“By the way… I’m a founding member of Harrington.”
He says it with the kind of self-assuredness that suggests this should mean something to you. Like he’s offering a detail you’ll want to hold onto. As if being called by a realtor at the right time is less luck and more of a character trait.
You find yourself glancing at your watch.
In fact, you mentally left ten minutes ago and are now just waiting for your body to catch up. You’ve been staring at the waitress with the quiet desperation of a man willing a bill into existence. But then your mother—whose compassion has never once arrived at a convenient time—wanders off to the bar, finds a lonely 70-year-old man, and brings him back like a stray.
“Hey… this is Jim… he likes horses.”
Out of all the possible identifiers, this is the one she chooses.
Jim smiles, pleased, as though “liking horses” is a personality—just not as strong as “founding member of Harrington”—and taps your mother on the arm.
“Yes, I was talking to this pretty lady… gave her my card… told her to call me in three or four months.”
Your father died four months ago, which, apparently, puts things right on Jim’s schedule.
“My daughter… she loves horses… broke her neck on one… she’s okay…” he adds, like that settles it.
Then, without much transition:
“So who are you all?”
Introductions are exchanged quickly, like loose change passed over a counter. No one commits. No one invests.
Then Jim leans forward.
“Now you’re all going to love this…”
Which is never true.
Your eyes drift to the door, glowing faintly with the promise of sunlight.
He continues. “So my daughter calls me from college. She says, ‘Dad… I want you to be open.’”
This, you sense, is not going to go well.
“She comes home with the starting left tackle from the University of Toledo…” He pauses, savoring it. “Big Black guy.” His eyes light up.
And here, the universe does something almost elegant: your father—recently deceased—was big and Black, which makes you, sitting here, also Black, which makes this less of a story and more of a moment that won’t end.
Jim presses on.
“Now I was beside myself. My friends, my family—they’re all having a great time. But me? I’m out on the porch. Alone. Drinking. Trying to make sense of it all.”
He smiles, like this version of himself is worth remembering.
You glance at the door again.
“So anyway, my buddy—Ron Sharper, five-time NBA champion—comes over, sees me, and says, ‘Hey Jim, why the long face?’”
Which, for a moment, makes you think of horses.
“I point to my daughter’s boyfriend. He puts his hand on my back and says, ‘Don’t worry, I got this.’”
A pause.
“…so he lays a gun on the table and says, ‘How many girlfriends you got?’”
There is a pause—but not the kind that builds anticipation. The kind that suggests silence might have been the better option.
“He was a professional athlete,” Jim explains, filling the void. “So he knows the scoop.”
People nod.
“And he kicks the kid out!… he had four girlfriends!”
Jim slaps the table and laughs—a full-bodied, generous laugh meant for a room that has declined to receive it.
A few polite smiles are offered before everyone returns to their plates.
And because something in you refuses to let the moment pass without acknowledgment, you say, “That’s pretty good for a lineman.”
It lands somewhere. Not well, not poorly. Just… somewhere.
Eventually, mercifully, you make your way outside.
The sun is still there, doing its job, asking nothing of you.
You take a breath.
“Hey…” you say, to no one in particular, “it looks like the sun shines out of Jim’s ass.”
Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think!
Follow me on substack here: Tonysbologna | Anthony Robert | Substack
!~ A lot of good folk wisdom there between the lines ~
Thank you so much – I appreciate you reading!
There is never a more trying experience for your social skills than at a cash register. Beep, beep, beep, as the items scan one by one. Gum chewing lady glances at you; she’s seen about a million people today. You? You have seen a dog and maybe a view of yourself in the mirror. You try a smile; it feels weird. You try a pleasantry; it feels forced. The whole exchange ends and you leave. The gum smacking as she holds out the receipt you forgot; the words “you too” in reply to her “thank you” still echoing in your mind.
Man, social interaction is wonderful!
Haha
So well observed – I like
Oh dear. Cringeworthy. Thank goodness you survived. 🙂
Thank you my friend, in fact it was! I left out some more cringe parts
Sometimes there just aren’t the words … going hot and cold and wishing to pass out time. 🥵
agreed some things can only be felt
Hi, Tony. Your line here: “Which, for a moment, makes you think of horses,” made me laugh out loud. So simple and perfectly set up. So good!
Thank you so so much!! Made my day
I did it difficult to wrap my head around…. I realize they’re are cringe written incidents and (a kind word here- cringe worthy people) that I have not had the misfortune to meet…Oops not true…. once I did…I worked at the CofC and a man came in denigrating or country for the ridiculous way we didn’t have our #$%^ under control like they did… my manager literally flew out of her office when she saw the look on my face…I turned away from him and from that moment on raised to acknowledge his existence talking only to his wife and only answering just questions.. he was 6 5 im 5 ft. His wife was 5 10 she never stopped smirking and smiling the whole time… they’re is a professionalism you must obtain at all cost writing for the CofC. my manager ran out and hugged me and she wasn’t given to displays of any kind. Said she wanted to intervene because the look on my face said it all…. lmao but I remained composed until they were gone and we went out the back door for coffee break and I let fly…lmao. so I believe you handled the situation with absolute have under fire. I didn’t mean to make this any me, only that I completely understand the situation… for what is worth.
I’m sorry but was there supposed to be a joke there?? I don’t get it. I have a drier more sarcastic edgy humor. 😛 Not football humor. (Not that there isn’t much that way lol)
your writing reminds me of a small black book i read of jerry seinfield – seinlanguage . choppy , dry satire . liked it.
Thank you so much – Seinfeld is amazing
Enjoyed this one, having to comment because I cannot like any of your posts….