Ronnie's Flashback continued

Ronnie began to twirl his keys. They were attached to small bizarre picture some ex-girlfriend had given him. It was ment as a good luck charm, a standard cross embelished with knots and details from a trip she had made on a mission to Eastern Europe. He felt that, with all that went on his life, this was a simple piece of constancy he could hold onto. He switched hands but kept the momentum going, something positive in this awkward dialogue.

He leaned forward on the barren wood of the picnic table. Not the seat. Who knows what haed happened there. Instead they opted to the stereotypical drinking stance of young men, elbows on knees rearends hoisted to, but not fully on, the top part of the table. The creak from his movement could have easily been made from a bad back.

Bertie lay back on the flecked green table, carefully placing his hand behind his head so as to not gain splinters in his scalp. The easement stopped his head from spinning and he squinted at the stars just peering out from the light of town. Lying back had eased the pressure on the front of his jeans and a new pack of smokes slid towards the table. He fumbled to get the hard covering open.

"Since when did you take up smoking?" Ronnie asked, fliping his keys back to his other hand.

"I've smoked forever," and to prove a point, the red tip glowed and he did not vomit. "See?"

"Well, keep it down. My dad smells smoke on me, my ass is toast," he swigged a bit of beer. He guessed he would never understand which tasted worse, the beer, the smoke or saying good bye to his old friend. As he sat there and stared at his friend, he realized how far they had come and how, despite everything, nothing had changed for Bertie. Here they were, the night a bit chill from the edge of spring, and he had no jacket on. He saw two holes on his friend's clothes. One, oddly placed near his left armpit and another between the seam and brim of his underwear. He only knew that because his pants were too big and he did not have a belt on.

He looked at this own slacks, leftover from the day's brunch.

Bertie was always like this.

Always had been.

"I've joined the army."

"What?"

"I said, I've joined the army."

"No," Ronnie pointed out, "I heard you, I mean, I know, but that was an interjection because, I, oh wow, dude." He looked to the grove of trees nearby. It made sense, really. In a world that Bert could never seem to cope with, he might do well where the structure was so profound.

"Don't jump up and congratulate me at once, Mr. College-Bound."

Ronnie did not realize he had paused. And that it had been noted. Bertie sat up and flicked the unfinished smoke to the dark grass.

"Well, then congratulations. You don't seem to excited, I must admit."

"I'm not, really, but what other choice to I have. I can't do anything like you. Never could," the last two words spoken away from Ronnie. Bertie swigged a large chuck of alcohol. "But this might make for something better. Get some money. Get in shape."

"Get some clothes."

"Yeah, that too, asshole."

"Sorry, just noticing."

"Bertie, I don't know what to say. You should have come to my party. We could have said something to everyone. Something big! Mom would have loved it."

"My mom wouldn't have. She's been bitching at me since I told her last week."

"Is that why you've been drinking?"

"Something like that."

"I'm sorry, ah, I really am," he put his arm around his friend land used his elbow bend to bring him closer. He could not remember a time when they both had sat so close together. Perhaps some Saturday night at the local theatre, but nothing beyond that. Bert was not just warm, he radiated heat in waves from between his shoulder blades. The temperature, however, dropped when he patted Bertie's back and he felt his friend's neck relax.

"The fact is, joining the military is a great thing, and, no matter what your mom says, I think it is way cool. It'll give us something to chat about on emails for the next few months. When do you ship out?"

"Two weeks," Bert did not look at Ronnie. He did not believe his sincerity at all. But he did appreciate the attempt.

"I'll drive ya over. You gotta tell me when."

"No, that's okay."

"Seriously, I'll drive," Bertie shrugged hard, using his left arm to push Ronnie's touch away.

"You don't have to. Got it?" He turned to face his friends.

In the dark, Ronnie detected tears with the sudden tension. He stood up. He did not come here for this.

"Okay, well, you let me know."

"No, it's just that..."

"...I didn't realize it was so late," Ronnie mocked looking for his car.

"...I, wait, Ron, Ronnie," he stood up so quickly, his pants almost fell down.

Ronnie walked out to his car, "you want a ride back, at least, to your house?"

"Yeah, Ronnie, wait, I, I..."

The ride was quiet back to Bertie's house. All the tension of the past few years piled high dissolved on that ride back to his friend's home. After uneventful good-byes, he realized he did not want to play this game anymore, the one where he had to guess his friend's reaction prior to every comment and word. So he watched him go back into his house, without saying a word, only smiling. A wave seemed to be adding too much.

He drove away.

And now he had to see him again. It was not so much that he had to, but Bertie had become a symbol for Ronnie's past, a kept secret that was never fully resolved and that only the maturity of time could help it come to pass.

They met at the coffeehouse.