13

Sid dried his eyes and sat up as the sun went down. He wasn’t sure what day it was, but he knew that there was still enough time left in the day to do something right. He left his house and headed directly to Matty’s, he was going to tell J off once and for all. He rehearsed the outline of his speech on the walk over. “Loyal friend, here when you need me, feel ignored, feel like you’re missing the point of it all. Maybe I’m missing the point. Maybe you don’t care about anybody but yourself. Maybe you just did the whole fighting injustice thing for attention, like some little teenage boy trying to impress his parents. I bet that’s it.” Sid’s speech was growing stronger, he even said a few of the words out loud. It was unfortunate that “teenage boy” was one of them, but at least no one heard. As his speech gained form and momentum, so did his walk. Halfway to Matty’s, Sid was ready to rip into J in ways J couldn’t even imagine. Ripping into someone was not something Sid often imagined, so he had no way of knowing that J could imagine an awful lot of ripping. Sid had no way of knowing that J didn’t even need to imagine it anymore, Matty had become quite adept at the ripping. What Sid didn’t know, didn’t affect his momentum, but gravity did. Sid didn’t cross into a strong gravitational pull or anything, nor did the earth get any closer to the sun during his walk, but the further Sid got from home and the closer he came to Matty’s the more his angry speech started to sound over the top. “In all fairness, what young man hasn’t lost it over some girl?” Sid asked. “Even I had that rather brief crush on Celine Dion in which I was so absorbed that I didn’t have time for friends.”

Sid’s momentum was waning like the moon with each step. With very little anger left, he arrived at Matty’s door. Matty’s door, that beige door, set against the white house that contained six apartments, three stories of two each. Matty rented out of one of the top floor units. Her bedroom window faced the front of the little house. The front door required a buzz-in from the inside. The buzzer always worked, but the buzz-in mechanism rarely did. Which meant, at least during prime travel hours for the occupants the door was often ajar. Sid found the door propped open with a box of cheap detergent. Someone was probably coming around from the back loaded up with groceries. Sid slid through the doorway and walked up the steps. Every step made him increasingly nervous. He no longer knew what he was going to say. He no longer knew how he wanted J to react. At first he had hoped just to piss him off, then he thought an all expense paid guilt trip might be in order, but by the time he reached the third floor he didn’t have a clue. As if in slow motion, Sid went to knock. The gravity of doubt had almost completely paralyzed him. As his fist neared the door, it opened. There before him was a mass of man. It wasn’t J, because the man had neck muscles where J’s eyes should have been. Sid adjusted his eye level and recognized the cheater. Sid’s eyes widened for a moment and then immediately shrank when a full facial scowl took over.
“What are you doing here?” Sid squeaked angrily. He looked like a feisty gerbil ready to box as he bounced back and forth on his feet.

“Who the hell are you?” the man boomed.

Sid stopped bouncing, tucked his hands in his pockets and slowly started to shrink away.

“I asked you a question,” the man said with a little less boom in his voice.

“Sid” he squeaked almost inaudibly.

“Sid,” the man said considering the name like it was a Rubik’s cube.

Sid stood silently, no longer shrinking, but certainly not getting any larger.

“J’s acquaintance?” the man asked as he lined up the colors on one side.

Sid nodded meekly.

“Tell the bastard he’s done,” the man said, “I don’t want to see him and Matty doesn’t want to see him. Free-loading piece of...” He trailed off and glared at Sid.

Then he stepped back inside and closed the door.

Sid stood stunned by this turn of events. He briefly debated the advantages of forgetting to tell J this message, but his loyalty won out. Turning to walk home, he wondered where J was and when he’d have a chance to tell him the news.

J was stuck in a cheesy school boy’s poem. He walked along the empty streets of Cinci. His heart ached, but he was no longer sure whether it was for Matty or for freedom. He didn’t know the point and didn’t know if he cared. He was ashamed that he’d become such a manic-depressive. The old J would’ve latched on to something and cared until he starved, or similar act of dedication. Here, however, he had the distinct impression that he should just give up. Staring out across the grimy industrial park, his internal pep talk turned on. He had to fight. He was a fighter. He always fought. Fighters win. J stood for something. He had to prove it. As he looked over the smokestacks into the night sky, he saw the twinkling of a plane heading to the airport. People were coming to Cincinnati. He owed it to those people to make things right with Sid and with Matty. The logical half of J’s brain wasn’t quite sure how the people on that plane were affected by any reconciliation efforts, but sometimes when the brain gives pep talks, it’s best just to go with it. So J went. Briskly of course.

Arriving at Sid’s, J wasn’t surprised to find Sid, but he was pleased that Sid had moved from his outpost on the floor.
***

Sherri’s leg was draped over Ben’s waist. She’d become the only accessory he needed lately. They lounged together on a Sherri’s futon watching the credits to “Cool Hand Luke,” Paul Newman’s greatest work. Ben caressed Sherri’s calf, his thoughts alternating between sex and the egg scene. Aw, he loved the egg scene. It was all about will power and guts and proving his worth. If ever a leg had been stroked by a heterosexual male pining for a much younger Paul Newman, that leg was Sherri’s. Sensing that a salad dressing giant had edged her out of Ben’s thoughts, she pulled her leg away and poked him in the side.

“Ow.” Ben said with a whine that Paul would not have approved of. He rubbed his side and stared at her.

“You were thinking about the egg scene again weren’t you?” Sherri asked, trying not to let injury creep into her voice.

“It’s a great scene,” Ben expounded. “He’s like Jesus and all of those other prisoners are doubting disciples and then, the eggs, and the faces he makes. It’s unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sherri said with disgust as she pulled her leg up and curled it against her chest.

Ben eyed her suspiciously sensing that he was in dangerous territory.

Sherri waited. Ben knew she was waiting for him to say something, but he thought perhaps he could out-wait her. Poor Ben, as good-looking as he was, he obviously had no idea how to handle women. It wasn’t Ben’s fault though, for he was a man, which put him at a distinct disadvantage when it came to women.

Ben finally offered rather weakly, “Unbelievable in a good way?” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. It was all very puppy dog-like and all entirely too late. It’s possible it would’ve worked had he pulled it out immediately, but having tried first to out-wait Sherri he had already passed his chance to be cute and innocent and was required to be either insightful or right with his next statement. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. Ben could tell immediately he wasn’t, because Sherri’s curled up posture became more fetal as she shifted away from him. He was screwed if he didn’t come up with something, so in desperation he did what so many men have done in the same situation, he spoke his mind.

“It’s just that Luke has something to prove and he proves it. We used to have something to prove. I miss getting out there and proving it.” Ben said.

The problem with honesty is that people only want it when it’s what they want to hear, which would’ve worked wonderfully if Ben had said something like “I love the movie but not as much as I love you,” or perhaps, “Paul Newman is amazing, but not as amazing as you.” There was a clear path there and Ben veered wildly off it.

As Sherri and Ben headed into their first fight, (the previous discussion regarding holding off on the going at it notwithstanding. Sherri reasoned that anything so rational and nonself-serving surely could not be classified as a fight and therefore this was the first Sherri-Ben fight for those keeping score at home.) Matty and the man, the cheater, that guy Ned headed into a fight of their own. It seemed that Matty didn’t take so kindly to Marc (with a “c” J would scoff when she told him. “How can you of all people mock a letter?” she had retorted.) telling Sid to deliver threatening messages to anybody, let alone J. Matty may have been petite and Marc may have been on the husky side, but he was cowering when the yelling began and leaving with his tail between his legs when he realized it wasn’t going to end. What was said and whose feelings were hurt are not really issues that concerned anyone. At least Matty thought they wouldn’t be when she called Sid to apologize.

Sid’s phone rang, but Sid didn’t seem to hear it. J could tell because Sid sat motionless with his head between his legs. He may have moved from the floor, but he wasn’t exactly marching in a parade, though the position did show quite a bit of flexibility on Sid’s part. J did what any teenage girl in his position would have done, he answered the ringing phone.
“Sid’s House of Horrors. How may I haunt you?” he asked.

Sid didn’t budge an inch.

“Can I talk to Sid?” Matty asked.

“Matty?!” J replied three levels above shocked.

“J?” Matty answered three levels below disappointed. “I want to talk to Sid.”

“He’s nonresponsive at the moment.”

“Is he ok?” she asked worriedly, “Did Marc frighten him?”

“Who is Marc?” J asked suspiciously. “And why would he frighten Sid?”

At that Sid stood up and puffed out his chest. He may have been mocked and beaten through school, he may have been battered by adult life, but testosterone still pumped through him. A phone conversation regarding his fear or lack thereof was an affront to what little manhood he had, and after years of standing for things, Sid wasn’t going to stand for this. He grabbed the phone from a surprised J.

“Hello. This is Sid.”
“Sid,” Matty said soothingly, “I just wanted to apologize for Marc’s behavior.”
“Who’s Marc?” Sid asked utterly confused. “Who’s this?”
“Marc’s. Um. This is Matty. Marc was the big oaf that threatened you.” Matty explained.
“He didn’t threaten me. He threatened J,” Sid said matter-of-factly. J’s head jerked around at that and he stared at the phone like it had kept dirty secrets from him.
“Well, regardless, he shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” Matty told him. “I’m sorry.”
“It’salright,” Sid shrugged.
“Sid,” Matty asked, “since J is there, do you mind if I talked to him?”
Sid, who had never had the strength to say no to a woman in all his life was certainly not about to start now. Rather than answer, he just handed the phone to J and walked out of the kitchen.
J stared at the phone for a moment until muffled sounds came from the earpiece.

“Hello?” he heard.
“Hello.” J said conjuring the suave sort of confidence that had garnered Matty’s affection in the first place.
Every woman’s knees in a three mile radius buckled slightly, none more than Matty’s. A consummate professional, Matty recovered quickly and said without a hint of the lust that had just coursed through her knees and other points sub-waist, “J. I want apologize for earlier.” Professional or not, she was struggling for words. This wasn’t the courtroom where other people’s lives hung in the balance, this was a phone call to her boyfriends friends’ house and her life hung in the balance. The difference was subtle and distinct. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.” The struggle continued. “I’m sorry.” When the words had left her mouth she initially thought that they might suffice, but she quickly began to doubt it. The silence on the other end of the phone only served to fuel her concern. “I shouldn’t have called Marc. I. want.” The struggle had become almost unbearable.

“Me?” J offered.

“yes.” Matty said shyly.

“Ok. I think we can work on some things. Let’s start with the system.” J said.

Matty nearly gagged. She hated when he called her private parts the system. She understood that he had strong desires to, well, screw the system, but somehow it never quite worked for her the way say flowers, champagne or a card might. Sensing that now was perhaps not the time to approach the point, she acquiesced.

Hanging up the phone J went to find Sid. “Sid, my man, things are looking up again.”
Sid could not have agreed less. “Again?” he asked with just a hint of the pain he felt.

“Don’t sound so happy. I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll get to work on our attack on the Parks & Rec department.”

“We don’t like Parks & Rec?” Sid asked.
“No. No. My fault, I meant the dog tracks. My mind must be somewhere else.”

“Confounded by the system, no doubt,” Sid mumbled.

“What was that?” J asked.

“Nothing. See you tomorrow.”

And off J went to ride the ferris wheel of love. While Sid stayed home to ride the couch.

14