4. 🍸 The Regret
KEKE
For my flight to America, I opted for a gray sweatshirt and black jeans. I paired them with my twelve-year-old white on black Nike’s my girl gave to me when I turned eighteen.
The week before I left the States for good.
The shoes arrived in the mail with no return address and no card, but I knew from who they were from. She was always like that, thoughtful of others.
Every damn minute of every damn day.
My best friend wasn’t like most folks who hated the success of others. She was the type who would congratulate newly married couples in their wedding finery or say “Happy birthday” to people she didn’t know at restaurants. For her, the glass was always half full... unlike me, who sees it half empty.
Anger lodges in my chest, making it tighten with rage.
Life is so damn unfair. Why do the good go first?
It’s a damn shame all of Lilli’s goodness and beauty left this world. She would have made it considerably brighter. My girl took care of everyone but herself. She didn’t pursue her singing, and she didn’t run the streets. To my knowledge, she never even dated. Her entire focus was taking care of the kids. They were her life.
What will they do without her?
I don’t find an answer as the captain comes on the intercom, announcing the final descent into JFK.
Removing the slippers, the ones I bought on a side trip to Tibet, I shove them into my backpack. I bend to grab the Nike’s from under the seat in front of me and put them on, tying the laces into double knots.
When I received the shoes, I never thought they would take me all over Europe, the Middle East, and a bit of Asia.
I was on that continent when I learned of my best friend’s death.
Instead of letting grief overtake me, I got on the internet and booked the first thing smoking to New York. Although, I had failed my friend in watching her back, I wouldn’t fail her kids.
Not on my watch.
As I sit in the cab on my way to talk to this Justice person, I kick back and admire the city. Even with the pouring rain, New York in November is beautiful...what with the colorful trees and Christmas decorations. However, the cool wind and dark gray skies are very different from the balmy weather I had left in Singapore.
A twinge of my wound makes me more aware of the thirty-degree change in temperature. With all this traveling, the area on the back of my thigh throbs with a heartbeat of its own. The scar from when I was shot is a little larger than a quarter and looks like a cinder cone volcano, with fibrous tissue as the lava.
I do my best not to dwell on the pain; it will always be there. Over the years, I have learned to deal with it. My focus now is on the kids and seeing if they are in a good atmosphere. If not...
Stop it, Keke.
I’m sure this Justice character is a great guy.
Soon, I will know for sure.
Last time we talked, a week before my best friend died, I scoffed when Lilli told me of her plans to have a bartender, whom she had known for five years, raise the kids if anything happened to her.
She was always the plan ahead type, so I didn’t bother with the why. Instead, I had asked her if she were crazy. She didn’t need to give the kids over to some...stranger when I was more than willing to take over.
“Keke,” Lilli had said in that way of hers that let me know she had thought about her decision, “you are my girl, but you’re not ready to be a mother.”
At the time, what she said cut me deep. For more reasons than I cared to think about.
At my silence on the other end of the line, Lilli had begun to stutter out an apology. I broke in and told her she was right. I had even laughed and kept my voice free from the tears trickling down my face. Lilli had quickly changed the subject.
After that conversation, so focused on my past and the pain that came along with it, I cut off all contact with anyone close to me.
That was nothing new. I had been running for twelve years, ever since I got my legs to function again. Leaving behind friends and family for parts unknown, I would disappear for weeks, only to resurface in another country.
For me, a fresh start is therapeutic.
And that is what I did.
I left Japan, my home for a year, and moved to Singapore. Within a few weeks, I had found a permanent place to live. A job followed soon after. I was about to accept it when I opened my e-mails. The first one I read was from my brother Trey, telling me about Lilli’s death.
It was a punch to the gut and a wake-up call.
I had been selfish for too long, living my life without a care to those I left behind. As best friends, Lilli should have been able to count on me.
And I hate I wasn’t there to help.
“We are here.”
So occupied with my thoughts, I hadn’t realized the cab had stopped. The driver is at the trunk, unloading my duffle. I fumble for American dollars among the various currencies littering the bottom of my bag.
Clutching the correct bills, I exit the vehicle and push the money into the cabbie’s palm. Lifting my duffle from the ground, I take a second to note the building with the Clancy’s sign above the awning. To tell the truth, I thought I would find a hole-in-the-wall, nit a place where the brick is clean and the windows sparkle.
*It looks okay, I suppose. *
Removing myself from the rain and the chill, I open the heavy wooden door with one hand. I take a second to let my eyes adjust to the gloom before walking further into the bar.
Well...the bar at least looks clean, if a little on the needs-a-makeover side.
The chairs are wooden as are the tables, the floors, and the walls. It looks like the late 70s or early 80s threw up in here what with all the neon signs and the dark ceiling.
Doesn’t he know that makes the room appear smaller?
When I get to the huge jukebox in the corner, my eyes nearly spring from my head. I’ve never seen one so big or heard such music—a country and western song full of twang and electric guitar.
Is that what the kids listen to? Where is the music from their culture?
I grudgingly admit that it is okay to expose the kids to a variety of music genres. Just not at the expense of their own.
After this Justice guy and I discuss the welfare of the kids, music will be the next subject.
At the sound of footsteps, I turn to see a man with curly silver hair coming from the back. With his blue jean jacket and matching jeans, he looks like he would be more at home on a farm.
“We aren’t open,” he says, wiping his hands on a towel. “If you come back in an hour…”
“Are you Justice?”
The man lets out a bark of laughter, his brown eyes twinkling. “That is the first and probably the last time I will ever be mistaken for him. I am Sam, his second in charge.”
“I’m Keke.”
I offer no other information other than my name. My explanations and inquiries are for the person I came to see.
Sam slings the towel over his left shoulder and moves toward me. We shake. His grasp, like his smile, is warm and inviting. “Justice should be along in a few minutes. Why don’t you take a seat and wait for him?”
I dump my bag and duffel on a barstool. That is all these spindly chairs are good for. They are much too flimsy for people my size. Besides, if I sit down, I may fall asleep. Waiting out the layover in Germany on a hard metal chair didn’t foster the opportunity to rest. Nor did me crying over Lilli.
Tears prick behind my eyes.
She really is gone. I will never see her smile or hear her voice again.
For the millionth time I wonder if the pain of missing her will ever go away.
I blink back my despair and my tears. I don’t like showing emotion in front of those I love, let alone strangers.
I need to keep my mind off my sorrow and onto something constructive.
“Uh, if you haven’t finished your prep work, I can help if you like. I have worked at several bars before—” I break off at the man’s laughter.
I don’t like people laughing at me. Makes me feel too damn insecure.
Reading the look on my face, Sam holds up his hands, palms out. “Don’t take offense, your offer to help shocked me.” He cocks his head and scratches the back of his neck. “That is pretty hard to do.” Curiosity lights his face almost as bright as his smile had done. “You’re not from New York, are you?”
I shake my head.
Sam takes a few steps toward me. “How do you know Justice?”
“I don’t.”
He lifts a fuzzy gray brow. “You must be eager then?”
“No,” I shake my head. “Not really.”
I don’t get his statement and I am too tired to question it. All I want is to see the kids and pray a confrontation doesn’t come along with it. Although, I have a sinking feeling there will be one with this Justice guy.
How can there not be with his taste in music and décor?
I muffle a sigh of frustration.
A fight with the bartender will just be my luck. If it comes to that…well, I will give as good as I get. I don’t back down from confrontation. In fact, I live for that shit.
Sam studies me as I plan my battle strategy. He must conclude I am trustworthy as he says, “Okay, Keke. If you really want to help, you can fill these tin buckets with peanuts.” He places a stack of buckets on the surface of the bar and motions me to come behind the counter.
He watches as I fill a few tins, nodding in satisfaction as I nether leave them half empty or make them too full. He then asks if I want a cup of coffee. I smile my thanks and ask for two creams and one sugar.
The mindless task and the empty bar gives me time to think of the mistakes I have made.
The main one being I should have been more proactive in staying in touch with my best friend.
I can’t believe she’s no longer here.
When I learned of the news, I almost slipped from reality. Barely holding on, I had to tell my employers I couldn’t start work as planned. I then went through the motions of cancelling the lease on my new place, packing up my few belongings at the hotel where I was staying, and the next morning, I headed to America.
My eyes tear up again thinking of my friend and her motherless boys.
Don’t cry. Not now.
I take a deep breath and get my emotions under control, pushing Lilli’s death into the back of my mind.