The Emperors of Montrose
Montrose, Houston’s counterculture haven, has two emperors. Oh, y’all didn’t know that?
On a Friday night in January 2022, when you’re out looking for a pickup game of pool around here, and you’ve called the cops to do a welfare check on your binge drunk brother’s kids alone with him in Wisconsin with no family or friends there, and when he’s called Houston police on your elderly parents in retaliation just now because he can’t figure out your address.
Still, he’s already left 23 messages on your cell phone telling you what a piece of shite you are and that you will never see your nephews again… you realize that you’re fighting to claim your soul this evening. You know that you can’t go home to sit and deal with this by yourself in the dark. But you also feel those invisible glass barriers that separate you from saying anything to anyone else. Like always…
“My name’s Napoleon,” he said downstairs, directly under where we all are. He was bitter, ironic, haughtily tipsy. Not sexy (I can’t say I was, either).
But here’s the thing. When I said, “Hey, Napoleon. I’m sober. And I’ve got my laptop here so I can call and report my brother for elder abuse…”?
He dropped his facade, acted for a second, and said,” I can sit just a little bit away from you but here to support you while you make that call.”
And there we sat, just far enough apart, backs against the wall, downstairs, amidst the crowd -some of you may have been there that night- shouting, laughing, drinking, playing darts.
I haven’t seen him since. But I’m usually at my other stomping grounds anyway. I may be sober, but I’m a fool for playing pool anytime, anywhere.
Of course, my family issues had not resolved themselves by March a few weeks ago. It was another Friday night, and I was hustling a game over at Cecil’s. I may have played one or two of you over there sometime.
And close to midnight on that Friday night, I received another horrifying call. Again, I’m not going to go into the details, but it turned all of my immediate family relationships into nothingness.
Again, I was shocked and, frankly, a little ticked that my family — my former family- refused to pick up weekend hobbies like stamp-collecting that don’t involve scorched earth.
My pool-playing partner that game, another stranger, asked if I was all right when I returned from outside Cecil’s.
When I slowly said,” I will be. I will be. It’s just..my family imploded for the last time”, he paused, looked at me, and said,” Right now, my cousin’s on a ventilator in a hospital in The Woodlands. He probably won’t make it through the night, and yeah, I’m…I’m just waiting for the WhatsApp message. I’m glad you’re here. I’m so happy we’re here.”
And he turned, and as we both shifted to face the pool table, he reached out his hand back to me without looking around.
And I didn’t say anything. I took it, and we held hands quietly for almost a minute, amidst the crowd shouting, laughing, drinking, playing pool and darts.
“What’s your name?” I asked afterwards as we continued playing.
“Cesar.”
True. Story.
If you think you’re suddenly alone…look for the accidental emperors around you.
