The Centre, Part Four

Day Nine of Thirty Days of Writing

Kat Fossell
Jul 22, 2017 · 5 min read
Photo by Kat Fossell

Yuni and I made plans to hang out again the next day. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing. I’m unemployed.”

“Me too. Want to go get beer and play pool again? You could meet my friend later, I am supposed to pick her up.”

“Okay.”

The next afternoon my mom asked me, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” I said, and then, feeling like I was sixteen again, but remembering I was not added, “I’m going to hang out with Yuni.” So this is weird. I hadn’t had to tell my mother where I was going since I was seventeen. Not that I had to now, it just seemed more considerate. I wonder if my son would have gotten to this point sooner.

I hopped in a borrowed car and drove out to Yuni’s well-manicured home. He was sitting on the front porch smoking again. I walked up and sat down next to him smiling.

“So, let’s go to the pool hall.” He said as if there was no question at all that could not be answered. “You can meet some of my friends.”

Yuni sauntered into the bar, and like in an episode of Cheers, was greeted by literally every person there. There were six regulation-size pool tables, glowing green in the dim hanging lights. I was introduced to so many people that I couldn’t remember a single name. Some of the girls seemed like people Yuni had probably slept with, at least the way they looked me up and down. I found myself wanting to visibly shake my head no, but let it go. There was the friendly bartender, who wore a backwards Cardinals’ baseball cap. He was tall and lanky and quick to laugh. Then there was William, with the presence of three men. He was big and tall, wearing a plain red polo shirt, and round Santa Claus glasses. His hair was white and he had a devilish grin. He and Yuni embraced each other, patting one another on the back with two loud thuds.

“How the hell you been kid? And who’s this you’ve brought to the watering hole?”

Yuni introduced us, “William, this is your future level two player for Sunday nights.”

“Hot dog! I can’t find anyone to fill that spot. You look like that and you play pool?” William winked at me. I just smiled dumbly and nodded.

“Well if she’s got a brain keep this one around Yuni.” I was getting squirmy and Yuni was too. He leaned in towards my ear. “Let’s go have a shot, eh?”

“Yup!”

He laughed. His laugh was loud and a bit off. I liked it. We proceeded to drink and I proceeded to learn the names and previous and current relationships of everyone in the bar.

“See Stacy over there?” She used to have a thing for Yuni. Can’t stand the sight of him now cause he turned her down. She’s got a problem with the uppers though. And that chick bartender? She’s Ralf-over-there’s- sister. She’s a sweetheart. She’s got a two-year-old.” William was the bard of the bar. The story-keeper. I settled in and sipped sparingly on my Stiegel.

Yuni kept the shots flowing and wouldn’t let me pay for anything. He liked shots of “Grandma” which was his nickname for Grand Marnier. He drank shots of grandma with a Bud Light Lime chaser. I couldn’t think of a more perfect mix. The next time we went out for a smoke it was already dark. Yuni got a call. He proceeded to have the conversation in a mix of English, French, and Arabic. His friend Izzie was a black-Muslim-lesbian, or so she described herself as soon as we met about twenty minutes later at another bar.

“So what do you do miss?” Izzie liked to get right down to business. She was frank in all matters, including being frank about being frank. I liked her instantly. She was wearing these cute little red square glasses and trousers with a button-down shirt. “Right now nothing. I write though but I don’t like to call myself a writer.”

And she launched into a story about the stories her mother and father used to sing to her as a child. “They passed me their wisdom that way, through their songs.”

“I love to sing.” I told her bashfully. And so we closed down the bar talking of the best stories to tell children. A thought kept playing in the back of my mind. All the stories I could have told Davy. Maybe it was better that he didn’t know. Maybe stories like mine were not to be passed down.

We all stumbled into Yuni’s car and he drove fast as a bat out of hell towards his house. It was already almost three in the morning. I was exhausted but not drunk. I’d been playing it safe all night. We stood in a puddle of glaring light on the driveway. I was inching towards my car. “Come on inside! We can smoke in the basement and play some more pool.” Yuni said, smiling at me. “You can’t go home now!” Izzie said. So I smiled and shrugged and went inside.

Yuni opened a window in the basement and Izzie and Yuni took turns free-styling while I smoked a cigarette inside the perfect home. I felt oddly mortified. Then Izzie handed me another shot and everything started to go finally towards that lighter place inside my head, where thought became more of a fog that sometimes floated past me.

Izzie was talking about not wanting to have children. I was somehow already smoking another cigarette. Pool playing had been abandoned and we were all huddled around the window as if it were a fire. I piped up, before I really knew what I was saying. “You don’t have to be afraid of having kids.” Izzie looked at me, she was leaning far out of her chair.

“I mean, it is scary.” I continued. “But, it’s also really beautiful. It’s like getting everything you’ve ever wanted. No one really knows how to do that, what to do when the chance finally arises.”

And then I launched into the whole story. I told Yuni and Izzie about how I’d been pregnant, how I’d lost the baby just as I had gotten used to the idea of the new life I was going to lead. I let go of all my expectations of how a night like that one was supposed to go. I broke down. There were soft tears stinging my eyes by the end. Izzie was crying too. Yuni just kept looking at me as if he was seeing something for the first time. Izzie gave me a hug. Yuni got up and put on the song that Uma Thurman is so famous for dancing to in Pulp Fiction. Chuck Berry’s You Never Can Tell. We danced, staring straight into each other’s eyes. I blushed. He laughed. We pulled Izzie in to dance also, Yuni spinning her around until she bowed out and clasped our hands together. Yuni spun me around and around and I laughed so hard. I hadn’t danced like that since the boy who couldn’t see color. Izzie cheered. “You guys are good! Look at you go!” We all laughed until we were all sitting on the floor.

It was daylight when I left. I drove home with the sun racing away from me, pounding on the steering wheel, my heart as big as any ocean.

Kat Fossell

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doesn’t believe in short bio’s

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