In the Nick of Time (18 page)

What drink would
I order right now if I were allowed to? Probably a boilermaker…

The boilermakers are a dark stout that you mix with a shot of whiskey. They’re simple, and get the job done. If I were a drink, I’d be a boilermaker, too. You see, I’m the combination of two different things which, when brought together, created a motherfuckin’ monster. The whiskey is my father. I never knew him yet his intentions were crystal clear. His actions spoke on his behalf; I needed no interpretation. Like the whiskey, he only reached his full potential by breaking down others. I have a new understanding of the man.

Clarity is like gazing out a window but when you look out, you have no idea what to focus on, what to view and appreciate. The dark stout is my mother. She’s reliable, rich in spirit, you know what you’re gonna get, and she never disappoints. And that leaves me, the boilermaker. I’m robust but water my own self down. I’m built to last, and simultaneously created to fail. I’m harsh when I initially hit you and get into your system, but I promise to make it worth your while…

The boilermaker sat there on the hard park bench with the chipped light blue paint. He had no idea why an outside picnic seat had been brought inside the facility and plopped in the hallway; nevertheless, it looked like a great place to summon some peace and quiet without shelling himself off from the rest of the world. Nick’s thoughts wobbled back and forth like a ninety-year-old with a shaky hand and peg-legged walker. The week had been tortuous, ruthless, and remorseless as truths and inner turmoil beat him about his psyche. Back-to-back one-on-one sessions with his counselor, group meetings, ducking and dodging guys from the precinct, and coming to terms with himself had caused dark thoughts to enter his brain and take him over.

At one point in time he looked at the front door and daydreamed of bolting, but the fantasy was short lived. He turned away and reminded himself that nothing in his life had ever come easy, so why would this be any different?

On a sigh, he leaned over and tore off the edge of the soft wheat bread partially wrapped in parchment paper that he’d been munching on for a snack. As he chewed on it, he darted his gaze here and there, taking in the scene. One guy kept moving his shoulders up and down like the dirty, cloud-forming dancer from the iconic Charlie Brown cartoons of his youth. Twisted, bright red headset wires from his mp3 player flowed out of young man’s ears while he rhymed and jumped about in tight, jerky movements.

‘…Killin fields need blood to graze the cash cow

It’s a number game, but shit don’t add up somehow…’

“That’s Jordan. He’s listening to Mos Def’s, ‘Mathematics’,” came her alluring voice, breaking him out of the interesting observations. “He’s autistic,” she added. “And he’s brilliant. He was put on all sorts of medication but got hooked on one, oxycodone, after a car accident. Anyway, he can listen to a song one time and have it down pat.” His chest constricted a bit as he looked up into her eyes. Dark eyes, so very dark, like two small worlds that grabbed hold of his reflection and stole his soul in a single, inky blink.

She’s speaking to me now… This is good, very good…

He slowly scanned her, and landed once again upon her head… no hair… sparse lashes…

Something is going on with her. Is she sick? She seems healthy, doesn’t look ill. Of course, I of all people should know, looks can be deceiving…

“I have a friend like that.” He nodded as he observed the man still bobbing about in the near distance. “You can show him a map, and he’ll know it front and back. That’s amazing, isn’t it? It’s really crazy how the brain works…how it misfires but then does crazy shit like that.”

“Yeah. It is amazing,” she said dryly as she began to stroll past him.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“…To class.” She paused then turned back in his direction.

“Before you go, can I ask you something?” He felt the flush in his damn cheeks as his temperature rose a degree or two. There she stood in taupe leggings covered in emerald polka dots, bright green, wooly socks, and an over-sized t-shirt that read, ‘If I Wanted Your Opinion I’d Tell You What It Is’. He smirked at the thing, which did remind him of her.

“Ask me what?” Her eyes narrowed as she seemingly prepared to go in on him. He could see it all over her face; one misstep, and he was good as two-day-old burnt toast.

“Remember when you said that, uh, I should have asked you out, or something?”

“It’s too late now.” Her lips pursed, she put her hands on her sparse hips.

“Is it?” He slicked his tongue over his lower lip as he eyed her up and down, falling into some lustful trance as a wisp of her perfume drifted close, tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, ‘
Fuck me.
’ “Well, I’m going to try again, anyway. I like you, Taryn. I mean that. I want to take you out. I don’t know how we’d work that angle, but I want to. I want to get to know you better, talk to you.”

“Nick, I don’t think—”

“No, don’t do this, okay?” He got to his feet, brushed a few breadcrumbs away forcing them to hit the floor. “Don’t tell me to get lost, good luck in my recovery, and all of your other canned responses. Now, I just need to know how we can do that? You said that’s what you wanted. Give me a chance to show you I’m not who you think I am… let me prove myself to you.” He spoke earnestly; surely, she could see that? “So, how about it?”

“I tell you what.” She leaned lazily against the wall and crossed her ankles. “If you find me in my favorite spot tomorrow night, then I will accept your date invitation. You have to be there on time or the deal is off.”

“What’s your favorite spot and what time should I meet you there?” He couldn’t see himself, but he was certain his eyes glossed over with anticipation; his time had finally come. He could barely contain the smugness in his smile.

But then, she began to walk away, a bit of pep in her perfectly placed steps. Pausing, she looked coyly over her shoulder. “…That’s for you to find out.” Just like that, she continued up the hall, turned a corner, and was gone.

“Shit!” He stomped his foot in fury and frustration. “I can’t believe this.” he mumbled.

There’s a shit load of places she might be at tomorrow night. And what time is that? I need to guess that, too?! This place is huge, and she won’t make it easy…

He cursed some more then kicked the air hard and rough as if it were a can of expired alphabet soup and he made it spell out, ‘F.U.C.K.’. But then, a thought hit him and he was struck with devious glee…

He took another look at Jordan and made his approach. When he tapped his shoulder, he startled the poor guy who was lost in a world of his own. He looked into the fellow’s light, hazel eyes, the pupils dancing about and glossed over as if he swam in a deep sea of emotion. Jordan’s russet complexion had a small smattering of toasted freckles along the bridge of his lengthy nose, and his full, fleshy pink lips kinked in a grin, almost as if he knew why he was standing there. Perhaps he did.

“Hey Jordan, how are you? Look, think you can help me? I need a favor.”

“I don’t know you,” the man immediately said in a robotic voice. His thick, dark brows dipped as he scanned Nick from head to toe.

“Okay, well, let’s get to know each other.” He threw on a big smile. “My name is Nick Vitale. I’m a resident here. I don’t think you and I have had any group sessions or classes together, but I’m fairly new here.”

“I see my therapist in the mornings. My therapist is Ms. Doreen. Ms. Doreen is new here, too.”

“Oh, okay, I see. Well, being new is hard sometimes. I’m still trying to make friends. I need help making friends with someone in particular. I thought maybe you could assist with that.”

The guy looked at him suspiciously, giving him the once over again. “I’m busy. I’m waiting for my friend Parker and Parker doesn’t like to leave late. I have to stand right here and wait for him. We’re going out to get pizza. I like pizza with extra cheese because they never give enough cheese. Parker wears a blue denim jacket he got from a thrift store. The thrift store was called Second Chances. Second Chances is now closed. It closed down in 1996; March 3
^rd
, 1996 to be exact.”

Nick smiled and nodded in understanding, then placed his hand affectionately on Jordan’s shoulder.

“I see… that’s interesting. Hey, do you know Taryn?”

“Yes, I know Taryn Jones. Taryn is an African American woman who is a resident here. She stands 5’10 and weighs approximately a hundred and thirty-two pounds. She is very nice looking and is kind to me. She never makes fun of me, either. I like Taryn, Nick Vitale.”

“Yeah… well, I like her too, Jordan,” he said. “I want to be her friend. She seems to be a very likeable person.”

“She is. Some of the residents call me stupid and she took up for me. She told one resident, his name was Brian Williams, who stands 6’1 and weighs approximately two hundred pounds that if he called me underdeveloped again, she was going to tear off his arm and beat him with it. I liked that. I liked that very much.” The man said the shit so gravely and matter-of-factly.

At this, Nick cracked up.

Oh boy, what am I about to get myself into?

“Well, sounds like he deserved it. Here is the deal, Jordan. I’m not going to try to bullshit you, okay? I need help figuring out something about Taryn. I could do it myself, but I’m short on time.”

“What’s the question?” The man slicked his mp3 player into his jacket pocket, as if ready to get down to business.

“Do you know where Taryn’s favorite spot is? Where she likes to go in the evenings, hang out?”

“Taryn likes many places. She enjoys the movie theater, and the—”

“No, no, Jordan. I mean in
here
, at Firststone.”

“Yes, Taryn hangs outside near the East wing. She told me it was her favorite spot because it’s quiet and pretty. She enjoys being in the open-air regardless of the weather. I take walks every Thursday night and see her there. Sometimes we talk for a few minutes. She likes to stargaze. The universe was created 13.8 billion years ago. No one knows how many stars are in the sky due to pollution, various locations, and other barriers, but nearly two thousand can be seen in a clear, dark sky with relatively good visibility.”

“Thank you, Jordan. That’s good to know. Hey, what time does she go outside usually?” His heart pumped a bit faster; he hoped the human computer could help him just a wee bit more.

“Will I get compensated for this?” The man’s eyes hooded.

“Yeah, yeah, you will.”

…Whoever called this motherfucker dumb is a damn idiot. He is definitely on top of his shit.

Jordan nodded a time or two, then began again. “She is outside between 8:00 P.M. and 8:03 P.M. She stays out for about twenty minutes, sometimes a little longer. She doesn’t like pork chops, but she does like bacon and baked fish. I told you that last fact about her for free. It’s on the house.”

Nick stifled a grin and patted his shoulder once more before breaking contact.

“That’s good to know, thank you, Jordan. Now, is there something I can get you in return for your help? Within reason, of course.”

“Yeah, I need a new mp3 player.” The man slicked it out of his pocket and turned it to and fro.

Nick looked down at the antiquated thing. He had another one at home he wasn’t even using that was in far better shape. “You got it. I’ll have it dropped off next week, okay?”

The man’s eyes grew bright as he cracked a smile and began to nod over and over.

“Thank you! Thank you, Nick Vitale.”

“No, thank you, Jordan, and hey, you are one smart cookie, you know that?”

“I do. I do know that.”

Nick shook his head in amazement before turning away.

“Hey, one more thing,” Jordan called out.

“Yes?”

“She’s a very nice lady. She’s nice to me, too. Very kind. She told Brian Williams, who was a resident here, that if he called me underdeveloped again she’d tear off his arm and beat him with it, Nick Vitale. Underdeveloped is another term for stupid. I’m not senseless, Nick Vitale… Taryn is my friend. She’s a very nice lady…”

Nick stood there staring at the man for a moment or two. He knew that many people on the autism spectrum would at times repeat themselves, echo a sentence, a thought or an idea, but this was different. Jordan was
warning
him. Of this, he was certain. He was telling him in his own special way to not do anything foolish, or there just may be consequences…

He caught Jordan’s eyes darkening before he put distance between them. A few seconds later, he spotted another guy joining Jordan. The man wore a blue denim jacket. Nick slicked his hands in his pocket as he watched the two talking while they journeyed up the hallway together.

Second Chances… He got it from a thrift store called Second Chances, huh, Jordan? Well, I sure hope I get a second chance to right some wrongs, make some things right… I need a second chance, Jordan. I need it bad…