Untitled (Part II)
8.
It’s at this point that I’m wondering what we’re even doing here together. Maybe she’s thinking the same. Maybe she’s thinking, well, I suppose this is fun, but what am I doing here with him. I don’t know for sure. Long ago I stopped believing I knew what other people were thinking. I stopped assuming I knew exactly how she felt.
9.
“Let’s play a game.”
“What kind of game?”
“It’s called the Future Game.”
“I’ve never played.”
“Basically, I ask you where you think you will be in ten years and you tell me. Then I do the same and we see who’s is the best.”
“That doesn’t seem like a game really.”
“It is. I just made it up.”
“So that makes it a game?”
“It makes it a game because I say it’s a game.”
“Alright then.”
“So…where will you be in ten years?”
10.
She’s saying things like “successful” and “artist” and “almost famous” but I can’t focus. Really, in all actuality, I’m waiting to see if I’m apart of that future, if that, in ten years, she still sees me around. The game is bullshit and not really a game at all, but I’m wanting to know where I stand. It’s a front and I can’t believe she doesn’t see it. Then again maybe she doesn’t see me there in ten years.
11.
“So, what about you?” she asks. “I don’t know. I just hope I’m not dead.”
“Is that a real concern?”
“It could be. I don’t see much of anything. If I’m thirty and still doing this, maybe I hope I’m dead.”
“That’s pretty morbid. You don’t really believe that, do you?”
I stop to pick up a coin. I say, “You know. This really isn’t a game. I don’t want to play anymore.”
I start to walk off before she can respond. She says, “That’s not fair. You’re not playing right.”
“I don’t feel like playing anymore. Let’s get milkshakes.”
12.
The mood changes after that, after the game and milkshakes. We sit on a bench at the end of the pier and look out across the sea. She’s reserved now, less of herself. I’m the same. There’s a sort of distant feeling that comes over me, like maybe something has just become irrelevant or maybe I just don’t care. There’s no future there, I think. I’m tired of thinking. This is a good milkshake.
13.
There’s a point in the night when no one is talking. We sit and stare and stay quiet for too long. We need to change the mood. I say, “Did I ever tell you the story about my dad and the bookstore?” She says, “What story?”
“Ah, well, you’re in for a good one.”
14.
The story goes like this: My dad is a police officer. You know this. So, one time, when he was early on in being a police officer, he worked undercover. SIU stuff. That means Special Investigations Unit. One of his things was working the adult bookstores. Men would be in there trying to solicit sex from other men or some such thing. Illegal, right? So anyway, what he had to do was catch these guys in the act, trying to get sex from men. Creepy, weird stuff. So he gets this one guy, an Asian man, and they’re talking in the bookstore but nothing’s really happening yet. He can’t bust him. Finally they go outside and get into the guy’s car and the Asian guy reaches over and puts his hand on my dad’s leg and says, “I wanna make a ruhv. I wanna make a ruhv to you in the butt.” He’s got his hand on his leg and telling him he wants to make love in his butt! How great is that?
15.
“That’s so gross,” she says as she’s laughing. “So what happened?”
I say, “They arrested him, and then my dad threw up on the side of the police car.” We both burst out in laughter. I remember my dad telling me that story for the first time and I couldn’t believe it. Some people. He wonders why I never wanted to be a cop, follow in his footsteps and all that. I just say, “Because I don’t want ruhv in my butt.”
