Said Sayrafiezadeh - Brief Encounters with the Enemy

“That’s old news too,” I said.

That weekend I went to the going-away party that Joey Joey’s mom was throwing. The grill was on when I got there and so was the music. There were nieces and nephews crawling around in the backyard, and his mom had strung red-white-and-blue streamers all through the house and tree.

“Well, look who’s here,” his mom said. She was fatter than last time, and she was wearing a T-shirt that said, HOLD STEADY. She hugged me hard. Her arms went around my neck. She was doughy and it felt good. “Get yourself a plate, Nicky,” she said. “Get yourself a beer.”

Joey Joey was on the deck with everyone I hadn’t seen in a long time. Everyone had put on weight. The flag was out and it was waving in the breeze. The breeze felt nice. It was going to be a nice spring.

“If more people made an effort to keep the flag out,” someone said, “we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in today.” Everyone agreed.

“You look good, Nick,” someone said. I had come from work in my white shirt and was overdressed for the occasion.

“Nick’s a businessman now,” Joey Joey said. He winked.

“Can you get me a job down there, Nick?”

“What about me, Nick?”

“Sure,” I said to everyone. “Come down and fill out an application.” I’d hire them. They’d work three months maybe. They’d work a year. I’d fire them.

I ate a hot dog and I drank a beer. The beer made me tired. So did the sunshine.

“You look tired, Nicky,” Joey Joey’s mom said. I felt like sitting down but there was nowhere to sit except the ground.

“Nick’s always tired,” Joey Joey announced. He was reclining luxuriously in a blue chaise longue with the back put down to the last notch. He’d bought it at Walmart. Everything in the backyard he’d bought at Walmart, including the grill and including the flag. The rest he’d bought when he sold drugs.

“Nick runs the store,” Joey Joey continued. The way he was lying in the chaise, the center of attention, all comfort and ease, with one arm behind his head and his shoes off, speaking about me but not to me, made it seem like he was big man around town again.

I ate another hot dog.

“You got ketchup on your shirt, mister,” one of the little cousins said. In the middle of my white shirt, right near my heart, was a red stain about the size of a thumbprint. “You look like you got shot, mister,” she said.

Everyone thought this was funny.

“Bang bang!” she said. “Bang bang!” The words were infectious, and all the little cousins and nieces and nephews, everyone under the age of ten, ran around the yard, screaming, “Bang bang! Bang bang!”

I was ready to leave. I waited fifteen more minutes and then I kissed Joey Joey’s mom goodbye. “It was good seeing you, Nicky,” she said. “Don’t be a stranger.” Then confidentially, she said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for Joey Joey.”

“Aw,” I said, “I haven’t done anything much for him.” Which was kind of true.

Joey Joey said he’d walk me out. We passed through the kitchen, where his sister was making a bowl of pasta salad. “Are you leaving already?” she said. She was five years older, her hair had highlights, and her nails were so long she had to grip the serving spoon with her palm. She’d visited Joey Joey every day when he was in jail.

“Nick’s a businessman,” Joey Joey said again. “He’s got spreadsheets to work on.” He thought this was funny.

But out on the porch he got quiet, he got melancholy. We stood around with our hands in our pockets, looking at the traffic go by.

I said, “You’re about to go on an adventure,” and I slapped him on the back.

“Sure am,” he said, but he didn’t seem too excited. He was staring at the traffic.

“When you see Chip,” I offered, “tell him I said hi.”

“Sure will,” he said.

His demeanor made me earnest. “When you get back, your job’ll be here for you.” It was company policy, but it sounded like I was doing him a favor.

“I do appreciate that, Nick,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

Then he turned and I saw those eyes again, wide, white, tense. I could have been staring at him through a jailhouse window.

“I don’t want to die, Nick,” he said.

The sentiment caught me off guard. “You’re not going to die .” I was oddly offended.

“I don’t want to die,” he said, as if he hadn’t already said it.

“You’re not going to die,” I said, louder now, like I demanded it. I was angry and also embarrassed. “You have a greater chance of dying in a plane crash,” I said, because that was what the statistics had shown.

He was nodding and taking deep breaths as if he was trying to catch up to the absurdity of his panic. He smiled a brave smile. Then he hugged me unexpectedly, putting his arms around my neck and pulling me close. He was doughy like his mom, but he was stronger than I expected, and I felt at his mercy. He held me long enough for it to begin to feel awkward. When he released me, we stood staring at each other.

Then, to lighten the mood, I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Kick some ass, Private!”

On Sunday, when I pulled up in front of the shop, Zlottie didn’t look as if she thought she was going on a date. She was dressed in that same black blouse with that same black skirt and those same black shoes. She looked like a witch. Or a mortician. It was going to be seventy degrees and sunny, the first day that year we were going to hit seventy degrees, and I couldn’t imagine she’d be able to stand the heat for long, especially considering we were spending the day at the amusement park. “I’ve never been to the amusement park,” she’d told me, clapping her hands in delight. I couldn’t believe it — twenty-six years old and never been to the amusement park.

Still, she had dressed like this.

I got out of the car and opened the door for her like a gentleman. Her father was nowhere to be seen, so I thought I’d start the day off right by giving her a kiss on the cheek, but she giggled and moved past me and sat down and slammed the door closed herself.

I took the bridge. I drove slowly. I wasn’t in a hurry. I’d been up early again, trying on different outfits: dressy, sporty, casual. In the end, I decided on jeans and a tank top. I wanted her to see my arms and shoulders, just like I wanted to see her legs and ass.

“Down there,” I said, indicating the river, “is where I used to go fishing.” I’d only gone fishing once, the time we caught Zero the turtle.

“Fishing!” Zlottie said. “I’ve never been fishing.”

It sounded like an invitation for an invitation. “I’ll take you sometime,” I said. I glanced at her to see if the promise of a future engagement had made an impact. She was staring down at the river. “I’ve never been fishing,” she repeated. “I’ve never been to the amusement park. I’ve never been to a ball game.”

All her life in this city and she’d never been anywhere except BILDMAN’S SH P.

The entrance to Adventure Playland was clogged with strollers and soldiers. The park had become all the rage again because they’d built a new roller coaster called Kingdom Coming and everyone wanted to see if it lived up to the hype. Up and down in sixty seconds, the commercial said. The commercial ran every fifteen minutes. It had been ten years since I’d been on a roller coaster, any roller coaster, and I couldn’t wait.

At the ticket booth, I bought two all-you-can-ride passes for thirty dollars.

“All you can ride?” Zlottie said with apprehension.

I bought a hot dog for myself but nothing for her because: “I can’t eat anything here, Nick, you know that.”