Sunday Paper: Ode part 3 of 4, by Daniel Perry.
Martin
I shouldn’t have told her. Really. It’s the last thing she needs. And now, if we don’t get past it, we’ll never get this speech done.
“I was back visiting my parents,” I say. “We ordered Chinese, and afterward, I went out to Brewskie’s. I was meeting an old friend from high school, Jill. Do you know her?”
Molly stamps her foot. I’d better cut to the chase.
“I don’t know when Paul got to the bar, but he was stinking drunk when I saw him. Did he have anything at home?”
“Two beers.”
“I didn’t notice him until he got loud, when Willy cut him off. I guess he’d been there a while…”
“So you…?”
“So I went over and talked him down. I told him I’d walk him home.”
Molly’s lips quiver.
“You walked home with him?”
It spreads to her whole face.
“Why didn’t he get home?”
I feel the sweat gathering, moist beneath my watch. I unclasp it and set it on the bed.
“We had an argument.”
She grits her teeth.
“I was trying to help.”
“Big mistake when he gets talking about his father,” she scoffs. “God, Martin. What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Maybe remarriage will help everyone move on.’”
“That wouldn’t have made it better.”
“No,” I don’t mean to laugh. “You’re right.”
Molly scowls.
“He said I was missing the point – and that I was such an asshole, and that everything had always been easy for me. That I always had it all figured out.”
“And then?”
“And then he got quiet for a minute. We just looked at each other. He said, ‘I don’t understand. We both got out of here, but I messed it up somehow. You’ll get in your car tomorrow and drive back to your job at RIM, or wherever the Hell you work now, and once you’re gone, this place will swallow me whole.’”
Molly sinks in the chair.
“Anything else?”
“He took a swing at me.”
“Did you hit him back?”
“He was so drunk,” I smile. “It wasn’t much of a punch.”
She doesn’t find it funny.
“I just said, ‘Fine, Paul. Get yourself home,’ and turned around. I left him on Main Street. I guess he carried on, and when he got to the–”
Molly’s face goes white.
“No.” She shakes her head. “You must have said something else. Come on. What did you say?”
Fuck. Well. I’ve come this far.
“I told him that I wished I hadn’t run into him. After he swung at me. And that maybe we’d be better off just remembering how things were when we were kids.” I put my head in my hands. That’s all I want to say, but I feel her hot glare. It draws the rest out of me. “He said, ‘Maybe you’re right.’ And for what it’s worth, he was pretty calm.”
She squints. Perplexed.
“I asked if he was alright to get back,” I continue, but the next part clangs in my brain. “He said, ‘Sure thing. . .’ And then he said. . . ‘Goodbye.’”
I feel my jaw relax, and the first tears run onto my cheeks. I don’t look at her. I just croak, “I’m so sorry.”