Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [31]
“Sure. I guess it’s going to be a while before the waitress comes back.”
“At least twenty to thirty minutes. It took them about an hour to get me this burger and this shit’s medium rare.” She pointed at the redness in the middle of the burger. “You here by yourself?”
“Just like you, my friends couldn’t make it.”
“And the wife?”
“Never had that.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
I smiled at her. “Today it’s a very good thing.”
She started to blush; her face becoming blotchy red. Her short blonde hair was curled tightly over her ears. I wasn’t looking at Marge as a woman; she was going to be an excuse. As always, I carried my Viagra pills, so getting turned on wasn’t an issue. I smiled inwardly because life had come full circle; men could now fake it as much as women. How can you doubt a man when his erection is staring you straight in your face?
I rose. “I’ll go get me a glass.”
“Bring back some ice. This beer’s been sitting here for a while.”
There was a whole lot of stop-and-go traffic to the bar. I tried to make it there without ending up on a table or pushing someone else on one. I was a few feet away from the bar when I spotted him. He was sitting next to another man, about the same age as him. He had turned around briefly to talk to the man.
My world had stopped for a brief moment. I didn’t know whether I should advance or retreat. He was laughing, a full set of white teeth testifying to his mood. I had to take a chance. I turned back and hurried to Marge.
“You’re back. I thought one of the young waitresses had picked you up.”
“No, but I have to run. One of my buddies is waiting for me at the bar.” I picked up my knapsack.
“Oh.” The disappointment was evident in her voice. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“No, not if I don’t have your cell phone number. Are you staying around here?” I took out my phone and entered her name.
“Yeah, my hotel is behind the restaurant.” She perked up; straightening her rain-dampened clothing. “I met a few people earlier. Maybe I’ll go hunting with them. Then again, I might stay in my hotel room. Here’s my number.”
I kept looking toward the bar as I entered her phone number in my phone. “I’ll call you later.”
I turned and started to walk back toward my father, and my date with destiny. I walked up to the bar area directly opposite from him. I squeezed between two middle-aged white men. I motioned for the bartender and he acknowledged me. I doubted that he would be getting to me anytime soon.
My father and the other man seemed to be having an intense conversation. I was curious to know what they were discussing, but I didn’t want my father to become suspicious. As in the picture, real life had been hard on him. The lines on his face were sharp and his eyes hadn’t stood up to the test of time. They were yellow and dull.
The man my father was talking to shouted at him, then left. I found a spot around the bar opposite from my father and nudged into a seat. The bartender came over to me and I ordered a drink. It was a drink I would nurse for the next few hours. Finally I watched my father finish his ninth drink before putting some money on the bar. By the time he turned around, I was a few inches away from him. He pushed people aside as he stormed out. I followed him, doing the same so as not to lose sight of him. I trailed him to a blue pickup that looked practically as old as him. There were dents and rust spots all over it. A “Retired Corrections Officer” sticker adorned the bumper. My father opened the truck and pulled out a big, long, black bag. He slung it over his shoulder. It was 5:25 a.m.
My father looked around and started down a dirt road. I was stuck; I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t follow him without creating suspicion. Yet, this in itself was a great opportunity. Instead of being in the woods with hundreds of people, it would be just my father and me. I waited until I could see my father a good distance away; then I took the same path. I walked quickly, making sure that