Old Friends

Saturday was a vile night weatherwise. I had settled into my couch with a warm book and a fine bottled of Macallan when someone, from a long time ago rang my doorbell. Begrudgingly, I set my book down and took him in only to have him tell me a tale that would bring a man of stronger resolve than me to their knees. Fortunately, I had taken the necessary precautions, but just to make sure, I poured myself another tall scotch.

He had recently been deployed on missionary work. For him this meant going to the heathen land, a land filled with noble savages that would welcome a man in with open arms one minute while slitting your throat the next. Something that he warmed me must be guarded against and one that you must keep your whiles about so as not to wake up dead in the middle of the night.

“Chicago is a fine part of the world”, he began, taking a sip off of the scotch, cradling it in his hands like an old friend that has been gone far too long. He continued, “I had been sent to bring the good word, but found the task was above me. I quoted from the books of Cash and Dylan and was rebuked at every turn. Thus I set myself apart from them as more of a disinterested observer than as somebody that could bring peace to that land.”

“I’ve seen many strange and wonderful things. People wearing striped shirts and haircuts that were meant to define their social status. This is a culture that does not live off of integrity that comes through words. It is a culture where ascension in their ranks is dictated by how you choose to dress yourself and regular showers.

“I was brought to one of their denizen clan gatherings, at the house of one of their local leaders. I tried speaking in a dialect they would understand, and while I did make headway with some members on the outer social circle of the clan I was turned away by others I attempted to talk with. This was most noticed when I was confronted by the alpha male of their collective.

“The alpha male is a short, well-groomed character that had dressed himself in the intellectual garb of a person of similar ilk from the 80’s. He was definitely in charge, or at least he thought so. Having been given the foreknowledge that he was interested in international talk, I attempted to communicate or even learn from him and his position. This gave way to having my words turned against me. His diatribe escalated to attacking my character and I felt my face distorting into an incredulous mask as I struggled to comprehend what was coming out of his mouth and how I had wronged him.

“Was my gesture not understood by his local custom? Had I been too forward? Did he follow some sort of Gorilla Law that dictated when I was supposed to establish eye contact with him? Was it the fact that I had been befriended into this circle by a female that he viewed as his possible alpha mate?

“I made my way back into the kitchen and blended into the conversation before taking relief in a bathroom enjoying the momentary solace that it afforded me. Upon exiting, I found the same alpha male talking to a subordinate in hushed tones. His plan was to either bring harm to my person or evict me from their social gathering.

“I then recalled a past missionary assignment one that had been in a similar setting. I had been brought as a guest of honor to watch a Nerd Dance of Death. This “Dance” is a horrific tradition unlike any other; an act where two skinny men grab one another by their shoulders, cursing in blunt, nonsensical and indecipherable phrases while attempting to knee each other in the balls.

“Wanting no part of this, I grabbed my lover and the two of us exited the party, my nuts, gratefully, still in tact.

He concluded his speech with a sigh and drained the last finger from his glass; I immediately poured him another one. He accepted this gift and eased back into the comforts of the couch, the nightmare that he had just related still hanging over the conversation.

He mulled over his fresh glass of scotch by running a finger around the top. He spoke again, a more broken voice coming out of his mouth, “They’re sending me back out; off to the Rich Coast and I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.”

He left shortly there after. The light from my doorway spilled out as I watched his footprints disappear in the freshly falling snow. In that instant I knew that he would be back, in many ways he has never left and I cursed him for it.