The Broken Road to Forever

by Rhonda Dennis

  The old man stands behind the bar, animatedly shouting something in Chinese. Suddenly, the door he first came through wildly swings open, and a very large, much younger Chinese man comes out, puffing and panting as he hurries over to us. This man’s clothes are far too small for him, and his shirt buttons threaten to burst at any moment. Sweat pours off the chubby man, who quickly wipes his face with a white kitchen towel before shoving it into the pocket of his apron. The old man shouts again, pointing his finger and waving his hand wildly, obviously reprimanding the younger man. Not intimidated by his elder, the waiter replies with equal fervor. I look over to Iris who’s staring wide-eyed at the heated interaction.

  I jump a little when Howard’s hand covers mine. “Have you decided what you want?”

  “Umm…not really. Maybe soup?” I blurt without thinking.

  “Interesting. Did you know that in the Chinese culture soup is part of the last course, not the first? They think it allows for better digestion, especially after a pork or duck dish,” Iris informs.

  “Really? I didn’t know that!” Howard offers Iris a huge smile. She in turn giggles, and Tim’s eyes flash jealousy.

  The waiter coughs. “You order now?”

  “Just some drinks to start, thank you,” Howard tells him. The waiter nods and pulls a notepad from his apron pocket. It slips from his meaty paw and drops into my lap where he makes a grab for it.

  “Whoa!” I shout, quickly standing when the guy practically gropes me to retrieve the pad. Banging my knee causes the cutlery to rattle, and a large pitcher of water teeters precariously on the edge of the table. Howard grabs it just in time.

  “Nice save,” praises Iris, with a golf clap. Tim huffs and folds his arms.

  “So sorry. You all right?” the waiter asks.

  “I’m fine,” I say, rubbing my knee before I sit back down. He pulls a pencil from behind his ear, licks the tip with his tongue, and jots down our drink requests. I think he winks at me when he turns to leave, but it could just be a sweat droplet landing in his eye. “So, who told you about this place?” I question Howard.

  He shrugs. “My roommate. He said it was nice.” Howard sheepishly looks around.

  “You two are friends, right?” I tease, fanning myself once again with a menu.

  He laughs, and I’m surprised by how happy it makes me to know I made him smile. Actual interaction with the opposite sex is nice, and the attention is something to which I could very easily become accustomed. “Yeah, the best, but I’m starting to think he was playing a joke on me. We should leave.”

  “No, it’s nice.” I dab at my brow with a napkin.

  “You don’t have to lie, Mallory.”

  “Okay, it’s not nice.” I laugh.

  “Fucking right it’s not nice,” Tim mumbles under his breath.

  “We’re already here, and our drinks will be served soon, so we might as well stay.” Just as I finish my sentence, my drink is placed in front of me. The waiter also places two small containers filled with a dark liquid in front of each of us. I assume it’s dipping sauce.

  “You hot?” the waiter barks out.

  “Yes!” we all say in unison. The waiter shouts to the old man, who returns with more shouting before scooting to a store room. I hope he’s lowering the temperature on the thermostat, but I’m disheartened when I see him fighting with an industrial-sized box fan. He sets it up right across from us, and as soon as he plugs it in, anything weighing less than a pound slams into the wall. We make mad grabs for the airborne items and weight down what we can with the heavier objects.

  “Enjoy!” he shouts with a quick bow.

  Hair blowing wild with the wind, Iris yells over the sound of the machine. “Howard, Mallory tells me you’re Nate’s cousin, but I think I would have guessed had she not. There is definitely a family resemblance.” I roll my now dry eyes at Iris’ shameless attempt at flirting in front of Tim.

  “Yeah, I don’t get to see him much because we go to different colleges, but no way would I miss BCU’s homecoming game.” He turns to me. “Plus, someone has been on my mind.” His gaze is intense, and the way his hair blows around in the wind of the fan leaves him looking like a model at a photoshoot. I can’t look away, but suddenly the trance Howard placed me under evaporates thanks to Tim’s frantic coughing. Iris savagely slaps his back while Tim coughs and splutters.

  “Why the hell would you drink the dipping sauce, Tim?” Iris demands.

  “It’s in a stinking shot glass! I thought it was a complimentary drink.” He guzzles a glass of water I pour him, and I don’t even try to hide my amusement.

  “A dipping sauce is a common condiment for many types of food. Vegetables, tortilla chips, or crackers, just to name a few. The food is typically dipped, or added into the dipping sauce, hence the name, whereas a shot is a…”

  Tim interrupts Iris by snapping at her. “I think I know the difference!”

  “You obviously don’t,” she retorts. Luckily the awkwardness of the situation is broken by the waiter bringing our food.

  The one good thing about this restaurant is the food is really tasty, which surprises me. At least the food that actually makes it into my mouth is good. I start with chopsticks, but because the fried rice flies off and smacks into the wall before I can get it to my mouth, I resort to cupping my hand around a fork until it arrives at its destination. The others do the same. Fed up, Tim pushes the fan far enough away from the table to offer relief, yet allow us to actually consume our food without looking like greedy beasts. He tramps back to the table, picks up a set of chopsticks, and makes a mess while trying to eat with them. Howard uses them expertly, and when Iris makes a comment telling Howard just that, Tim amps up his chopstick game. He fails miserably.

  “No wonder you so skinny. You get special pair!” the waiter shouts, handing Tim a set with elastic bands around them. Beaming at what he perceives to be a special gift, Tim’s smile is cocky when a piece of chicken lands in his mouth. I decide to not inform him that they’re normally reserved for the use of uncoordinated children.

  I take a long sip of my drink to wash down the last of my meal, then sit back to see where everyone else is with dinner. They seem to be finished. “We should probably go. We have a long day with the game tomorrow,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Are you going to sit with us, Howard?” Iris asks, looking far too eager.

  Tim abruptly stands, his chair screeching along the tiled floor. “I’m going to take a piss, not that anyone cares.” He stomps off, and Iris seems oblivious to his tantrum.

  Howard looks at me, and I smile. He gives one back, and without looking at Iris, he answers her question. “It would be great if I could sit with you guys. Nate got me a ticket, but I’d rather be with people I know.”

  Iris giggles, and I finally turn away from Howard’s gaze. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom too.” I watch as she happily skips off.

  “You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you?”

  My mind flashes to Brent, and I have the slightest pang of guilt. I feel as if I’m cheating on him. How silly is that? He always has a girl on his arm, and Howard’s only asking to sit with us during a football game. It’s not like it’s a marriage proposal. Plus, he has been extra sweet and attentive tonight, and despite the sauna we chose to have dinner in, the night has been really pleasant. Definitely something I’m not used to having, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I want more.

  “No, I don’t mind at all. I think I would like that.” A smile lights up his face, and I notice how handsome he’s grown. Leaning forward he tucks a loose piece of my hair behind my ear, and I freeze. I want more niceties, but this is getting more physical than I’m ready for pretty darned quickly.

  “Mallory, I was so happy when you agreed to come out with me tonight. About high school, I always regretted the way I treated you on our date, and I’ve wanted to make it up to you for a long time.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I can
manage to say when Howard leans forward to gently brush his lips across mine. I don’t get time to process what’s happening because a huge commotion comes from the kitchen. I turn towards the noise to see what the hell is going on. Squawking chickens and a barrage of Mandarin rants sound from behind the door. The hunched old man behind the bar hurries past us, and as soon as he pushes the kitchen door, two chickens wildly flap their wings while assaulting the old man. Four more strut out the door to run freely throughout the restaurant. Covering his face with his arms, the old man screams before taking a chair and using it as a shield that he then carelessly waves around. Condiments from any table within the chair’s range crash to the floor in a series of loud bangs.

  The young waiter runs out. “Stop! Help!” Holding a wicker basket, he makes a mad grab for one of the many chickens currently running wildly around the room. The old man continues smashing anything and everything within his reach. A load of feathers swirls like snowflakes in the air.

  “Shit!” Looking at Howard, I notice his face is red and rapidly swelling. Tears fall freely from his eyes, and a trail of snot pours from his nose, which he swipes at with his sleeve. “I’m really allergic to feathers!” Crap, of course he is!

  “Stop! Help!” The waiter fusses as his grandfather smacks him with the legs of the chair he’s still swinging around. The one chicken he catches flaps from the basket when the young guy bends to check out his injuries. Just then, the old man cocks back again, eyes closed and swinging away, he plows the chair against the poor guy’s head, and he’s out cold. The elderly guy drops the chair and falls to his knees beside the unconscious man. Chickens surround them, pecking and scratching as they strut around freely.

  Tim, arm draped casually over Iris’ shoulders as they return from the restroom, runs in place when he spots the free roaming poultry, and pulls her to stand in front of him. I just shake my head at the scene before me. “I’ll call for an ambulance,” I say, carefully avoiding the flock of chickens. Both Howard and the pudgy guy are taken to the hospital, while Tim, Iris, and I follow behind in Howard’s car. The waiter is released first, shuffling out with a small white bandage taped to his forehead.

  “You no come back,” he fusses, hanging his head low and pouting as he walks through the automatic doors of the emergency room.

  “What? You should be giving us a lifetime supply of free food, you little…” Iris slaps her hand over Tim’s mouth to shut him up. It’s not long before Howard comes around the corner looking terribly puffy and exhausted.

  “If it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to just get some rest.” His voice is nasally and weak.

  “Absolutely,” I say, taking the keys from Tim. “I’ll drive.” As pathetic and hectic as the night is, little do I know it’s not the only trip to the emergency room I’ll be making this weekend.

  ELEVEN

  The smell of freshly popped popcorn fills the corridors as we shuffle inside the crowded stadium. I’m temporarily transported back to the days of working at the movie theater, and for a split second, the memory of the back room tryst with Brent puts a smile on my face. It’s fleeting, and melancholia consumes me. Something just doesn’t feel right, and it’s putting me in a hell of a mood. The fact that Iris and Howard ramble non-stop only makes it worse. While they cheer voraciously with the rest of the crowd, Tim and I sit on opposite ends of them, moping. I’m not sure if his foul mood is because of Iris and Howard’s connection or because he’s wallowing in the sadness of losing his opportunity to be the mascot. When he dashes a tear from the corner of his eye while longingly eyeing the nutria prancing around on the sidelines, I not only get my answer, but feel an overwhelming urge to smack the shit out of him.

  “Just stop it!” I fuss over Howard’s and Iris’ empty seats between us. They stop dancing and cheering long enough to look down at where I sit.

  “Stop what?” Tim asks. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Stop with the stupid and pointless mascot mourning. Yes, I fucked it up for you, and I couldn’t be any sorrier, but damn it! YOU are the one who couldn’t handle it, and I was the one who tried to save your ass. Get over it already.”

  Iris’ eyes grow wide, Howard looks confused, and Tim blubbers. “Do we need to take a walk?” Iris asks. I blow out a breath through my nose then shake my head.

  “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You would’ve been a great mascot, Tim, and they missed out because of what happened. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  Tim stops sniveling. “Thanks, Mal. Are you close to starting your period? It might just be PMS or something.” The overwhelming urge to smack him comes back with a vengeance, and Howard must sense it because he quickly takes the seat next to me, positioning his body in a way that blocks Tim from my sight.

  “Is the game getting to be too much? The crowd is extra loud tonight with it being homecoming, and the team really isn’t playing all the great anyway, which is really strange.” He pauses for a second to mull over what he’s just said. “Anyway, we can go if you’d like.”

  “What? No. No way. You’re here for Nate, and you should stay for the game. I’m okay, really.”

  “Would you like something from the concession stand? It might make you feel better.” Considering his offer, I realize it’s been quite some time since I’ve eaten. Maybe it’s a blood sugar thing? I give a nod.

  “Any special requests? Something sweet? Salty?”

  “Nachos?”

  “Nachos it is.” A warm smile appears as he carefully shuffles past me to ascend the steps of the aisle.

  “Wait! I’ll go with you!” Iris calls, hurrying after him. She stops long enough to dip down by my ear to say she’s really thirsty, then disappears right after Howard. I shake my head then slowly scan the field. Brent’s looking my way, and my heart fills with happiness. Just as I raise my hand to give our signal, he looks away. I’m instantly back in my funk. I miss him so much, and though we have a plan to be together eventually, tonight it feels completely out of reach. I lower my head and aggressively massage my temples. Why won’t this feeling of dread leave me?

  The crowd gasps in unison, then goes silent except for a few hushed whispers. The shift of the air in the stadium is palpable, so I jerk up my head to see what’s happened. To my left and right, shocked and concerned faces peer onto the field, and my stomach drops. I don’t have to look to know it’s him because I feel it. With unsteady legs, I pray that I’m wrong while slowly rising from my seat. A player is down on the field, and a few team members take off their helmets before kneeling beside the limp body. Medical personnel, trainers, and even the coaches, rush onto the field, and seeing Brent’s father push his way into the huddle sends my world spinning out of control. The conversations around me do nothing to allay my fears.

  “Why isn’t he moving?”

  “That hit was so hard.”

  “He’s got to be paralyzed after that.”

  “Or dead. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “They’re calling in the ambulance crew.”

  “Is his leg supposed to bend that way?”

  “What about the way he went airborne after the hit!”

  I want to yell, “SHUT UP!” but my throat has constricted in such a way that no sound is possible. Iris and Howard return to their seats in silence, and Iris, being the only other person who knows of my relationship with Brent, clutches my upper arm tightly. “I’m sure he’s okay,” she whispers into my ear before releasing her grip to rub my back a few times. She increases the pressure to give me a tight squeeze. I’m still in shock.

  The crowd grows silent as the huddle parts to allow the loaded stretcher to pass. Though I’m high in the stands, Nate’s pale, slack face is easy to distinguish from the rest of the players. He drops his helmet as he follows the crew carrying the stretcher across the field, and when a fellow player tries holding him back, gives a sharp shove before catching up to the group.

  One of the coaches talks to N
ate, and by observing his body language, I know he’s pleading with him. Nate finally stops, looks back at his team, takes his helmet from the player he’d shoved, then gathers his team into a circle.

  “They’re praying. Maybe we should, too?” someone in the seat above me says, her voice barely above a whisper. Row after row of spectators take the hand of the person next to them and lower their heads as the stadium remains silent. Stunned, I do the same, but my gaze remains fixed on the stretcher as it disappears through a tunnel and out of the stadium. The announcer states that the game will resume shortly and promises to keep the crowd apprised of Brent’s condition as the information is made available.

  No way can I just sit around and hope for an update. Without a word to the others, I hastily make my way out of the row and down the aisle towards the exit. Howard and Iris call after me, but I pretend to not hear them as I start running towards the bus stop.

  Rocking back and forth on the bench, I desperately wish for a car. The lady sitting beside me slides all the way to the right and clutches her purse tighter. I can’t blame her. I have to look like a desperate addict with the way I chomp at my nails while whispering to myself.

  “He wasn’t moving. Not even a finger twitch from what I could see. What if he’s gone?” The woman who can’t possibly move any further down the bench walks away, eyeing me carefully while clutching her purse to her chest. When the bus finally arrives, she jumps on first, taking a seat right behind the driver. Not wanting to upset her further with my frantic worrying, I keep going until I reach the back.

  I know exactly which hospital they are bringing him; it’s top-notch in the state and well known for being the place where all injured athletes go to for treatment. My overwhelming emotions only allow me to focus on one task at a time, and now that I’ve arrived at the facility, I need to figure out a way to discover how he’s doing. The staff won’t tell me anything. I don’t even know what to do or where to go once I get inside the hospital. I look as lost as I feel. This was such a stupid idea, but the compulsion to comfort Brent, to be with him, by his side, is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.