. I like the idea of it, you know. Infinite access to all the information in the world. Instant communication with everybody I care about. It's a camera, phone, computer, notebook, reading book, newspaper, and a million other things all at the same time. They are like their own little worlds, all inside of our pockets. They have their own personalities, their own appearances, their own memories, and knowledge even, through the pictures and documents we download onto them. Absolutely brilliant inventions. But, everything else in the real world is pretty cool too. Especially the little things, the details. Like the way a chair creaks when you sit in it. The way the light shines off of a bottle of whiskey. The distinct laugh of an old man down the bar. Or the look in a person's eyes when they connect with you on something."

"Like this, you mean."

"Yeah, just like this."

She nodded. "I like you." Then she looked up, not at my scar but at my forehead. She pointed to it, or what was inside of it, and said: "I like this brain." She walked away.

Bruno and Moose were talking about the jobs they were going to apply for after graduation. For Bruno, graduation would be after the spring semester. For Moose, graduation was a rainbow, the closer he thought he was, the further away it went. Between working full time, taking care of his mother and his brother, traveling, and living the lifestyle he did, he had taken many semesters off, Karen brought me a stout and a shot of whiskey with my tab, which must have been less than half of what I had actually drank. I left her a heavy tip, as one always should when a bartender has supplied you with excellent service or a good discount.

We said our goodbyes and goodnights, smiling at Karen and shaking Bob's hand on our way out. Outside, Moose lit a cigarette and Bruno and I stood with him. The road was wet from a shower that passed through while we were in the pub. The moisture brought out the distinct garbage-like smell of New York City. I looked up at the church across the street and felt like God was scolding us for being drunk. He probably would have been fine with it if we were drinking red wine.

Moose said goodbye and walked down the avenue as Bruno and I walked across the street, past the church. We took our usual shortcut through the park. Denzel was at the top of his stairs again today. He was wearing a thin sweatshirt, and a garbage bag protected him from the puddles and the wet ground, but he still shook from the chill. He looked skinnier. I silently wished for the temperature to warm up.

Bruno and I walked up the six stories, I said hello to Milo, and goodnight Bruno, and laid down. Happy to have a bed, and a job, and this tiny bedroom to myself. I felt grateful, and for the first time in many weeks, I slept well.