Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club (17 page)

After a few Jack and cokes, we were feeling pretty good.

Brian looked at me and said, “I kinda envy you.”

“First time I’ve ever heard that one,” I said.

“You have a lot of friends, Neto.”

“No, I don’t. Not a lot.”

“Everyone likes you.”

That made me laugh. “That’s because no one knows me.”

He smiled. I was glad his father hadn’t broken any of his teeth. “We’re the same,” he said.

And then we both just laughed.

We talked about other stuff, but we didn’t talk about girls. I think most guys would have wound up talking about girls. But we didn’t. And I knew there was a reason for that. I didn’t want to think about the reason.

We decided to go to a drive-in movie that night. But then, on the way to the drive-in, I looked over at Brian and said, “Hey, let’s go to Juárez.”

He smiled.

I smiled back. “It’ll be fun.”

“You mean we’ll get smashed.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I started laughing. I was thinking that maybe going to Juárez for a night on the town would make us both feel alive. “I have money in my wallet,” I said. And just like that we were down the freeway headed for the border that was forty miles away. We didn’t talk much as we drove. We smoked cigarette after cigarette and listened to the radio and both of us sang along and I noticed he had a nice voice, could carry a tune, and for a few moments nothing was wrong—nothing at all. When we got to the bridge, I parked the car at one of the parking lots and paid the attendant a couple of dollars. We paid two cents apiece to cross the Santa Fe Bridge and as we walked across, I felt my heart racing. I always felt that way when I went to Juárez. It was something that I wasn’t allowed to do. And yet, all through high school, I’d always managed to make my way there with my friends. But tonight felt different. There was thunder in the summer sky and lightning in the distance and I knew the rain was coming and I wanted to reach over and touch Brian and say something to him. Something that mattered. But what
could a guy like me say to a guy like Brian that would matter?

“Jorge and I used to come to the bars here sometimes.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“Yeah. We got drunk one time and then ate some tacos from a street vendor. Best tacos I ever had.”

When we stepped out on Avenida Juárez, I looked at Brian and laughed. “So—lots of bars. Take your pick.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “The Kentucky Club,” he said.

I was going to suggest a place called The Cave. A real dive. I liked it. But hell, I didn’t care. “Sounds good,” I said.

“It was my mother’s favorite place,” Brian whispered.

“Really?”

“Not that I really know. It’s just that this one time, my father was drunk and he said, ‘If your mother was still alive, I’d take her to the Kentucky Club. She loved that place. I’d walk over to the jukebox and play all the Frank Sinatra tunes they had. Your mother knew all the words.’ That’s the only time he ever said anything about my mother after she died.”

I thought he was going to cry. “I’m sorry about your mother,” I said.

“I’m tired of being sorry,” he said. “I’m so fucking tired.”

The Kentucky Club wasn’t far. When we walked in, the place was half-full but there were two seats at the bar so we claimed them. We sat next to a couple of drunk gringos who were talking about the night Elizabeth Taylor sashayed in after getting a quickie divorce from Eddie Fisher. “She bought everybody in the joint a drink.” They talked about that night as if they’d both been there. It’s funny how people lie to themselves. But, hell, what was the harm? Brian gave me a nudge with his knee and we smiled and ordered
cuba libres
. I liked the taste of the rum and the coke and liked the feel of sitting at a
bar with Brian.

“So this is what it’s like,” I said.

“What?” Brian said.

“To feel like a man.”

Brian laughed. “I think it takes a little more than that.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know. I’m just being an asshole.”

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re not an asshole.”

I nodded. We had another drink. Then another. Then another.

Then Brian looked at me and said, “I could sit here forever.”

And I thought,
Me too. So long as you were sitting right next to me.

I don’t know how many drinks we had, but somewhere along the line we decided to call it a night and found ourselves walking across the bridge and saying
American
when the border guard asked us to declare our citizenship. One of the border guys asked Brian if he’d gotten into a fight. Brian just nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “No big deal.” We made our way to the parking lot that was mostly empty.

When we were back on the freeway, Brian said, “Thanks, Neto.”

“For what?” I said.

“For everything.”

Everything. I wondered what everything meant. Maybe everything meant
not much
and a few drinks at the Kentucky Club.

I don’t know how I managed to drive home that night. But I did. I remember I kept wanting to reach over and touch Brian—just touch him—but I didn’t.

I went back to work the next day hungover as hell. Brian just hung out at my house. After work, I grabbed a shower and then we went out for a burger. When we paid, Brian took out his wallet. I noticed that all he had was a ten
dollar bill. “I’ll pay,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You’ve done enough.”

I smiled. “All I did was offer you a place to stay for a few days. Big deal. It’s not even my house.”

“What do you mean, it’s not your house?”

“I mean it’s my father’s house. I’m only a visitor. And if you want to know the fucking truth, I don’t feel that welcome.”

He nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“So what’s your plan?” I said. God, his face was still all beat-up. But at least there wasn’t any more swelling.

“I guess I’d better come up with something.”

I nodded. “Why don’t you drop me off at work. You can take the car. Drive around. Think about things.”

“You have another job?”

“Yeah, two jobs. I’m saving to go to school.”

“I guess I better get me a job too.”

“Ever had a job, Brian?”

“I’ve worked my ass off on the farm my whole life. Guess that doesn’t count. I mean, it’s not as if I got paid.”

“It counts,” I said.

I wished to God he’d stop looking so sad.

He dropped me off at work. I was thinking he was going to try to see Jorge. That was just a hunch. When I got off work, Brian was there to pick me up. I don’t know why exactly, but I drove toward the river. I parked and we got out and smoked and put our feet in the river and sat on the bank.

“I have to leave,” Brian said.

“I guess so,” I said. “Where?”

“Well, since I don’t have a dime, I guess I’m gonna find some work, save a few bucks—then take off to Denver.”

“Denver?”

“I always wanted to go there. Maybe I just want to live where it snows.”

“What are you gonna do in the snow?”

“Freeze my ass off. What else?”

That made me smile. “Sounds like a plan. But where are you gonna stay? I mean, without money? You could stay with me—except there’s this guy I call Dad.”

He laughed. I’m glad he laughed. I felt bad. I hated throwing him out. But my dad, well, he wouldn’t go for Brian staying with us.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe you could stay with Jorge and his parents.”

He shook his head. “I think my dad half expects me to show up there. So he can throw me off his land.” He took a drag off his cigarette. “I don’t want to cause Jorge’s parents any trouble. They’re nice people. They’re good to me.”

“Well, you have a few days to figure something out. My parents aren’t coming home until Friday.”

He nodded. He was looking at the water in the river. “I saw him,” he whispered.

“Who?” I said. But I knew who he was talking about.

“Jorge.”

“So you guys good friends?” I hoped he couldn’t hear anything in my voice.

“Yeah. Good friends. He’s going with his parents back to Mexico.”

“Why? I thought they were citizens by now.”

“They are.”

“So why are they going back?”

“His mother doesn’t want to die here.”

“She’s that sick?”

He nodded.

“That’s sad,” I said.

“Yeah, real sad.”

“Will he ever come back?”

“Some day, I guess.”

So Brian went from sad to sadder. Shit. And I couldn’t do anything about it. I don’t know what made him do it, but he leaned into me. I put my arm around him. I could have stayed that way forever. I wanted to whisper his name but I didn’t. He started crying, so I let him sob into my shoulder. There were so many things in his life for him to cry about.
So let him cry
, I thought.
Let him fucking cry.

I don’t remember talking on the way home. Brian was still crying. I think he’d held in his tears his whole life. I thought he felt safe around me. Maybe that’s why he could cry. I think it had been a long time since he felt safe. When we got back to my house, I reached over and touched his shoulder. “It will all work out,” I said.

I got to thinking that night. And then it came to me. And I knew what I had to do.

When I got back from work the next day, Brian was sitting on the front porch reading a book. It was starting to thunder. A summer storm was coming up and it smelled like rain.

“I love the rain,” I said.

“Me too,” he said.

I sat next to him and handed him an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” I said.

For a long time he just stared at the money and the bus ticket to Denver. “I can’t take this,” he said.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You can pay me back.”

“This is five hundred dollars, Neto.”

“I know how much it is,” I said.

“I can’t take it.”

“You have to take it,” I said. “This is how you start to live again.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. You start a new life by letting someone help you.”

“You worked so fucking hard for this. Neto—”

“You think you can do this all by yourself?”

He handed the envelope back to me.

“I can join up,” he said.

“Don’t do that, Brian. That’s fucked up. Don’t do that. You don’t want to do that.” I shoved the envelope back in his hand. “Take it,” I said. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He started to argue with me again.

“Shut up,” I said. “Just listen.” I lowered my voice. “Listen to the rain,” I whispered. “Sometimes the rain—”

“Sometimes the rain, what? What, Neto?”

“Just listen.”

We stopped talking. It was pouring. It was beautiful and frightening, the power of a summer rain. I could feel the hot earth cooling down. I walked
out from the protection of the front porch and held my hands up and smiled. “You see, Brian?”

He laughed. God, he could laugh. No one could take that away from him. He stepped out into the rain with me. And I swear that as we stood there, both of us with our hands stretched out—I swear I could hear the beating of his heart. And I thought,
Wouldn’t it be sweet if he reached over and kissed me and we could pretend we were in some goddamned Hollywood movie
.

I called in sick that night at the 7-Eleven. I took Brian to a drug store so he could pick up a razor and soap and toothpaste and all that other stuff he’d need. Then we went to a place called Surplus City. He bought a couple pairs of pants, a couple of shirts, underwear, some socks and a few things.

It was raining like it had never rained before. I wanted the storm to go on forever. As I drove back home, I kept smiling. I didn’t love anything more than I loved the rain. Brian kept studying my face and I pretended not to notice. I gave him an old suitcase—and when he’d finished packing, he looked at me. He started to say something. But I stopped him. “Let’s get you to the bus station.”

“I didn’t say goodbye to him,” he said.

“You should call him,” I said.

I went outside as he went to grab the phone. I didn’t want to hear what he and Jorge were saying to each other.

After a while, Brian came outside. “He’s going to meet us at the bus station.”

“Good,” I said.

The bus station was quiet. The Greyhound bus for Denver was arriving from El Paso at nine thirty. The bus would be leaving for Denver at ten. We
looked at the schedule and sat outside. The rain had stopped but there was thunder and lightning in the distance and the evening breeze was cool and carried the sweet smell of the desert. I thought I was going to cry.

“I don’t know what to say,” Brian whispered.

“Get yourself happy, Brian.”