St. Paul Part 7

He exited from East 94 onto Snelling and turned north. He grumbled in front of his house over Adam's car taking up his usual space and considered rear ending the bumper of Adam's car.

He parked, and not wanting to face them, not wanting to deal with it, he began walking towards the Fair Ground. His shadow from the street light walked in front of him, mimicking his stumbling steps. He cursed it but continued to follow.

Walking South on Snelling he stopped at the top of the bridge. The space separating Como from the Midway; the space that would now divide the Twin Cities. He looked to his right, towards shiny Minneapolis with its colorful skyscrapers casting illumination and flirtation to the sky, and he knew he hated it. He picked up a stone and threw it at the bright lights, watching it sail out into the night and land on the dying part of St. Paul. Exhausted by the effort he slouched down into the curb. He felt the cigarettes in his pocket and pulled one out.

And suddenly a voice came crystal clear from the back of his memory. A voice from neither a long time ago nor yesterday. A time ago.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?"

"Same thing since you left two hours ago."

"What are you watching?"

"This weird thing with a bearded lady."

"Me too! You think it's real?"

"It has to be, you saw the way they were yanking on it."

"I still don't get it."

"What's not to get? The hormones could effect even the farthest Y chromosome, I suppose. Besides, you've seen those girls with the light blond hair, imagine if they were a little Mediterranean? Obviously, they'd have to shave to hide it."

"How can she stand to have them pull on it like that?"

"Okay, now I don't think it's real. See the way that it's kind of breaking to the right. No human beard could--Oh, hey Adam. How you doing?"

"Is that Adam? Tell him hi for me."

"Courtney says--oops, he's already gone upstairs. I think he's pissed and wants to use the phone. Either that or else he smells the cigarettes on me."

"You need to hang up?"

"No."

There would be a pause.

"I guess I should go, anyway."

"Yeah, me too."

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna come over and have one more cigarette?"

"Absolutely."

The memory, the voices stopped. He crushed out the cigarette and sat up on the curb, looking out across the bridge, looking east. And as he sat there the sun sparked its first light on the horizon, and he watched it rise over St. Paul.

St. Paul Part 6

"What happened to you?" Steve wanted to know, he had moved away from the speaker making conversation was possible.

"I had to go upstairs; the line was really long down here."

"No, Steve said, looking a little shocked. "You look like a train wreck, you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." To hear his voice answer Steve he actually believed he might be fine. "I think I'm just allergic to all this smoke is all."

And Steve laughed because that was a good enough excuse for him, and he moved on to talking about another girl over on the side of the bar.

"I should go, Steve."

"We just got here."

"Two hours ago. I need to drive home before I pass out. You going to stay?"

"No, I guess I should probably be going home too." Steve looked dejected, taking only a sip off of his drink. "What if we stay for one more song?"

One more song turned into three and they ordered a last round of drinks for the road, then waved goodbye. He could still hear Steve laughing back to his car about some girl that was there.

He piled in behind the wheel but couldn't find the right song on the radio. The car went right instead of left on Hennipen and he found himself cruising past First Avenue where the kids were beginning to file out of the late show. He turned the car around and lit a cigarette at a stop light, fishing in his pocket for his phone, trying to comprehend the small numbers. He punched in the speed dial for his wife, a smile tightening the cigarette into his mouth.

She picked up and he said "Hey sweety. I'm drunk."

"Where are you, we've been worried sick."

"I'm okay. I'm just--who's we?"

"Adam's still over." He heard her say, the tin of the cell phone accenting her voice. "He wanted to see you."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, aiming his finger for the button in the middle, hanging up on her. He threw the phone onto the dashboard and poked out another cigarette.

The phone began ringing and vibrating so he turned up the radio louder. He was yelling obscenities out towards Minneapolis, the Grain Belt Bridge, Noreast. The car found the entrance to the highway, and with a scream he gunned the engine and entered traffic.

St. Paul Part 5

They left work early and drove through Lowertown towards McGovern's. The bar was empty save for the smoking regulars sitting in their drinks at the bar. They ordered cocktails, and he lead Steve into a booth where he could keep an eye on the door.

They drank, and when Steve returned with a third round of drinks, he admitted "This place is kind of dead. Think we should check out a different one? What time is it, anyway?"

"Six o'clock, I guess." Steve said, looking down at his watch. "Why, you supposed to call the wife?"

He hadn't been thinking about it, but considered it. Then answered "No. She's probably busy."

Steve sucked on the last drops of his drink in an extremely annoying manner "Come on, let's go. I don't know the next time I'll get to do this."

"One more drink" he said, eying the door one last time. Then sat in silence feeling a cigarette calling him in his pocket. He pulled it out, placing it in his mouth.

"You smoke?" Steve asked him, letting the ice from his empty cup clink in the bottom of his glass as he put it down on the table.

"Only on the bad days." He inhaled, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth as he talked. "When do you think cheating happens? Do you think it's when two people fuck around with each other, or is it when two people, who are perfect for one another meet and can't do anything about it?"

"What?" Steve questioned, the nature of the argument not falling into his usual order of thinking.

"Nothing." He replied, stabbing out the freshly lit cigarette into the ashtray. "You're right, we should go."

Steve lead the way westbound down 94, pulling off on Cedar towards the heart of West Bank. Parking their cars proved to be a task, but they found one another in front of Grandma's and walked into the pile of writhing college students on the dance floor.

"Aren't we a little old for this place?"

"Nonsense." Steve asserted, pushing his way towards the bar. "What do you want?"

They drank their first drink and the second went down even easier. By the fourth and fifth drink they were ordering two at a time so as not to waste time wading through the masses.

"I wonder why Emma didn't come out?"

"What." Steve yelled, hearing him but not taking his eyes away from the girl working the beer tub.

"Emma. Coffee Shop Girl. I wonder why she didn't come out tonight?"

Steve, whose head was plastered to an over sized speaker, turned a drink and a smile towards him.

He informed Steve, "I need to use the bathroom."

Ordering another drink he looked at the long line waiting to use the bathroom. Knowing his usual inability to perform under pressure he found himself walking up the stairs towards the bar on the second floor.

A couple was making out in a booth, and a lazy bartender was playing with the channel changer, yawning. The bartender looked at him for a second, sizing him up to make sure he was all right, that he needed nothing, then went back to the television.

He went into the bathroom and washed his hands, pulling out his phone to look for messages. He placed the phone back in his pocket, re-scrubbing his hands. And a sudden mental image came to him. Adam bending his wife over the kitchen counter, taking her from behind. Her face winced as she finally felt the touch of a real man while they ground together.

She deserved better. Not his life. Not him. He felt himself readying to release all that had been consumed into the bathroom sink; the slick feeling of metallic growing up from his stomach. But then another body entered the bathroom, and he quelled it all back down.

He washed his hands again, splashing water on his face then wiping it off with a paper towel, while the other man let forth a glorious stream. The drink found his hand, and he trembled it off of the porcelain counter and back out the door.

St. Paul Part 4

"That'll be nice if she comes out." Steve said, looking at Jimmy. But Jimmy had already removed himself from the conversation.

The office hadn't changed in their absence, and he grumbled out a good-bye to Steve to sit in his own chair, staring at the phone. He figured his wife would be having lunch right now. Probably the fettuccine, or at least that's what she used to always eat when they'd go to the little Italian diner on the Eastside. But he didn't know, he supposed Filio's wouldn't serve a meal that inexpensive. He thought about calling her, justifying it wouldn't be to interrupt her meal so much as he didn't want to bother her at work, and did want to see if she would want to catch a quick drink later on. But then he remembered she hadn't said yes to anything he'd asked her in the past couple of weeks. He thought out loud "Why start now?"

He stood from his desk, walking back towards the elevator and punching the down arrow. He emerged on the second floor, walking towards the convenience store only to find his mouth mumbling out "Pack of cigarettes."

"What type?"

"Does it matter?" He looked down, looked at his fingers on the counter. "Better make them lights, though."

The employee muttered something and handed over the cigarettes. He paid then rapped the top end of the pack into the palm of his hand, waiting for change. He asked "Do you have matches?"

"Just lighters."

He handed over more money and walked down the stairs into the outdoors. The cars were stuck in a jam all the way from the end of the street down to where the capitol stood. The creepy lady from payroll stood behind him, taking long drags and hacking good, phlegmy coughs.

A cigarette popped out of the pack and he looked it over, searching it for imperfections. He placed it in his mouth but let it hang there. His hands moved into his pants pocket, removing the cell phone in hope before replacing it.

Hands cupped around the end of the cigarette, even though it was a windless day, and he inhaled. The smoke streamed into his mouth, down his throat like he was meeting a friend who had been gone too long. A slight hint of nausea came back to him from four years ago, but he repressed it. He took another drag and sat down to watch the world roll by.