The Call of the Others

Epilogue

“The Rolling Stones are so much better than the Beatles.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You’ve got to be joking. It’s the other way around.”

“Uh, no it’s not, dumbass.”

“Maybe they’re both cool in their own respective awesome ways?” Joe, always the mediator, offered.

“Joe, just take a side,” Preston said.

“Choose wisely,” Cary advised.

“Come to the dark side!” Charles yelled, yanking on Joe’s arm.

“You’re the tie breaker,” Martin reminded him.

Cary and Charles were for the Beatles, but Martin and Preston were for the Rolling Stones.

“Here,” Joe said, fishing around in his pocket, “let me flip a coin.”

“Yes!” Cary exclaimed, fist bumping the air. “Let the gods of good music decide!”

Joe flipped a quarter into the air, and everybody held their breath in anticipation… But alas, the quarter sailed in the air over the table and down a sewer grate.

“You ruined it!” Martin yelled.

“Wait, someone look down the sewer. See how it landed,” Cary said.

“No, wait,” Charles said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is a sign that there is no better band.”

“Always the philosophical one…” Preston muttered.

Joe laughed. Definitely the Beatles, he thought.

A car horn honked at them from the parking lot at the school.

“Sorry, guys. Gotta go. It’s my dad,”  Joe said, pulling his backpack strap over his shoulder.

“We settle this tomorrow at dawn!” Cary yelled.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, oh smart one,” Martin said.

“Monday at dawn!”

Joe saluted them and walked over to his dad’s cop car.

“Hey, Dad!” he said cheerfully.

“Hi,” he said, putting the car in drive.

“Can we put on the sirens?” Joe asked.

“What? Why?”

Joe shrugged. “It’d be fun. We’d get through traffic faster.”

“I’m only authorized to do that if I have a prisoner in the back.”

“I’ll be your prisoner!” Joe offered.

His dad considered this. He stopped the car.

“Just this once. Get in the back.”

“Yes!” Joe ran around and sat in the back, even though it did smell a bit like pot.

Joe’s dad put on the siren and speeded home. He didn’t know why his son had suddenly changed into this happy, carefree teenager. He figured it had something to do with his mother. He didn’t want to change it, though.

“Hey, Dad?” Joe asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do you like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones better?”

“Oh, the Beatles. Definitely the Beatles.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

Joe looked out the window, hoping to wave and freak out some little kid. Instead, he saw Alice. She was waiting at the bus stop. Her dad was arrested for drunk driving when they had returned from Cincinnati. He wasn’t going to be in jail for a long time, since drunk driving wasn’t really a serious offense. [At least in 1979. Yeah, I did my research.] Now she was living with a foster family nearby. Well, that was what Joe heard. They didn’t really talk anymore. But now she was with a different crowd, and, from what Joe could tell, she was happy. Or at least happier than she was. She made eye contact with Joe, but she didn’t smile or wave. Joe didn’t either. He didn’t care. They both had friends, they both had dreams, they both were happy.

As the Beatles would say, I feel fine.