feelings by telling him I wasn’t interested, but the only person I wanted to mess around with was Jamie. He laughed and went upstairs as I started working on the computer.
Six
“H OW ’ D things go?” Mike asked as I handed him the MP3 player when he got in from work. I was standing in the kitchen putting together a sandwich from the deli meat I’d picked up earlier in the day. Since I couldn’t find a job, I needed to make the money I had last as long as I could. I’d done the math earlier in the day, and between rent, food, laundry, and bus fare, it wouldn’t be very long.
“Apparently the college students have descended on this area like locusts. I didn’t find anything,” I told him, grabbing one of the sodas I’d put in the refrigerator earlier, intending to go upstairs and sulk. Mike took the plate I had just balanced dangerously on top of my can and put it on the table next to a takeout container.
“Hang on, let me get a beer and we’ll talk,” he said, opening the refrigerator door as I passed. I couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped as I flopped into the chair in front of where my sandwich sat. The frustration wasn’t with Mike. I needed to find something, because the conversation I’d had with Mr. Mayfield scared me. If he, with his money and connections, couldn’t find Jamie, how the hell was I going to?
Emilio and Tony, who had also just come in with Mike, dropped their takeout containers on the table across from our seats. I’d never seen the guys really eat at the table; usually they took their stuff over to the TV and ate while they watched. Mike watched me looking around the table and laughed.
“Mexican food really needs to be eaten on a table,” he said by way of explanation. “Well, by everyone except Paco here.” He indicated Emilio, who immediately flipped him off. I laughed, loving their easy camaraderie, and felt the knot in my chest loosen just a little. “Okay, now let’s talk about your problem.”
“What’s the kid’s problem?” Tony asked, opening his white Styrofoam container and pulling out a hard-shell taco. It smelled absolutely wonderful, and suddenly my ham sandwich didn’t look so appealing. Lettuce and tomato fell out of the corn shell when he bit into it, and a dribble of grease ran down the back of his hand. He licked it off and looked at me expectantly.
“I need to find a job, and it seems that they’ve all been taken by college students,” I said before biting into my sandwich, promising myself that right after I found a job, I’d get Mexican takeout. Carolyn had always cooked for me, and I could make grilled cheese or frozen pizza, but nothing like authentic tacos. So, until I found something, I’d be living on sandwiches, frozen pizza, and boxed soups. After my last two take-out containers disappeared before I could finish them, I figured out that with seven other guys in the house, I’d have to keep what I could hidden in my room.
“Okay, so what can you do that some philosophy major can’t?” Tony asked around a mouthful of rice. He washed it down with a drink of his beer, and I thought about his question. I didn’t think I could do anything better than any other high-school graduate.
“Well, I’m one test away from a brown belt in karate, but the only place I found in the paper that had a position open required at least a high-level brown. I’d starve to death before I could test up that high,” I remarked with a snort.
“Apply anyway. What’s the worst they could say?” he asked, looking at me seriously. “I mean, think about it. If you don’t apply, there is no way you’ll get the job. If you apply, at least you have a chance. They may say no, but there’s no harm in asking. You need to talk yourself into a job, Brian. Tell them why they’d be crazy not to hire you. Put your big-boy pants on and grow some balls.”
“Tony,” Emilio said in a low, admonishing voice.
“What? You want to see the
Six
“H OW ’ D things go?” Mike asked as I handed him the MP3 player when he got in from work. I was standing in the kitchen putting together a sandwich from the deli meat I’d picked up earlier in the day. Since I couldn’t find a job, I needed to make the money I had last as long as I could. I’d done the math earlier in the day, and between rent, food, laundry, and bus fare, it wouldn’t be very long.
“Apparently the college students have descended on this area like locusts. I didn’t find anything,” I told him, grabbing one of the sodas I’d put in the refrigerator earlier, intending to go upstairs and sulk. Mike took the plate I had just balanced dangerously on top of my can and put it on the table next to a takeout container.
“Hang on, let me get a beer and we’ll talk,” he said, opening the refrigerator door as I passed. I couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped as I flopped into the chair in front of where my sandwich sat. The frustration wasn’t with Mike. I needed to find something, because the conversation I’d had with Mr. Mayfield scared me. If he, with his money and connections, couldn’t find Jamie, how the hell was I going to?
Emilio and Tony, who had also just come in with Mike, dropped their takeout containers on the table across from our seats. I’d never seen the guys really eat at the table; usually they took their stuff over to the TV and ate while they watched. Mike watched me looking around the table and laughed.
“Mexican food really needs to be eaten on a table,” he said by way of explanation. “Well, by everyone except Paco here.” He indicated Emilio, who immediately flipped him off. I laughed, loving their easy camaraderie, and felt the knot in my chest loosen just a little. “Okay, now let’s talk about your problem.”
“What’s the kid’s problem?” Tony asked, opening his white Styrofoam container and pulling out a hard-shell taco. It smelled absolutely wonderful, and suddenly my ham sandwich didn’t look so appealing. Lettuce and tomato fell out of the corn shell when he bit into it, and a dribble of grease ran down the back of his hand. He licked it off and looked at me expectantly.
“I need to find a job, and it seems that they’ve all been taken by college students,” I said before biting into my sandwich, promising myself that right after I found a job, I’d get Mexican takeout. Carolyn had always cooked for me, and I could make grilled cheese or frozen pizza, but nothing like authentic tacos. So, until I found something, I’d be living on sandwiches, frozen pizza, and boxed soups. After my last two take-out containers disappeared before I could finish them, I figured out that with seven other guys in the house, I’d have to keep what I could hidden in my room.
“Okay, so what can you do that some philosophy major can’t?” Tony asked around a mouthful of rice. He washed it down with a drink of his beer, and I thought about his question. I didn’t think I could do anything better than any other high-school graduate.
“Well, I’m one test away from a brown belt in karate, but the only place I found in the paper that had a position open required at least a high-level brown. I’d starve to death before I could test up that high,” I remarked with a snort.
“Apply anyway. What’s the worst they could say?” he asked, looking at me seriously. “I mean, think about it. If you don’t apply, there is no way you’ll get the job. If you apply, at least you have a chance. They may say no, but there’s no harm in asking. You need to talk yourself into a job, Brian. Tell them why they’d be crazy not to hire you. Put your big-boy pants on and grow some balls.”
“Tony,” Emilio said in a low, admonishing voice.
“What? You want to see the
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