Angels Among Us Chapter 3

Angels Among Us

   Chris inched his way back to the cottage, nursing an enormous headache. His body felt as though he‘d been in a car accident.

 Not knowing how things were about to drastically change in his newfound, troubled world, his mind raced, unable to fully remember the events of last evening.  He wondered: how in hell he was still alive.

    A scene from the past with Erin violently invaded his thoughts as he walked.

  With a knife pressed against his chest, he swung wildly at Erin. Another violent incident that punctuated their time together toward the end of an increasingly crippled relationship.

  Things had spiraled so far out of control with drugs and alcohol between them both, Chris watched his world crumble, while Erin began to run with a different crowd for companionship and acceptance. She dove deeply into pills, cocaine and booze. People, to her, who simply weren’t Chris. He did the same.

   Chris shook his head, trying to make the scene fall from his mind and into the floodwater drainage grate in front of him. It was a terrible, uncontrolled, chaotic time that he’d wished undone.

   Chris arrived at the front of the shop where he paused for a moment and looked up to the angel, searching for answers to magically spew from her mouth. He studied her worn colors. She was weathered, much as he felt right now.

   He slid the key in the door when a booming voice beckoned from behind.

“...Can I help you?” It was Doug, the shop and cottage owner. His landlord.

    While Chris occupied a small cottage, Doug offered tiny rooms in the expansive building up front.   

The rooms at the shop were full of transients, day workers and a (generally) "no questions asked" clientele.  Some were drug users, most were lost causes and ALL, who passed through, had some sort of a past from which they were trying to escape, or at least temporarily hide from along the way.

   It was a place for people who wanted isolation.  No paperwork needed to rent, cash every week and a no trouble, or you’re out. NO expectations or exceptions…period.

“...Hey, Doug,” Chris quietly replied.

“Who the hell are you and how do you know my fuckin' name?” Doug demanded.

“What?” Chris laughed, with a puzzled expression.

“Looks like you were trying to get in the shop and I don’t know you,” Doug barked back.

“It’s Chris! What the fuck is wrong with you, are you okay, Doug? I'm heading to the cottage.”

“Look, if you’re here about the room for rent I’ll show it to you, but you can’t just show up and try to walk on in like you own the place bro.”

   Chris began to suspect that something was clearly wrong with Doug. They DRANK together, they KNEW each other and he’d rented this cottage for storage purposes  for over a year and a half to Chris. Maybe Doug did drugs or fell on his head…or, perhaps he was going crazy.

   Maybe he’s just screwin’ around, Chris reasoned.  Doug has always been a practical joker...especially after a few beers. 

“...OK,  Doug, I’ll play along; yeah, I’d like to see the room.” Chris resolved to play along with Doug's stupid joke, just to get inside for a shower and some needed rest. Maybe I'll take a look at that cottage,  too."

   Doug stepped in front of Chris and opened the door. As they strode down the long, bleak, unfinished concrete hallway Doug pointed out the meager amenities. A giant plastic wash basin shop sink, outdoor vinyl siding covered the walls; an occasional dead palmetto bug dotted the floor.

   He told Chris about the rent and the room.

“It’s $450 per month, cash, all utilities included.”

“$450???” Chris barked. “I’ve been paying $300!!”

“Look, if you wanna pay $300 go back where ya’ came from; this room is $450,” Doug demanded.

Unbelievable, Chris thought. "Let's take a peek at the cottage.  I'm not renting one of these ROOMS, for sure," Chris insisted. The aroma of crack cocaine hung, thickly in the air.

“...The guy who used to live in this cottage must have skipped town in a hurry; happens a lot here, bro,” Doug laughed. “...He must be in trouble; he left every fucking thing.” Doug continued as he opened the closet.

“...Check it out…He even left his Goddamn clothes, Doug loudly exclaimed through hysterical laughter. “...What a fuck head,” he continued. “...You can have em’ if ya want,” Doug offered. "...they're about your size, " Doug held up a shirt to Chris' chest.

Chris pulled out another of his own shirts from the closet and locked eyes with Doug.

“...Wow, I seem to be in luck,  Doug, it’s my size, thanks, I’ll take it,” Chris sarcastically deadpanned.

“What? The shirt or the cottage?” Doug asked.

“Uh, I’ll take both, Doug?” Chris answered. 

  Doug noticed a twenty-dollar bill on the closet floor.  "I'll be takin' this," he advised as he snatched the money from the floor.

Chris stood,  in astonishment.  "Not only is Doug out of his mind, now he's stealing from me...in FRONT of me!"  Chris' mind reeled, playing along with Doug's practical joke. 

“...By the way, don’t be bringin’ any fuckin’ crack heads in here.  Oh, and rent is due at the end of the week…that’s Friday, bro,” Doug demanded, firmly shutting the door behind him.

   Chris snatched his toiletry bag from the floor and slowly dragged his tired and aching body to the bathroom. He hoped for a shower that might be long and hot enough to wash the hopeless and confused feelings from his mind and down the drain.

   Chris repeatedly played out his encounter with Doug as the water poured over his body. “...What the hell was wrong with Doug?” He desperately tried to make sense of their bizarre exchange; finally, shaking his head, Chris decided to brush the incident off for now.

   After getting dressed, Chris watched a little TV before deciding that food would be good right about now.

   He strolled down the block to the pub for a sandwich.  Cindy, the daytime bartender, would be working and Chris resolved that he could use a friendly face and good conversation with his long time friend.

    Chris comfortably planted himself at the end of the bar, blankly gazing at the soccer match on the television mounted in the corner until Cindy appeared, directly and attentively in front of him.

“...What can I getcha', babe?” Cindy Beamed, with her usual bubbly personality.

“I guess the usual to drink…and some food. How bout' a turkey club with chips?” Chris ordered, relieved to be in a familiar environment.

    He studied Cindy’s welcoming face, finding a much needed respite in her genuine smile after a night that he so desperately struggled to erase.

“...Well, the sandwich I got but, what’s the usual, sweetie?” She quizzed.

“Uh…a PBR and a glass of water, Cindy,” Chris ordered with a nervous laugh.

“Do I know you? I’m sometimes bad with names.” Cindy politely asked.

   After his morning encounter with Doug, Chris NOW felt as though he were in the middle of a carefully orchestrated joke.

He hesitantly answered...

“...I’m not sure at this point, Cindy, but how bout' a beer and the sandwich for now.”

“You got it baby; what’s your name?” She asked.

“It’s Chris!” He barked.  “...I think?” He whispered to himself, slowly shaking his head in disbelief as Cindy walked away.

   What in hell is going on today? Chris’ mind raced for answers before, again, motioning for Cindy.

“Ya’ know, Cindy, scratch the beer. I’ll take a coffee with Tully,” he ordered.

A stiff drink might do some good, he reasoned.

“You got it sweetie.” Let’s see, Tullamore and anything else you want in your coffee?” Cindy politely asked.

“Yeah, Tully; a whole bunch of it.” Chris sighed.

   After finishing his sandwich, Chris decided to make the usual stops that he’d made for three years. At this point, he set out on a determined mission, hoping to prove that he wasn’t crazy and that Doug and Cindy MUST be playing an elaborate joke. He was in no mood for nonsense, not today.

   One stop after another, he crashed into brick wall after brick wall. No one seemed to know him…no one?? Not even the cute girl at the convenience store who flirted with him every single day for the past year when he went in for cigarettes. How?

   Suddenly, a wave of panic rushed through his mind; he wondered about his job.

“..Dear God! The TV station! THEY know me and would NEVER go along with Doug and Cindy's stupid jokes. I DO still have a job, right?” Chris anxiously mumbled to himself as he quickly jogged to the streetcar.

“...God, please, this has got to be a dream,” he repeated to himself.

   As he nervously entered the controlled chaos that comprises a typical news room, Chris was greeted by an assistant News Director.

“...Uh, Can I help you sir?”

  Chris' stomach dropped; he quickly realized that his colleague didn't recognize him. 

“Dear God, I’m gonna have to interview for this shitty position all over again?? God must hate me,” he sighed to himself. "...What the fuck is happening right now?" Chris panicked. 

“Um, yeah, I have an interview with Howard, Chris nervously laughed.”

   Chris had hoped that his worst fear would be disproved; expecting that the Assistant Director would burst out into wild laughter, along with the rest of his colleagues in the news room and his non-work friends.  A collective "GOTCHA!" 

Instead, the assistant excused himself to announce Chris’ arrival to Howard Stanfield, the news director. 

Chris stood in the hallway, deeply in thought, wearing a solemn frown. There's NO WAY they got THIS many people to play along with a bizarre practical joke,  he reasoned. 

A few minutes passed when Howard emerged from his office and politely greeted Chris.

“Hi, I’m Howard Stanfield.” Howard beamed with an extended hand towards Chris.

   Howard is, what most in the industry would call, an old school newsman. One of the last of his kind. A dinosaur. 

  He’s a tall, robust man of stature who exudes a comfortable air of confidence. His time in the trenches as a field reporter, on almost every continent, had put the world around him into perspective; experiences which would jade most in his line of business. Not Howard. He projected a polite but succinct personality and alwaysfound brightspots in the darkest of situations.

“I’m Chris Barrow, sir, glad to meet you.” Chris confidently introduced.

“Well, Chris Barrow, I must tell you, I don’t have you scheduled for an interview,” Howard responded with polite hesitance.

"...C'mon Howard,  Chris chuckled.  It's a fun joke,  but, C'mon, Chris continued. "

Howard expressed an uncomfortable air of confusion. "...I'm not sure what you mean," Howard replied. 

Chris' mind reeled. Either this was the PERFECT joke or he was dreaming. He played along, in service to decide which.

“Hmmm, must be a mix up, sir, I made it with your secretary.”

   Knowing that there had been a temp working for a few days previous, Chris figured this to be the perfect scapegoat.

Howard seemed relieved.

“Aaah…Well, we had a temp in here for a few days last week so she must have forgotten. Listen, I’ve got a little time, though, let’s go to my office and see whatcha got, kiddo.

Chris immediately snapped back, "..I KNOW, Howard,  I HIRED her," Chris exclaimed. 

Howard blankly stared at Chris. "...What’s that?" Howard asked.  "...sorry,  nothing,  sir. I appreciate your time, " Chris sheepishly answered. 

   Howard led Chris through the bustling hallways.  Along the way, Chris took in the anxious murmurs between his co-workers in the bullpen. They scrambled between computer terminals, housed within a multitude of pale gray-blue cubicle walls.  He wondered how in the world he’d done this job for so long without losing his sanity.

Seemingly, being an outsider looking in, he gained new perspectives on the life that he'd been living all these years, buried in all work with very little pay OR play, for the amount of effort. 

Chris finally began to entertain the thought that this wasn’t a joke. He convinced himself that he, surely,  was dreaming. "...The pills!  I'm in a coma," Chris chuckled to himself. 

  Chris and Howard finally reached a large, glass encased, cluttered office. As he made himself comfortable, Chris felt a sense of isolation after passing by one co worker after another, none of which even acknowledged him as a contemporary, with the exception of a polite nod or hello. It was as though he were the invisible man in a world full of familiar faces. 

   After an hour-long meeting, Chris found himself on the sidewalk outside the TV station, looking back down the bustling roundabout, Lee Circle, to the station sign and then up to a half dozen satellite dishes which dotted the roof.  As he blankly stared, he tried to make sense of a bizarre day which continued to unfold before his eyes.

“...Great! I just got my shitty job back…a job that I never lost. And for more money!” Chris laughed to himself.

“...Fuckers told me they were cutting the budget. My ass.” Chris grudgingly scoffed as he kicked a rock from the middle of the sidewalk.

  Chris jumped the streetcar and headed for home, reminiscing about his meeting with Howard.

  He sat quietly, deeply in thought, at the tiny counter in his cottage.  As he sipped a cup of coffee, he replayed the previous 24-hours, what little he could remember of it; his mind sifted through every detail, anything that he felt relevant, anything which might hold a revealing clue as to what was happening.  He wondered if he’d overlooked something.

The gambit of absurd possibilities raced through Chris’ mind. ONE solemn reality finally took hold. This ISN’T a practical joke. 

“Maybe I died last night and came back as someone else?” He thought, staring at the clock on the wall above his door.  "...yeah, THAT'S logical,' he reasoned.  His thoughts bordered on the outrageous. “...No way; That shit doesn’t happen,” he dismissed. But the fact remains, NO ONE seems to know him.

Looking back to the clock, an idea popped into Chris’ mind.

“Marie!” He loudly blurted, hoping that this whole bizarre situation would finally be solved.

   Jumping to his feet, Chris finally felt a glimmer of hope in solving an unsolved mystery. It was time for the afternoon shift change at the pub; if Marie didn’t know him then that’s the ballgame; game over. This would be the ultimate test, he decided.

   Chris raced to the pub; all the while, he prayed under his breath repeatedly:

“...Please God, please, please; please God…let her know me. This is really fuckin’ scary, Marie will know me…she HAS to know me. She’s my best friend; God, let her know me.”

    Chris grabbed his usual seat at the bar when Marie appeared squarely in front of him. He sat, silently, looking, intently at her, his head lightly cocked. His eyes, focused deeply into hers, nervously studying so as not to be the first person to tip his hand in, what he felt, was a high stakes poker game.

   If Marie didn’t know him, he feared that he might just break down and start crying in a raging panic attack.

Marie, with her usual compassionate and friendly voice, finally spoke.

“Uh, Chris? You feeling better today honey?”

   Chris’ eyes welled with tears as he smiled with exhausted relief. He felt as though he‘d awakened from a never ending nightmare. He laughed through tears that were now visibly trickling down his cheek.

“Yeah, I am now,” he quietly replied.

    Marie shook her head; her eyes projected deep concern for her friend.  "...You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she poked.

“Funny, I thought I WAS a ghost for a while today,” Chris mused.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Never mind,” Chris dismissed with a hand wave.

“...Sweetheart, you got really fucked up drunk last night; you may still be drunk if you ask me,” she laughed.  “Hair of the dog will fix ya’” she assured with a beaming smile.  “...By the way, I don’t mind tellin’ ya’ this, but you kinda look like shit too,” she laughed.

  Chris talked with Marie as she waited on the occasional customer.

“HEY!  Why the hell didn’t you call me when you got home last night? I was worried,” Marie scolded.

“I passed out,” Chris sheepishly replied.

“...Well, I came by early this morning and knocked on the door and no one answered; you scared the shit outta me, Chris.”

“I know, Marie…I’m sorry; whaddaya want me to say?” he dismissed, as though he were succumbing to a nagging wife.

Marie changed the subject.

“...Hey, there was a real pretty angel on top of your gate, have you ever noticed it?”

“Yeah, I put it there," he quietly answered.

“That’s really cool,” she smiled, placing an Irish coffee in front of him.

  Marie placed the palm of her hand on top of Chris' hand ~

“...Listen, I’m glad you’re OK, babe. Ya’ know? If something would have happened to you last night I would have been reeeeally pissed, especially since I would have been the last person to see you.  I begged you to let me walk you home.  Why do you insist on making me nuts?  I was worrying like you do.  Worrying is YOUR job,”  Marie lectured.

   Feeling relieved that her friend was okay, Marie strode down the bar to tend to a group of new customers as Chris’ mind plunged deeply into thought.

   The jukebox broke the ambient mix of indistinguishable bar conversations.  The song blared, taking Chris back to one of the last pleasant times that he could remember between he and Erin. They’d just finished dinner and decided to extend the evening by checking out a band at a nearby bar.

   Holding Erin in his arms on the dance floor, they gazed at one another as though nothing could interrupt the moment. A moment shared between two people, where nothing around them seemingly exists. They disappeared into one another’s eyes.

“...I know we’ve had some tough times, Chris, but it’s gonna be alright, I promise,” Erin assured.

“I know,” Chris agreed.

   Erin pulled Chris close, as if there were no way she’d ever let go. It was a flash in time that still made Chris smile. A scene where everything in the world seemed peaceful and the future was as full of hope and promise as never before.

   Erin always had a way of lighting up Chris’ heart, just by entering a room.
She was a calming force in his hectic world.

Chris’ mind quickly returned, jolted by an argument between a couple, seated a few spaces down the bar.

“...Fuck you!!” The girl screamed.

   The man forcefully grabbed the woman's arm as she tried to walk away. He jerked her back, just as a couple of guys in the pub approached the table. The man was quickly escorted out as three women who were sitting nearby sat with the, visibly, shaken young woman.

   The scene deeply rattled Chris; if he felt this way about himself he couldn’t possibly fully imagine how Erin must feel. Chris shook his head briskly, struggling to transport his mind to thoughts of nicer times.

   Marie returned from the opposite end of the bar to continue their conversation. Chris stared at her for a moment before blurting a theory that popped into his head about her previous comment.

“...Not the last person,” he mumbled.

“What??  Not the last person?” Marie couldn't remotely imagine what Chris was talking about.

“...You weren’t the last person to see me last night, but you’re one of TWO and now you’re the only two who seem to know me right now,” he solemnly offered.

“What the Hell are you talking about, now, Chris??” Marie asked with bewilderment.

“Keep my tab open, I’ll be back.” Chris anxiously bolted for the door.

   He ran down the street, winding his way through a maze of short blocks, lined with beautiful, tiny houses.

   It was sunset; one of the most beautiful times of day in New Orleans, where the deep afternoon sun brings forth vibrant pastel colors on the doubles, camel back and shotgun houses to life. It's as if the light radiates from within these 200 year-old homes, and most certainly a sight to behold.

   Chris arrived at Thomas’ house, completely out of breath,  He found Thomas, Felicia and his aunt sitting on the porch. Chris stared for a moment as he studied the three of them; especially at Thomas' daughter, Felicia.

"...Wow," Chris whispered.  He absorbed the moment, thinking about how beautiful Thomas’ daughter was.  He thought about how lucky Thomas is to have such a wonderful, beautiful child. It was something he'd longed for, something he'd envied.

  Chris slowly walked to the front porch where Thomas shot a look that could have killed. Thomas looked at his aunt and back to Chris; knowing what he wanted to say vs. what he actually COULD say in front of his aunt and daughter.

“...What now?”  Thomas asked, clearly irritated.

“You know this man, Thomas?” His aunt quizzed.

“Yeah, you could say that. He’s special, if you know what I mean,” Thomas whispered to his aunt. “He lives up the street.”

“Oooh, I understand,” his aunt knowingly replied.

Chris politely introduced himself.

“Take Felicia inside, would you, Auntie?” Thomas asked, through a forced smile.

   Thomas’ aunt stepped inside; looking back at Chris, she addressed him, loudly and slowly from the doorway.

“...OK, my baby, It was real nice to meet ya';  Thomas will make sure you get home OK, ya’ hear?”

   No sooner did his aunt disappear through the doorway, Thomas unloaded.

“What the fuck did I tell you this morning, boy?” Thomas snapped in the loudest whisper possible.

“Great, your aunt thinks I’m a retard now??”

“Yeah, well you sure acted like one last night so if the fuckin shoe fits…”

“Look,” Chris interrupted, “...no one knows me today.”

“Aw man, what the fuck now?” Thomas' tone and body language visibly displayed  impatience with Chris.

“...I ain’t got no time to save you from no more nervous breakdowns, C; I ain’t the fucking crisis hotline, boy! What tha' fuck you mean no one KNOWS you? Is that some kinda bullshit words that your doc put in ya' head?”

“No!” Chris shot back. “...Hear me out, Thomas...I mean NO ONE except for you and Marie, the bartender down the street, knew me today…it’s like I never fucking existed.  I'm  very serious,” Chris excitedly rambled. 

“...Boy, you need to stop takin’ what ever you’re on and straighten ya’ ass out; I ain’t got time for this shit, Chris.  You a Goddamn mess, son,” Thomas scolded as he rose to go inside.

“...Listen to me!"  Chris grabbed Thomas' shoulder.    "...You and Marie were the last two who saw me before I almost died. YOU were the LAST person to see me!” Chris desperately explained. “...I wanna know EXACTLY what happened last night, ANYTHING,  Thomas!” He pleaded.

“What??? Other than a skinny, pathetic, crying white boy lying in a rain soaked street in the hood wearin’ a $1500 watch with about $400 cash hangin out tha' pocket? I’d say that was pretty fuckin’ out of the ordinary,” Thomas shot back.

“Thomas, I’m fucking serious!

"Oh, and you think I'm jokin', Christopher?  I'm fuckin' serious, too, my man; you lucky it was ME who walked up on your half-dead ass instead of one of my boys.  If you gonna get full and pass out in this block you better learn to keep ya' shit tight, boy."

I appreciate what you did, Thomas, I DO, but I’m telling you, EVERYONE, every fucking one that I’ve seen almost every day for the past three years didn’t know me today,” Chris helplessly continued.

“...It was like we’d never met, as if I didn’t fucking exist. For God’s sake, I had to interview for a job that I've had for 2-years today, Thomas…is that fucking weird enough for ya?? Something is not right.”

“...Hah! You can say that again, boy,” Thomas laughingly agreed.

“This isn’t a practical joke, none of these people know one another; it’s more than a coincidence, Thomas, and I wanna know exactly WHAT happened last night. I NEED to know if you saw ANYTHING weird,” Chris pleaded. "...I'm fucking scared. Thomas," Chris confessed,  tears in his eyes. 

   In the back of Thomas’ mind, he’d been thinking about last night, all day, in fact. He was afraid to say anything, fearing that he’d sound crazier than Chris.

“...Thomas? Anything? Please?” Chris begged.

Walking past Chris to the sidewalk Thomas shot a piercing glare back to Chris;

“...Come on, boy, let’s go,” Thomas motioned, finally giving in.

  They soon arrived in front of the shop where Thomas pointed to the angel and hesitantly began his incredible explanation.

“...You see that shit?” He asked.

“Yeah, I put her there, it's a fucking Christmas decoration,” Chris dismissed. 

“Yeah, well she pulled some crazy ass shit I ain’t ever seen before; that bitch lit up last night and then there were tears comin‘ outta her Goddamn head.”

“What?” Chris laughed. "...Who's acting crazy NOW?"  Chris continued.

“...Look, asshole, this is hard enough for me to say out loud as it is; now, you wanna know what happened or not motherfucker?”

  Thomas spent the next few minutes explaining what he had witnessed.
Chris finally opened his mind to the possibility of something which totally defied any plane of logic he‘d ever known. This was, after all, a city filled with mysterious stories of the unexplained, he reasoned.

  No way, he thought. Chris was too oblivious last night to remember the blue aura but he DID remember something.  Something vague that he couldn't isolate, much less reconcile, in his cloudy mind.

“I prayed for a second chance, to wipe the slate clean and do things differently. I wished to have never known a couple of people who were a big part of my life, or anyone for that matter. Anyone that I’d screwed up with; I begged for a new beginning, a new life. Can shit like that really happen??” Chris wondered aloud.

“I don’t know what the hell it means, C, but one thing it means to me is that I’m not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere near that thing.  That shit's like somethin' outta one of them scary movies, where the BLACK dude is the first one to get murdered," Thomas affirmed.“...Somebody put a Goddamn voodoo curse on ya’ ass or something’…Who’d you piss off, Chris?”

“We gotta tell Marie this,” Chris demanded. “Go with me to the pub,” he anxiously begged.

“WHAT? I don’t know if you KNOW this, but I run with a street gang. I don’t think your friends in the Irish Pub, wearin’ their gay ass soccer shirts, gonna want my black ass anywhere near there,  boy!”

“Well, for one thing, none of my friends remember me, so I don’t have any friends except for Marie. Secondly, you gonna keep on sellin’ yourself short and tellin’ yourself that you’re this or that or not good enough to go here or there for the rest of your life?” Chris lectured.

“What the fuck? Oh, you my dad, now, motherfucker?” Thomas indignantly demanded.

“Yeah, I guess someone needs to step in,” Chris shot back. “I’m too damned tired to fight with you, boy,” Chris continued.

“Who the fuck you callin’ boy??” Thomas retorted.

“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up. You call me boy cause’ I’ve been acting like one and I’m callin’ you boy now because…well, if the shoe fits,” Chris stopped short. He glared at Thomas, wondering if Thomas just might shoot him for mouthing off like he did. But, Chris didn't back down.

“...Now, shut up and bring you and that chip on your shoulder down the fucking street to see Marie,  BOY,” Chris ordered, matter of factly.

After an awkward moment of silence, a genuine, beaming smile streaked across Thomas’ smooth face, accompanied by a hearty laugh.

“You ARE a crazy bitch, pills or no pills” Thomas laughed. “...Look here...I’m gonna go witcha to make sure you stay alive another night; and this don’t mean we gonna start gettin’ together for cards or chess or any bullshit like that,” Thomas assured as they walked down the street.

“Good, cause’ I don’t know how to play either one,” Chris dismissed.

  Thomas had never been called out, especially on his own turf, much less by someone like Chris. Good thing none of the gang witnessed what had just happened, Thomas thought.

  Either Chris is crazy or a good man on hard times…or a little bit of both, Thomas wondered.  He glanced over to Chris, still smiling at his new, unlikely, friend.

“...What the fuck am I doin’ here?”  Thomas whispered.

  Thomas and Chris entered the pub where they soon found Marie, sitting at a quiet corner table near the bar. She’d been cut early since it wasn’t busy so she decided to have a couple of beers while she worked the crossword puzzle.

“Hey!” Marie greeted with a bright smile, looking up to see Chris standing above her table.

“Hi; mind if we sit down?” Chris anxiously asked.

“Of course not,” she replied.

“This is my friend, Thomas.” Chris introduced.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him around the neighborhood,” Marie knowingly acknowledged.

She knew that he ran with a gang and wondered how in hell Chris hooked up with this guy.

“I transferred your tab to Sally”

“Thanks, Marie…Thomas, why don’t you grab a drink for yourself on my tab and I’ll take a Stoli on the rocks, please?” Chris politely asked.

  As Thomas walked to the bar, Chris began explaining to Marie what happened last night and what had transpired through the course of the day.

He told her about the angel and what, he suspected, was happening today. Marie blankly stared at Chris, suspecting that he may, in fact, have lost his mind. Chris’ concentration diverted as he overheard Thomas speaking to the bartender in the background.

“...Um, yeah, baby, gimme a Stoli on them rocks, shot of Crown, a Long Island Tea and a Highlife; it’s on that guy over there,” Thomas ordered, pointing to Chris. “Hook it up, girl,” Thomas beamed with a wide smile.

“HEY!!” Chris barked, “I said ONE DRINK.” Chris returned to his conversation with Marie.

“...Wait a minute, let me get this straight, Chris, you’re telling me that you tried to kill yourself, which, on its own merit, pisses me off. THEN, a freakin’ street gang member, a CRIMINAL, shows up and, not only doesn't rob you but saves your life, while a magical angel lights up and cries.  Oh, and NOW, all of a sudden, no one knows who you are except for me and Snoop Dog over there AND now you think that you’ve been given a second chance at decisions in your life??? Is that what you’re telling me?” Marie asked through sarcastic laughter.

“Yep, pretty fucked up, huh?” Chris responded.

“Chris, fucked up is not the word I’d use, darlin.‘  More like fucking insane!”

  Thomas solemnly interjected as he returned to the table with an arm full of drinks...

“Believe it or not, girl, my boy's tellin’ the truth…I know what I saw; even though the shit don't make no sense to me, I still know what I saw.” 

“Hey, I wasn’t talkin’ to you gangland,” Marie snapped. “What the hell did you slip Chris last night anyway? LSD?” Marie demanded.

“Hey girl, what exactly the fuck are you accusing me of??” Thomas shot back.

“Hey!” Chris interrupted. “Will you two shut up for a fucking second? It’s true, Marie; I can’t come up with any other explanation.” Chris’ eyes begged, hoping that Marie would at least keep her mind open to the idea.

He had no other way to explain the past 24 hours; he desperately tried to make sense of it all while maintaining some sense of sanity.

  Surveying the pub, Chris tried to find a way to ultimately prove that he wasn‘t crazy. He scanned the faces in the room, finally, locking eyes on the bartender. Sally had been a bartender and a good friend to Chris for two years. SHE would be the ultimate test to prove his theory.

“Get Sally over here,” Chris demanded.

“Why? Marie asked.

“You’ll see,” he coyly assured.

  As Sally emerged from behind the bar, Chris’ head swirled with nervous apprehension; Dear God, he thought, if Sally actually knows him he'd be dead in the water.  He'd most certainly appear to be clinically insane in front of Marie. On the other hand, if she did know him, it would put his mind at ease, knowing that he was, in fact, not the invisible man...just insane.
  It would be a relief.

“Sally,” Marie began, “this is Thomas.”

“Pleased to meet yous’ Thomas,” Sally greeted with her thick Irish accent.

“And,” Marie continued, “...I believe you know Chris.”

“No…I don’t believe so; I’m Sally, nice to meet yous‘ too, Chris.”

Marie stared blankly at Sally as if she were in the middle of a practical joke.

“Seriously, Sally? You’ve never met this guy?” Marie asked with a nervous laugh.

“No, not that I recall,” Sally affirmed.

Marie shook her head slowly in disbelief; an incredulous, half-cocked smile crossed her face as Sally made her way back to the bar.

  Searching for a secondary test, Marie scanned the room for people who, undoubtedly, KNEW Chris.

“I’ll be back,” she snapped at Chris, “...you sit here. And YOU,” she glared at Thomas, “try not to get us involved in a drive by shooting or rob any of my customers.”

“...Very funny; I won’t judge you, either, princess,” Thomas sarcastically snapped back.

  With Marie on a determined mission to disprove Chris’ outlandish theory, the guys passed  time with small talk.

“See, I told you I ain’t welcome in good places,” Thomas sulked. "...ya' bartender friend  is pretty tight,  though. She single?" Thomas laughed.  

“Shut up," Chris snapped.  "...and stop runnin’ with your gang friends,” Chris quipped. 

“What the fuck do they got to do with anything?” Thomas dismissed.

“Oh, I don’t know, Thomas; people tend to have an aversion to hangin’ out around people who collectively carry enough guns to arm a military sniper unit.  But, folks are funny that way,” Chris demurred.

“Yeah? People don’t know shit, they judge.  They been judgin' me all my life, C,” Thomas dismissed.

Chris stared at Thomas before offering a stark example.

“...Uh, do you, in fact, hang out in a gang?”

“Yeah,” Thomas answered. 

“Are you carrying weapons right now?”

“You know the answer to that question, asshole,” Thomas snapped back. 

“Do you plan to STEAL anything this week?” Chris continued his Q & A session.

“Aw, man, we don’t plan that shit, we don’t use flow charts or consult the Wall Street Journal and shit before we take care of business; it’s a quick decisions,  dawg,” Thomas bragged.

“.. Yeah?” Chris interrupted. “A dumbass decision.”

“What the fuck you know bout’ bad decisions?” Thomas indignantly asked.

“Plenty,” Chris quickly responded. “It’s how you and I met, if you recall.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t rob YOU,  if you recall, so I made a solid decision on your behalf.  You can thank me whenever ya' get a chance.” Thomas laughed.

“Gee, thanks, I’ll put you on my Christmas list this year,” Chris sarcastically quipped.

  As Chris and Thomas exchanged mild jabs, they fixated on Marie, who anxiously moved from person to person; pausing occasionally with an increasingly frustrated glare toward Chris and Thomas.

“...What the fuck you think she’s doin?” Thomas whispered from the side of his mouth to Chris.

  Finally, Marie fell, hopelessly, back into her chair across from Thomas with a long sigh of defeat.

“...Not one single person, not one single fucking person, Chris,” she announced with an air of disbelief.

She stared out of the corner of her eyes toward the ceiling fan.

“None of them knew you. How the hell is that, Chris???”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Marie. Welcome to my fucked up day.” Chris grimly studied the napkin in front of him, as if to be searching for answers.

“And now we’re a part of this boy’s fucked up day,” Thomas solemnly added; “Lucky fucking us, huh?”

“Jesus Christ, Chris!  How is it that only Thomas and I know you?”

“The only thing I can think of is that you were the last two people who saw me last night…I don’t know, Marie, I didn’t ask for this,” Chris panicked.

“Oh, yes you did,” Thomas firmly interjected. “Boy, you told me you asked for a clean slate, bro...remember that shit?  You wanted to do things differently. You said you even told some old lady,  Joyce,  downtown.  She's a friend of yours from the Quarters.

“I don’t know what to say,” Marie exhaled deeply. “...This is really fucked up. Look, I want you to stay in touch with me,” she demanded. “At least until we can find a logical explanation for this.” Marie stared helplessly at Chris, her eyes focused, sympathetically.

  Chris rose from his seat and leaned down to kiss Marie on the cheek.

“Thank you for being my friend.”Looking now at Thomas, he continued, “thanks to both of you, sincerely.” 

“Aw, fuck…Please tell me we’re not gonna have a group hug and sing a country song or somethin',” Thomas groaned. “...I know yall’ folks are all touchy and feely and sentimental and shit,” he continued.

“Who you callin’ Y’all Folks?” Chris shot back.

A bright and wide smile crossed Thomas' face.  “I think the fuckin’ TV people are here for ya’ C, like in that Carol Ann movie…don’t walk into the light,” Thomas laughed.

“This isn’t funny shithead,” Chris snapped.“...Let’s go.”

“Hey, buy me another drink, my man...I'll take it to go...I got places to be,"  Thomas eagerly begged as Chris paid the tab.

“Yeah Thomas, get a go drink.” Chris was clearly annoyed.

“I’ll have a Long Island Tea." Chris interrupted Thomas. “...Uh, he’ll have a Miller Highlife…to go.”

“Cheap ass,” Thomas mumbled.

  The boys headed for the door as Marie fixed her eyes on Chris. Deeply in thought, her mind raced with utter disbelief and concern.

  Chris and Thomas found themselves back in front of Thomas’ house where they stopped to chat for a moment.

“...So what you thinkin’ bout', boy?” Thomas broke the silence, taking a final gulp of his beer.

“Oh, I don’t know, Thomas; it's been a pretty uneventful day.  What the fuck do you think I’m thinkin’ about??”

“Look, man,” Thomas calmly began, “...I don’t know what to tell ya’ C, but it looks like to me that you got whatever chance you been lookin’ for. I don’t know, maybe you should be happy bout’ it.”

“Would you be happy about it?” Chris prodded.

“Nope, but I didn’t ask for it…YOU did,” Thomas firmly answered.

  Thomas continued, “...For some reason that prayin’ and shit was answered. Now, you dragged me and that little, skinny, mean white girl back there along with your crazy ass and we‘re all screwed cause‘ now we gotta look out for you til'  we can figure this shit out. What if this shit you got rubs off on me and princess back there??”

  Looking up to the sky with a half smile, Thomas sarcastically feigned prayer. “...Thanks, a lot, God!”

“Shut up and stop worrying about your ass for a minute, Thomas! I don’t think it works that way.”

“Oh, you an expert on the supernatural now or somthin,’ Chris?”

“No!!” But I have common sense,” Chris retorted.

“Is that the same pile of common sense that I saw passed out in front of that shop last night?” Thomas demurred.

Chris shot an evil glare to Thomas.

“Listen up, either someone up there LOVES your ass or they havin’ fun watchin’ this shit. Either way, it is what it is, or as my uncle says, it be what it be.”

  Thomas paused, looking intently at Chris for a moment. “Do somethin’ wit’, it C. Or…do nothin’ with it. Either way, I’m takin’ my tired ass inside.”

  Chris headed to the sidewalk, his head hung low.  Thomas broke the night silence by yelling to the street.  "Hey, boy!" 

Chris slowly turned and stopped, looking toward the porch to Thomas.

“...How you gonna do things this time, dog?”

  Chris looked blankly to the curb for a few seconds before returning his eyes to Thomas with a solemn answer. 

“Differently.”

copyright Pontchartrain Press 2008