Unpaid Bill

Bexar County, Texas, 2010

Sterling knew he only had one chance to hit his target. It sat between two antagonists, though that wasn’t how the evening began. To his right stood CJ and Mikey and to his left stood Sean—fists clenched in anticipation as Sterling prepared to shoot.

“Remember boys; men win, niggas lose”, one of the sailors said, while the other let out a deep bellow of approval. If the line had come from anyone who wasn’t white, or at the very least, mixed race, it might not have echoed in Sterling’s mind so heavily, or at least not so heavily in tandem with a number of one-liners that were prepared for the end—whatever the outcome.

Sterling exhaled deeply, carefully launched the ping pong ball across the table, as though to guide it in the air. His eyes followed the arc from his fingertips to a single barely audible ploop that came from the red plastic cup that sat on the table extended longways before him.

“I guess y’all are a couple of albinos, huh?” Mikey shot out, as the two sailors—opponents of Sterling and Mikey in what started as a friendly game of beer pong that became very unfriendly—hurled middle fingers and “fuck you”s from across the patio of Brown’s Icehouse; this continued until they found an exit. 

“Could you imagine missing that shit? Goddamn, that would’ve been embarrassing as hell.” CJ said to Sterling as the dust settled, handing him a “victory” shot. 

“Shit, I guess I’m really that guy,” Sterling said as he did a robotic jig, bursting into a laugh. CJ joined in shortly after. He threw down the shot and winced, blowing air out of pursed lips.

“Shpiseh!”, Sterling laughingly choked out as the whiskey settled in. Mikey wandered over and threw a heavy hand down on Sterling’s shoulder, a frequent habit that Sterling hated, but neglected to inform Mikey of on on every occasion.

“Ay’ good job you foo’, for real!”, Mikey slurred as he bore down on Sterling’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sterling said, dropping his shoulder and maneuvering it out of Mikey’s grip. “all in a day—er, night’s work.”

Sean joined the group, two cans of Lone Star clasped between two fingers on each hand. He placed them on the table that the group now circled and flexed his nearly frozen-feeling fingers.

“Alright boys; last round!” Sean announced, “I think we’ve got places to be!”. He turned to Mikey, already chugging one of the ice-cold lagers, the can upside down above his head as he faced upward. Sean thumbed toward him with a chuckle.

“You got the address?”, CJ said, followed by a long sip of his own beer.

“Yeah, all the way out by Floresville or something like that; supposed to be a forest rave or something foo’”, Mikey choked out, his drink nearly finished as he belched, and loudly slammed the can down on the table. People began to stare, and those already staring began to whisper.

“Right…” Sterling said, and turned to CJ. “I mean, I I’m ready to go if y’all are,”. He took a large swig of his drink. “It’s already 9:30 though, so we should get out there.”

“Hell yeah!” CJ said, thrusting his can in the air. The four cheered—if one could call it that—and toasted with half-full containers, finished their drinks, and exited the bar. They pile into CJ’s car, all whiskey breath and excitement, crank up the radio so that Big Curtis’ hit single “Drop It” could be heard by anyone within 20 feet of the vehicle, and sped southbound out of the city and into the night.

From the dark of the backseat, Sterling thumbed through text messages on his phone. Nothing new, as was generally the case on nights like this where, despite whatever good time was in store, whoever he was with, wherever he was going, the person he truly wanted to be with, anywhere else, doing anything else, couldn’t be further away. He pushed the thought away as Mikey, sitting in the passenger seat catty-cornering him, passed over the pint of whiskey that the group began sharing around once they got out of city limits. As the liquor slid through him like napalm, Sterling could feel himself slipping into oblivion.

…

To: Alfredo Baez <abaez@stxmhs.com>

CC/BCC: Mimi Arrington <marri@stxmhs.com>; Herschel Gururajan <hguru@stxmhs.com>

From: Nahum Manjarres <nmanja@stxmhs.com>

Subject: CID: 119-CC-2048

Body: Alfredo,

It’s one thing to dump patients that you don’t want to deal with on another provider me—it’s another to hire somebody to come in and pretend to be crazy to try to get a rise out of me. I’m referring to Mr. Walker and his “donkey lady”, and I’ll also be CC’ing. MiMi and Herschel on this, but this needs to be addressed.

Nahum Manjarrres (email communication, May 30, 2006)