Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club

  So there I was on Highway 478. Driving down the road, smoking a cigarette. And then I saw him. Brian Stillman. At first I wasn’t sure if it was him, but as I drove closer I knew it was him. It was. He was all beat-up to shit. I mean, the guy’s face was all bloody and he was just stumbling around, like he’d gone ten rounds. Goddamn, I thought. He’d taken off his T-shirt and was using it as a giant handkerchief for his bloody nose. I stopped the car by the side of the road and yelled his name. “Brian!” He looked at me. He was numb. He just stood there staring at me. Then he just waved me away.

  “Brian?”

  He waved me away again.

  “Get in the car,” I said.

  He shook his head.

  I got out of the car and grabbed him by the arm. “You’re hurt,” I said. “Get in the car.”

  “Don’t call anyone,” he said.

  “I won’t. You need help.”

  “Fuck you, Neto.”

  “Don’t give me that fuck you shit. That’s not gonna work on me. Just get in the car.”

  He was too tired and too beat-up and too sad to fight me. He got in the car and stared out the window. I handed him a beer. “Here.”

  He took it. He chugged down the whole thing. And then he just started crying. I didn’t say anything.

  “Just don’t tell anyone,” he said. And then he was crying again.

  “Who am I gonna tell?”

  After a while, he stopped sobbing but the quiet tears kept running down his face.

  “You need to get cleaned up,” I said. “Maybe you need to see a doctor.”

  “No way,” he said. “No fucking doctors.”

  I thought he was going to hit me. “Okay, okay,” I said. I handed him a cigarette. He was trembling as he smoked. I kept watching him out of the corner of my eye.

  I drove toward my house, neither one of us saying anything.

  When we got to my neighborhood, Brian looked at me. “Where are we going?”

  “My house,” I said.

  “I don’t want—”

  “My parents are out of town,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  When we got to my house, I had to help him get out of the car. I thought he really needed to see a doctor. But I knew Brian wasn’t going to go for that.

  I helped him to the couch and handed him another beer. He drank this one slowly. He wasn’t shaking as much. I gave him a cigarette and then went looking for a wet towel. His lip was cut but it had stopped bleeding. I could tell someone had taken a fist to his handsome face.

  I handed him a wet washcloth. “Here,” I said. He tried his best to clean himself up. I knew he was hurting. I’d been in a couple of fights. Not a smart thing for a guy to do when he wasn’t a fighter.

  “Who did this to you, Brian?”

  He looked at me. I guess he’d decided he could trust me. “My father,” he whispered.

  Great, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept staring at his beat-up face. “He’s a fuck,” I said.

  He almost smiled when I said that.

  “Why?” I said. “Why did he do that to you? He’s a fuck.”

  He shook his head. I knew he wasn’t going to tell me.

  And then I said, “Hell, it doesn’t matter why. You don’t deserve that.”

  “He hates me.” He started crying again. I hated to see him like that, like a dog that’s been kicked around. God, I hated that. I almost wanted to cry too.

  “My dad hates me too,” I said. “Maybe our dads went to the same father school.”

  He smiled. I was glad he could still smile.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a doctor?”

  “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  “You sure?”

  He shrugged.

  “You’re gonna have a helluva shiner. Shit, Brian, two shiners.”

  He shrugged again.

  “You don’t deserve this, Brian.” I wanted to shove that phrase into his heart. But I knew he’d always believe that he did deserve what he got. I somehow understood that.

  “Maybe I do,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  I helped him get to the shower. I could hear him groan as he washed himself. I lent him some clothes. He was bigger than me but my T-shirts fit him and I found a pair of my father’s jeans that fit him.

  He looked so sad and small sitting there, even though he wasn’t small at all. I gave him some aspirin and some ice to put on his shiner. We drank a beer together. “Why are you doing this?” he asked me.

  “Doing what?”

  “Helping me.”

  “Because I’m not your father and I don’t hate you.”

  “You should hate me,” he said. “I was always an asshole around you.”

  “It didn’t kill me.”

  “If you really knew me, I think you’d hate me.”

  “Maybe I do know you,” I said.

  He looked at me. “Nobody knows me.”

  I wanted to say Jorge knows you. But I didn’t. I thought I should just let it go.

  He fell asleep on the couch.

  I watched him sleep.

  I knew what I thought as I watched him sleep even though I didn’t really want to tell myself what I thought. I thought he was beautiful. I didn’t let myself tell myself. But I did think he was beautiful.

  He slept all afternoon, and then at night I let him sleep on my bed. I slept on the couch and read a book. I couldn’t sleep.

  In the morning, I made breakfast. We didn’t talk much.

  He offered to wash the dishes. I let him. He wanted to do something for me. Yeah, I let him wash the dishes.

  He wasn’t crying anymore. And he wasn’t trembling. But his face, God, it was swollen. We hung out that day. It was Sunday, my only day off and I had no plans. And Brian had nowhere to go.

  “Your mom won’t worry about you?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “She died when I was eight.”

  “I didn’t know,” I said.

  “She loved me,” he said.

  I nodded. We hung out. I kept making him put ice on his face. But since it was Sunday, we couldn’t get any beer. We broke into my father’s liquor cabinet. I pulled out a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels.

  “Won’t your father kill you for that?”

  I smiled. I marked the bottle with a magic marker. “Tomorrow, I’ll get one of the guys on the construction site to buy me a bottle. And I’ll replace it. Easy.”

  “You smile a lot,” he said.

  “Do I?”

  He was going to say something else—but he didn’t. We drank Jack and coke and smoked cigarettes. Brian kept feeling his face and wincing. He looked sad and I tried to talk about stuff that didn’t matter very much. Songs we liked. Our favorite movies.

  After a few Jack and cokes, we were feeling pretty good.

  Brian looked at me and said, “I kinda envy you.”

  “First time I’ve ever heard that one,” I said.

  “You have a lot of friends, Neto.”

  “No, I don’t. Not a lot.”

  “Everyone likes you.”

  That made me laugh. “That’s because no one knows me.”

  He smiled. I was glad his father hadn’t broken any of his teeth. “We’re the same,” he said.

  And then we both just laughed.

  We talked about other stuff, but we didn’t talk about girls. I think most guys would have wound up talking about girls. But we didn’t. And I knew there was a reason for that. I didn’t want to think about the reason.

  We decided to go to a drive-in movie that night. But then, on the way to the drive-in, I looked over at Brian and said, “Hey, let’s go to Juárez.”

  He smiled.

  I smiled back. “It’ll be fun.”

  “You mean we’ll get smashed.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I started laughing. I was thinking that maybe going to Juárez for a night on the town would make us both f
eel alive. “I have money in my wallet,” I said. And just like that we were down the freeway headed for the border that was forty miles away. We didn’t talk much as we drove. We smoked cigarette after cigarette and listened to the radio and both of us sang along and I noticed he had a nice voice, could carry a tune, and for a few moments nothing was wrong—nothing at all. When we got to the bridge, I parked the car at one of the parking lots and paid the attendant a couple of dollars. We paid two cents apiece to cross the Santa Fe Bridge and as we walked across, I felt my heart racing. I always felt that way when I went to Juárez. It was something that I wasn’t allowed to do. And yet, all through high school, I’d always managed to make my way there with my friends. But tonight felt different. There was thunder in the summer sky and lightning in the distance and I knew the rain was coming and I wanted to reach over and touch Brian and say something to him. Something that mattered. But what could a guy like me say to a guy like Brian that would matter?

  “Jorge and I used to come to the bars here sometimes.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “Yeah. We got drunk one time and then ate some tacos from a street vendor. Best tacos I ever had.”

  When we stepped out on Avenida Juárez, I looked at Brian and laughed. “So—lots of bars. Take your pick.”

  He didn’t skip a beat. “The Kentucky Club,” he said.

  I was going to suggest a place called The Cave. A real dive. I liked it. But hell, I didn’t care. “Sounds good,” I said.

  “It was my mother’s favorite place,” Brian whispered.

  “Really?”

  “Not that I really know. It’s just that this one time, my father was drunk and he said, ‘If your mother was still alive, I’d take her to the Kentucky Club. She loved that place. I’d walk over to the jukebox and play all the Frank Sinatra tunes they had. Your mother knew all the words.’ That’s the only time he ever said anything about my mother after she died.”

  I thought he was going to cry. “I’m sorry about your mother,” I said.

  “I’m tired of being sorry,” he said. “I’m so fucking tired.”

  The Kentucky Club wasn’t far. When we walked in, the place was half-full but there were two seats at the bar so we claimed them. We sat next to a couple of drunk gringos who were talking about the night Elizabeth Taylor sashayed in after getting a quickie divorce from Eddie Fisher. “She bought everybody in the joint a drink.” They talked about that night as if they’d both been there. It’s funny how people lie to themselves. But, hell, what was the harm? Brian gave me a nudge with his knee and we smiled and ordered cuba libres. I liked the taste of the rum and the coke and liked the feel of sitting at a bar with Brian.

  “So this is what it’s like,” I said.

  “What?” Brian said.

  “To feel like a man.”

  Brian laughed. “I think it takes a little more than that.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know. I’m just being an asshole.”

  “You’re not,” he said. “You’re not an asshole.”

  I nodded. We had another drink. Then another. Then another.

  Then Brian looked at me and said, “I could sit here forever.”

  And I thought, Me too. So long as you were sitting right next to me.

  I don’t know how many drinks we had, but somewhere along the line we decided to call it a night and found ourselves walking across the bridge and saying American when the border guard asked us to declare our citizenship. One of the border guys asked Brian if he’d gotten into a fight. Brian just nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “No big deal.” We made our way to the parking lot that was mostly empty.

  When we were back on the freeway, Brian said, “Thanks, Neto.”

  “For what?” I said.

  “For everything.”

  Everything. I wondered what everything meant. Maybe everything meant not much and a few drinks at the Kentucky Club.

  I don’t know how I managed to drive home that night. But I did. I remember I kept wanting to reach over and touch Brian—just touch him—but I didn’t.

  I went back to work the next day hungover as hell. Brian just hung out at my house. After work, I grabbed a shower and then we went out for a burger. When we paid, Brian took out his wallet. I noticed that all he had was a ten dollar bill. “I’ll pay,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “You’ve done enough.”

  I smiled. “All I did was offer you a place to stay for a few days. Big deal. It’s not even my house.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not your house?”

  “I mean it’s my father’s house. I’m only a visitor. And if you want to know the fucking truth, I don’t feel that welcome.”

  He nodded. “I know the feeling.”

  “So what’s your plan?” I said. God, his face was still all beat-up. But at least there wasn’t any more swelling.

  “I guess I’d better come up with something.”

  I nodded. “Why don’t you drop me off at work. You can take the car. Drive around. Think about things.”

  “You have another job?”

  “Yeah, two jobs. I’m saving to go to school.”

  “I guess I better get me a job too.”

  “Ever had a job, Brian?”

  “I’ve worked my ass off on the farm my whole life. Guess that doesn’t count. I mean, it’s not as if I got paid.”

  “It counts,” I said.

  I wished to God he’d stop looking so sad.

  He dropped me off at work. I was thinking he was going to try to see Jorge. That was just a hunch. When I got off work, Brian was there to pick me up. I don’t know why exactly, but I drove toward the river. I parked and we got out and smoked and put our feet in the river and sat on the bank.

  “I have to leave,” Brian said.

  “I guess so,” I said. “Where?”

  “Well, since I don’t have a dime, I guess I’m gonna find some work, save a few bucks—then take off to Denver.”

  “Denver?”

  “I always wanted to go there. Maybe I just want to live where it snows.”

  “What are you gonna do in the snow?”

  “Freeze my ass off. What else?”

  That made me smile. “Sounds like a plan. But where are you gonna stay? I mean, without money? You could stay with me—except there’s this guy I call Dad.”

  He laughed. I’m glad he laughed. I felt bad. I hated throwing him out. But my dad, well, he wouldn’t go for Brian staying with us.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe you could stay with Jorge and his parents.”

  He shook his head. “I think my dad half expects me to show up there. So he can throw me off his land.” He took a drag off his cigarette. “I don’t want to cause Jorge’s parents any trouble. They’re nice people. They’re good to me.”

  “Well, you have a few days to figure something out. My parents aren’t coming home until Friday.”

  He nodded. He was looking at the water in the river. “I saw him,” he whispered.

  “Who?” I said. But I knew who he was talking about.

  “Jorge.”

  “So you guys good friends?” I hoped he couldn’t hear anything in my voice.

  “Yeah. Good friends. He’s going with his parents back to Mexico.”

  “Why? I thought they were citizens by now.”

  “They are.”

  “So why are they going back?”

  “His mother doesn’t want to die here.”

  “She’s that sick?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s sad,” I said.

  “Yeah, real sad.”

  “Will he ever come back?”

  “Some day, I guess.”

  So Brian went from sad to sadder. Shit. And I couldn’t do anything about it. I don’t know what made him do it, but he leaned into me. I put my arm around him. I could have stayed that way forever. I wanted to whisper his name but I didn’t. He started crying, so I let him sob into my shoulder. There were so many things in h
is life for him to cry about. So let him cry, I thought. Let him fucking cry.

  I don’t remember talking on the way home. Brian was still crying. I think he’d held in his tears his whole life. I thought he felt safe around me. Maybe that’s why he could cry. I think it had been a long time since he felt safe. When we got back to my house, I reached over and touched his shoulder. “It will all work out,” I said.

  I got to thinking that night. And then it came to me. And I knew what I had to do.

  When I got back from work the next day, Brian was sitting on the front porch reading a book. It was starting to thunder. A summer storm was coming up and it smelled like rain.

  “I love the rain,” I said.

  “Me too,” he said.

  I sat next to him and handed him an envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it,” I said.

  For a long time he just stared at the money and the bus ticket to Denver. “I can’t take this,” he said.

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “You can pay me back.”

  “This is five hundred dollars, Neto.”

  “I know how much it is,” I said.

  “I can’t take it.”

  “You have to take it,” I said. “This is how you start to live again.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Yes, it is. You start a new life by letting someone help you.”

  “You worked so fucking hard for this. Neto—”

  “You think you can do this all by yourself?”

  He handed the envelope back to me.

  “I can join up,” he said.

  “Don’t do that, Brian. That’s fucked up. Don’t do that. You don’t want to do that.” I shoved the envelope back in his hand. “Take it,” I said. “Don’t be an asshole.”

  He started to argue with me again.

  “Shut up,” I said. “Just listen.” I lowered my voice. “Listen to the rain,” I whispered. “Sometimes the rain—”