I bumped into him at a convenience store of all places, a fucking convenience store, after so much time. We stood in line, inches apart, clashing like a mismatched pair of colored socks.
He was carrying a cold sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a little tub of pasta salad. I lugged a case of Molson in one hand and a bottle of Excedrin in the other.
I stood behind him, staring down at the backs of his hands, all creamy white and soft looking, clean and manicured – spotless beneath the nails. I stared down at the backs of my own hands, as black as coal dust, dry and coarse like splintered wood.
His boyfriend joined him in line, cradling a dark bottle of iced sweet tea or some shit. Neither of them looked back at me, but they knew I was there. They stood shoulder to shoulder as rigid and quiet as two monks. I couldn’t remember the boyfriend’s name, although I knew I’d seen it before on one of the socials. Seems it started with an L or maybe a T? I had no clue. It had been a hell of a day at the shop, and my brain was fried.
The boyfriend touched my brother’s arm affectionately and gave him questioning little glances, but my brother remained still, staring straight ahead with that clenched jaw of his. Man, he really hated my guts. It didn’t bother me all that much. Why should he be any different?
As he neared the counter, he reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a wad of wrinkled bills. He smoothed one out, laid it flat in his left palm, and began scribbling on it with a pen.
When it was finally his turn at the register, he added two scratch off’s to his order and quickly paid. The boyfriend had already started off ahead of him toward the door as if he were fleeing the scene of a crime. As I stepped up to the counter next, my brother froze mid-stride and turned to face me. We sized each other up, swapping cold curious stares. The woman behind the register watched us both uneasily. There was no love for me in those eyes of his, that was for certain. Wordlessly, he held the bill out in front of me until I finally reached for it. The instant the exchange was over, he turned, and I watched him go. At that moment I couldn’t think of a single word to say after so much time so I held my tongue. He, on the other hand, had something to say to me but knew better than to give me the satisfaction of a snarky reply.
How the hell was I supposed to know it would be the last time I’d ever see him?
I dropped my shit on the counter and held up the bill. It was an old faded single. His final message on it was as icy as his stare. Scrawled in large blue script across the center, were his very last words to me.
CALL MOM ASSHOLE!
Haunted Avenues 