To Be Continued...
By Vic Miller
Four white saucers, and on top four white cups; two filled high and dark, two light and low. Only one cup with sugar, belonging to the founder of this feast and our first speaker, a sharp-looking young man by the name of Daniel.
“Point being: we all would like to do something, right?”
His eyes were a bit wild, and as they traveled around the table they were met by no others. But Travis spoke, in a sort of low mumble that did not quite fit his appearance.
“We have no choice.” Now, he looked at Daniel, “We can’t get away with it, we are always doing something.”
“What the hell is that? Can you please stop?” Daniel wasn’t mad, but he was harsh.
“Watch the language or I will leave this meeting.” It was Mike, making a flat statement. “Is this a meeting?” He asked with sincerity that was mocking.
“It’s a bloody meeting, so let’s at least give it some respect.” Robert this time; a monster of a man, somebody you would want around if a large rock needed thrown some distance. He added, “Continue, Danny, please,” almost as an afterthought.
And there they were, friends since year one of P.S. 24; more than brothers, and wayward souls each in their own way. Silence laced its web around the corner table. Not even a stir could be heard from the kitchen. The sun was down and so was the traffic, the city was asleep.
“I mean like something big, something greater than the sum of us all, you know.” Daniel drank his coffee, and then looked around anxiously, worrying if he should start to ration his remaining brew more cautiously.
“You mean like strike it rich, and gain power, and benevolently better the lives of all the downtrodden?”
“Sure, that sounds nice.”
It was Daniel and Mike banter, which happened to be a well-worn trail.
“Well, then let’s take the first one. Strike it rich. Who is going to pay for your, what was it, cottage cheese with orange slices and dinner rolls—Jesus—can you answer that for me?”
“What?”
“How much money do you have?” “Plenty, what’s that got to do with it?” “On you, in your possession, how much?”
“Look, I got two fifty for the month, and that’s good. I’m fine, alright?”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in my effing sock drawer, Mike, next to my floppy discs, the latter being the one I care about.”
He used an old computer, because he liked the simple blue screen so much, and the lack of Microsoft's helpful hints. And all his writing he kept on dull- colored floppy discs, marked with cryptic titles.
“Well I volunteer with my wife at the shelter once a month,” Robert said, drawing a mild uproar from the others. “That’s it, you’re paying the bill.” Mike threw his napkin on the table, and then he too looked around, searching for the bringer of coffee.
“Hey, that’s good; it’s the little things, too.” Daniel downed the rest of his coffee and stood. “Dammit, the pot's right there, I’m going to grab it.” And, in fact, he walked over to do so, leaving the remaining three to look about and at each other. Nobody spoke.
“The thing to do is have that one big idea, at the right time, you know, and I’m telling you, the time is now.” He was back, walking behind their backs, filling cups.
“Danny, you wanted to hold a press conference in fifth grade. In fact, you were determined to do so. And I can’t help but to think this madness of yours is not dissimilar to that.” It was Mike again, settling into his chair after tending to his drink.
“It’s not a madness. And we should have held that press conference, which was the summer between year six and seven. Incidentally, a real hot time, with all the mess-ups of the school and city and all, if you recall.” He drifted back for a moment, and then added, “And we should hold another once we get the ball rolling here.”
Mike caught himself nodding his head in agreement, so then he shook it, as if sand were in his hair.
Tyler spoke next. “Well, little buddy, I’m sorry I wasn’t voting your way back then, but this time I won’t let you down. I’m in with whatever you got cooking.” “You did vote my way, you were the only one! You called the T.V. station! How much drugs have you done?” Daniel started to show real signs of a stubborn temper, and for just a flash, the mood of the table had a chance of turning gray. “Is that what you want? For Travis to call the station again?” Robert asked.
“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what needs to be done, and that’s what we need to find out. And we have to start looking.”
“I’m in for a hundred a week and two weekends a month,” Mike stated. A faint smile spread on his face and he locked eyes with Daniel.
“This is not a basketball league, Mike.” Daniel was half scolding teacher, half scolded pupil.
“Well, I would be around those figures, too,” Robert added meekly.
The table fell to silence once more. They drank coffee, and thought their singular thoughts, and felt the comfort of each other’s company.
The silence was broken by the faint opening notes of the second act of Beethoven’s fifth in D minor. Mike pulled his phone out almost before the sounds lifted into the void air.
“You’re getting a call at this hour?” Travis looked at him incredulously.
“It’s an email from Expedia; I forgot to turn my notices off.”
“Expedia? Where you goin'?”
“Oh, it’s for a suit.”
“You buy you suits on Expedia?”
“Well, it's this hotel guy, and, well. . . It’s nothing.”
“No, it isn’t. We need to know about your hotel guy who uses Expedia to get your bat phone to make noise at such an hour. This might be the whole reason for our gathering.” It was Daniel, looking a bit too vindicated.
Continue reading part 2, "Taking It Up A Notch"
