Alfonse

I was supposed to meet him at “Randy’s,” a bar restaurant kind of place. Mostly neighborhood folks. Once in a while some wayfarers, bikers, those passing by and seeing the sign and figuring, “Why not!”

There is this cowboy, like the Marlboro man type you see along the road on the building’s roof. A silhouette of a figure cut out of metal just standing there head down, as if waiting for the hangman to show up and read last rites. It has a revolving thing like we used to have on our Christmas tree that splashes it with the colors of the rainbow. Not pretty, but does make you look. Something about that sign that makes people want to come in. It is like a magnet that draws all kinds of people, and I mean all kinds. 

We got this church too where the shootings happened a couple of Saturdays ago. Some guy was mistaken for a mafia type and was shot cause he was wearing a red bandana around his neck. A trade mark they said of Dimitri something or other. Anyway, this guy was attending a baptism and as he comes out of the church some guy walks up to him and, well you know how it goes.

The guy who is the shooter gets shot by this parishioner who is coming to help clean up after the service, and is one of those advocates for right to carry. One of those who believe if everyone had a gun we’d all be safer cause we’d be too afraid to use it. I say, tell that to the good guys who shoot up a school because they don’t like what’s being taught there. But then that’s another story.

I am waiting for Alfonse. We go way back to before we were considered alive. My mother and her sister both had us born on the same day, at pretty much the same time. So we spent a lot of time together before, and now after. He’s a good guy, just a little stuck up in my opinion. Him going off to college I think had something to do with that. Education tends to change your attitude about things. Me, I never left the neighborhood, couldn’t find a reason. I can be poor here as well as over there, and familiarity is comfortable.

Anyway, so I’m waiting for Alfonse, he shows up every so often, keeps in touch, why I have no idea. This part of town has turned into a dump. Not that it wasn’t always, just that now it seems more obvious. I guess it’s because of all the outsiders that have moved in. they claim they are escaping the place they can’t afford anymore to live, but I think they is just like me, but maybe a little poorer, looking for a place to belong, looking for people like themselves. 

I work for Alfonse’s father. He has a plumbing shop and now with all the fear about lead in the pipes and water that catches fire, we get a lot of calls. About nothing really, but you just can’t ignore them, they’re scared. You can’t turn on the TV without there being a story about someone being blown up cause the gas pipe leaked, or the electric caught the house on fire. We are living the sins of our fathers, believe me.

Alfonse is late as usual. He’s an attorney now, uptown stuff. He comes down here I think to remember to forget. He was always a scrawny kid that never quite grew like he was supposed to. It was kind of my job to take care of him, at least my mother thought it was the least we could do. I always liked the we part of our equation. 

I was like the reverse bully. I got to keep Alfonse from getting hurt by those that thought because he was smaller and smarter deserved to be punched around a lot. So I’d just do the punching back on his behalf. It worked out OK. He never forgot. He had his father teach me the trade, and I do really well for a guy with not a lot of smarts, and little willingness to improve. I figure spending your life climbing ladders only to get to a place where there is only another ladder, why bother. I’m content where I am.

Alfonse insists when we agree to meet that we meet here, at Randy’s. Why? I don’t know. It is really a black hole. The tables are so sticky it takes both hands to get your beer mug unstuck, and you’d be surprised how many people get up to use the can and find their shoes are like nailed to the floor. No one complains; the ambiance I suppose. Every place has to have some; its what makes it feel like home, you belong.

There’s a couple of out of the area types at the bar making all kinds of noise, and pointing at the ceiling. There is a tradition here. You buy a stick of bubble gum for five dollars. Five whole dollars. And then you chew it, stick it to the sports card you draw randomly from a stack of thousands, and throw it towards the ceiling. If it sticks you get your five dollars back. We got a ceiling looks like it had chicken pox, but you can still find room to lay down, should you ever find yourself upside down in the world. 

This one little guy wants his money back, and Randy’s son who now runs the joint takes out the Louisville Slugger he keeps for occasions like this, and is waving it around like a mad man. I’ve never actually seen him hit anyone, but then I think he hopes he doesn’t have to. He’s the Alfonse type, and I don’t think being brash in the face of stubbornness is going to get it done.

You would think on a Sunday morning when you are supposed to be in church, that this would be more of a reflective time. But it isn’t. Randy takes a swing at this guy, and of course misses. The guy picks up a beer mug and throws it at Randy. It also misses but hits Zeke who thinks the guy next to him has been making advances, him feeling his suede jacket and all, and hits him with a pool cue. All of a sudden the place is a mad house. 

I look, and who should be on the floor but Alfonse, the guy who started the whole thing. I didn’t recognize him at first. He’d grown a beard and now has on these Elton John glasses. His usually dapper felt fedora has been replaced with a bohemian type of beret. It has some sticker on it that says, “Moms for Masons,” whatever that means. He looks up at me and mumbles something. I have to get closer to him so I can hear.

He pulls himself to his knees as I bend over and asks, “think we should order, or would you rather wait until the lunch special kicks in. Sign says 11:00 O’clock. What do you say?”