Fright Night For Real

“Wow, dude, you look like shit.” Mark is his shiny self, and he looks like a person without a single care in the world. Sometimes, Charley feels that choosing Mark as a new company to hang out with was a mistake. He has the emotional intellect of a log, at least if you believe Amy’s judgment, and he can be extremely tactless. On the other hand, he doesn’t bother to lie, and that is something. “Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep.” “Oh, wow! Dude, Amy?” “God, no. I just had… weird dreams.” “Weird like…”, Mark wiggles his tongue and that does it. “You are sick, bro,” Charley finally gives up and laughs. “No, nothing like that. I think I…” Mark isn’t listening anymore. He doesn’t care, and that’s alright. Eddie would have cared, but Eddie is doing the whole homeschooling thing now. He replied to texts twice and didn’t sound like a person who’d like to chat, which was a relief. So Charley shuts up about the weird dreams he had. He comes home late, and this time it really is a basketball game. He gets his dinner alone, Mom is out with her friends, and though Charley is happy to know that she’s having a blast, he somehow feels lonely. It’s strange and unnerving because he has never felt really lonely before. He tries watching TV, he tries browsing the Internet. He even picks up a comic book and after two pages puts it down. Lights go on in Jerry’s house, and before Charley has any time to think over what the hell he’s doing, he sneaks into his neighbor’s backyard, neat and clean now. Thanks to Charley, of course. There he stands in front of the door that leads into the kitchen and tries to talk himself out of knocking when the door swings open. “Hello, Charley. Were you planning on knocking? Or is there anything written on the door?” Jerry is standing in the dark kitchen. He looks surprised, bemused almost, but he’s not angry. Charley lets out a tiny sigh of relief and smiles. “Sorry. I just thought… I’d see if you’re home.” “Oh… you decided to pay me a visit. That’s fun, it’s mostly me who does that… Come on in.” Jerry steps aside to let him in but the dark kitchen behind the man doesn’t seem very inviting. “How about a beer on the porch instead? I can fetch a couple from the fridge for us.” There are some emotions in Jerry’s eyes he can’t put his finger on. Disappointment? Irritation? “You suggest that I should drink a beer with a minor?” Jerry raises his thick black eyebrows as if in disbelief, Charley opens his mouth to say something, to say it was a joke, and then the smile appears on the older man’s lips. “No way, Charley, we’re drinking cider.” “Oh, God, I thought you were mad with me suggesting…” Jerry’s eye twitches. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. Do they teach you nothing at school? Go get yourself comfortable at the porch you cleaned.” “Yessir!” Five minutes later they’re both seated on the porch, a six-pack of apple cider between them, and Charley just has to ask. “Why cider?” “I love apples.” “Yeah, that’s hard to miss…” Charley chuckles. “I can’t remember you eating anything else.” “Apples are good for you. An apple a day keeps doctors away… and I hate doctors.” “Any kind or just dentists?” “Any kind. Childhood trauma.” “Jeez, Jerry, you are one sensitive cookie, aren’t you.” “More of an apple pie, obviously.” Charley laughs and takes a sip of his cider. He doesn’t feel lonely anymore. The cider is stronger than he thought. Charley notices that it’s more difficult to speak swiftly now. His speech is slurring a bit but only a bit. “How come you’ve never told me what you do?” “You never asked me, Charley.” “I’m asking now.” “I’m a writer.” “You’re joking!” Jerry pretends to be mortally offended. “Why can’t I be a writer?” “You look like a guy who’d work with cars… or like… I don’t know… some physical stuff.” “Like a stripper?” Charley almost chokes with laughter at that and coughs imagining Jerry in a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and dancing around the pole. “No, Charley, I hate to disappoint you. I’m just a boring writer. I write for magazines mostly. People don’t value good literature anymore and… will you stop laughing?” “Never.” “Very mature of you… Well, that’s what I get for sharing and being vulnerable.” That makes Charley giggle like a five-year-old. Jerry sniffs and says nothing. “Okay, alright, I’m done.” “So is the beginning of our beautiful friendship.” “Where is that one from?” “From the bottom of my heart but mostly from “Casablanca”. You should watch it, it’s a great movie.” “Okay, Jerry, what are you writing about now?” “It’s a very banal story. The couple goes on a date and there’s that moment when they’re about to share their first kiss. And that is where I got stuck.” “Why? Is it that difficult to write about a first kiss? Something like they knew it from the moment their lips touched that…” “That’s too corny. It can work, of course, but the idea is different.” “Well… then why don’t you write about your first kiss?” Jerry grows silent. He suddenly looks very serious and a little bit sad, and that is such an unusual expression to see on his face that Charley falls silent as well. “I don’t remember my first kiss. It was too long ago,” he finally replies and takes a long drag from his bottle of cider. For some reason, Charley feels that he has unwillingly touched a very sensitive topic for his neighbor, maybe too close to home, and he doesn’t like this feeling. Jerry has always been nice to him. “I’m sorry, Jerry, I didn’t want to upset you.” “You didn’t upset me, bud.” “If it makes you feel any better, my first kiss was a mess. It was sloppy, and we accidentally bumped our heads together.” Jerry smirks, and the expression of that terrible deep sadness leaves his features. “For the sake of Amy, I hope you got better.” “You bet I did!” “Oh, yes. I bet you did.”