Mustard.
He opened the door to the refrigerator and furrowed his brow. His kitchen was usually one of his least favorite place to be. It wasn’t that he never learned to cook, in fact, he considered himself a good cook. The problem was he hated grocery shopping. Max hated grocery shopping more than any other activity of daily living. There was something terribly frustrating about having to spend money on a consistent basis for something that kept him alive. He would argue, when his lifestyle of scavenging and take-out was challenged, that all unprepared food should somehow be free because he didn’t have to pay for air and both of them, in his mind, served the same purpose.
His political standpoint on the socialization of the food industry was never stronger than when he didn’t have the money for take-out and he was forced to create a meal out of the remnants of his kitchen.
Finding nothing of substance to add to his turkey sandwich, Max took out a beer, closed the door and wandered back to his couch. Brushing aside a number of empty beer bottles, Max set his sandwich and beer on the table and checked his phone. No text messages. No voicemails. No emails. No pokes, pins, tags, likes or tweets or anything else to connect him to the outside world. A strange satisfied disappointment settled on him.
The darkness of the apartment gave way to the glow of the ancient television set. It was in this world that Max lost himself and apparently his sandwich as his reach towards the table produced the beer can instead. He drank with one hand, checked his phone again with the other. His eyes squinted against the bright screens in the dark apartment.
He sighed, set his phone next to him on the couch and gazed at the screen. When he finished his beer he felt tired and slowly fell asleep to the backdrop of the hushed evening news.
The additional alcohol relaxed him enough that he slept quite heavily. So heavily in fact, he missed the creaking of the wooden stairs leading to his apartment. He didn’t hear the footsteps or the first attempt at the locked door. He also missed the lock disengaging from the other side and the door opening.
He would have slept through nearly anything until-
“Wake up asshole! You stink! This apartment stinks! Get the fuck off the couch and clean yourself up! We’re leaving.”
Max’s eyes flew open and his body shook. There was a look of terror on his face that faded to relief and finally settled on irritation. His heart was pounding.
“What the fuck, John? How the hell did you get in here?” He was groggy and looking around the apartment, still disoriented. His heart was racing and as his fear subsided, his annoyance and anger escalated.
“You gave me a key, dipshit. Remember?”
“Yeah I’ll take that back thanks. You can leave it on the fucking counter on your way out.” Max re positioned himself defiantly back into the Max-shaped dent in his couch.
“Nah dude, fuck that. Get up. Seriously, I’m hungry. We’re going out. You need fresh air. This place smells like a dead man’s dick.” John moved to the window, pulled back the thick curtain and let in what remained of the setting sunlight.
Max covered his face as the intruding light irritated his eyes and his best friend irritated his last nerve. “God dammit.”
John opened the window and cooler evening air made it’s way through. “That’ll help. A little febreeze and a fucking fire bomb would go further, but this’ll do.” He made his way to the bathroom as Max sat up and lit a cigarette.
“What are you doing now?” His question was immediately answered as he heard the shower and the squeak of a spray bottle. “Dude don’t clean my fucking bathroom. Seriously.”
“I’m not cleaning it, I’m just killing the mold so you can use this shower. You smell like ass bro, I’m not going to dinner with you smelling like ass. You have clean clothes somewhere?”
“Yeah probably… gimme a fucking minute. Could have called you know.” Max twisted his neck around and groaned when it cracked.
“Why? You wouldn’t have answered.”
Max shrugged silently, took a long pull on his cigarette as he sat up and leaned forward. He exhaled slowly, hoping his frustration would leave his body with the smoke. It didn’t. “I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah I can tell.” John looked around the bathroom, satisfied that it had been disinfected enough to remove any irony a shower in this room might create. He squirted what was left of a toilet bowl cleaner into the commode and closed the lid, shaking his head as he did so.
John moved into the small laundry room next to the bathroom to assess the situation. “So which pile has the least amount of swamp ass on it?”
“There’s stuff in the dryer. I’ll get it in a minute.” Max continued to pull on his cigarette, his frustration with his friend subsiding as he did. “Let me get a shower.” He walked into the laundry room to find John starting a load of wash. Max shook his head, took a towel from the floor, smelled it, shrugged and walked into the bathroom. Whatever John mumbled under his breath wasn’t interesting enough for Max to question.
Entering the bathroom, Max closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. Then he coughed from the mixture of steam and bleach.
God damn John.
Max stared into the mirror for a long while, analyzing his face as his body warmed in the steamy bathroom. His unwashed skin was pale and he hadn’t shaved in days. His hair was oily. It matted in some places and spiked in others. He sighed, looked down and put toothpaste on his toothbrush. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done this. When he was finished with his teeth he looked back into the mirror and was glad to see that the steam from the running shower had fogged it over completely. Max stripped off his clothes and got into the shower. The hot water relaxed him, more than he thought possible. He was sore, but not from exertion. He was sore from days of laying about his apartment, anxious and teetering between levels of sobriety.
Max stretched and did his best to wash the week’s worth of wallowing and self-loathing from his body and mind. When he was clean, he stood there in the shower letting the hot water run over him while he breathed deeply and tried not to think of anything at all. He was relatively sober now, so he wasn’t as successful as he would have liked to have been. He thought of his truck. He hadn’t left his apartment for quite some time so he wondered if it would even start. It didn’t always.
His next thoughts were about the last time he was in his truck. Max had been driving home from his father’s house in Baltimore. It was a long drive back to Virginia, parts of which devoid of radio reception. He’d spent the weekend there after his mother’s funeral. She hadn’t wanted a funeral but her sisters insisted it wasn’t for her, it was for the family.
So they can mourn.
Max turned off the water and stepped out the shower. He toweled himself off and set about shaving the days of stubble from his face. His razor was old. It hurt his face with every stroke and his face bled in places. He splashed on some aftershave, wrapped the towel around his body and went back to the laundry room for something to wear.
The apartment was noisy. It was quiet until John got there. It was quiet when he was on his couch. Even the television was quiet. John was very noisy.
Max looked around the laundry room. On the days he had bothered to change his clothes, he would typically choose his clothes the way he had just chosen his towel, but his piles had been moved around, sorted. His clean clothes had been folded and the washer and dryer were now both running.
“There’s a shirt in the dryer, knockin’ out the wrinkles!” John was yelling from the kitchen.
“Thanks.”
John didn’t respond as he didn’t hear Max over the washer, dryer, and dishwasher all of which running at full force. John was otherwise occupied.
Max dressed in the laundry room and put his wet towel in a pile where he assumed John would approve and came back to the living room to find his shoes. They were laying by his belt, keys and wallet in the center of his now bottle-free table. All of the windows were open and while the air was cool, the apartment felt comfortable. The stale stagnant air had dissipated and the living room somehow looked and smelled presentable and hospitable again. Max sighed and figured he should take long showers more often. Maybe his bills would magically get paid too.
Max looked into the kitchen and then for John. The counter and sink were empty and had been wiped clean. The dirty dishes were either in the dishwasher or were drying in the rack on the counter. There was a subtle hint of lemon cleanser in the air. It wasn’t spotless by any means, but the kitchen, despite being devoid of food, was a functional kitchen again. Max chuckled and shook his head as he saw John heading down the stairs carrying four large bags of trash.
“Hurry up bro, I’m starving,” he yelled up the steps as made his way outside.
“Yeah.”
When John returned, he stopped at the door, and looked around the apartment with a satisfied grin on his face. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.
“No more dead man’s dick. Let’s roll. I’m buying, you’re driving.”
“Yes dear.”
—-
As they approached the truck, Max slowed. John turned to him.
“You alright?”
Max paused a moment then spoke. “Yeah. Just hope it starts.” He pointed to the truck.
“I got cables if not. No worries.” John looked at Max, started to say something and then shook his head and continued to walk.
“Yeah.” Max knew that John wasn’t fooled, but was glad he left it alone. John got away with a lot, but even John knew when not to push.
The two-tone pick-up started up immediately. Max let the engine idle for a few minutes while he pretended to check his mirrors and adjust his seat belt.
“Sometime today cupcake, I’m starving.”
“Fuck you. It’s been a while. Where we going anyway?”
“Lou’s. Where else?”
Max sighed. He wasn’t disappointed. In fact, he preferred the Lou’s. Lou’s was a diner a blocks miles from his apartment. The diner was old. The food was good. The service was good. But the diner was old. There was wear on all the tables and chairs. The once-white counter had deep scratches and had yellowed over the years. Most of the stools made a horrible noise when they twisted. None of the silverware matched and it was a rare thing to get a coffee mug that hadn’t been glued back together at some point. And no one had ever met Lou or had any idea why is it was named Lou’s. Lou’s was generally considered the shadow of a formerly successful diner… and it was Max’s favorite place to eat.
When they arrived, they found that their regular table towards the back was vacant, so they sat down and waited for Abby. When she was in sight, John motioned in her direction.
“That is why you showered bro.”
“Not today man, I’m tired.”
“I didn’t do anything, I’m just saying…” John trailed off as Abby approached. She was 28, tall, and beautiful. Everyone thought so. Max visibly sank into his chair. John shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Hi guys! Coffee?” She smiled at them.
“Please. And some water too. Can we go ahead and order?”
“Sure, go right ahead.”
“Alright, I want a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Hey can I get a little garden salad to go with that?”
“It’s $2 more, is that ok?”
“Yep. You’re up bro.”
“What’s the special?”
“Meatloaf.”
“Sold.”
“Sides?”
“Mashed potatoes and green beans… Please.”
“Alright guys, I’ll have that out in a bit.” Abby smiled again and went back to the kitchen. John watched her go. Max didn’t stare, but he did glance.
“God she’s hot.”
“Yeah. Nice kid too.”
“How long we been coming here bro?”
“I don’t know. Couple years. Why?”
“And in all that time, how long has she worked here?”
“Probably just as long. Why?”
“And in all that time, how long have you wanted to ask her out?”
“I don’t know man. I don’t want to do this today.”
“Do what? We’re just talking. What’s the problem?”
“Nothing. She’s hot, alright? I just don’t want to ask her out.” Max was better at lying sometimes. This time was not one of them.
“Alright man, fine. I’m just saying though. She’s not going to be single forever.”
“How do you know she’s single now?”
“No ring.”
“So what? She could have a boyfriend.”
“And then she would have to make a very difficult decision as to whether or not she would keep that boyfriend.”
“You’re a savage.”
“I’m a realist.”
“I’m not competing with some boyfriend. I don’t want some jealous asshole showing up at my apartment or my job.”
“Who said she has a boyfriend?”
“I said she could have a boyfriend and you said it didn’t matter in so many words.”
Abby came back with the drinks and the two men tried to act as though they weren’t just discussing the pros and cons of beginning a relationship with the waitress that had been serving them faithfully and cheerfully for several years.
“Thanks.” Max took his coffee and immediately began to load it with cream and sugar. Abby smiled and Max wasn’t sure if they’d been caught. When she walked back to the counter, John continued the debate.
“But you don’t really know if she has a boyfriend. So by your logic you can’t ask out anyone you don’t know really well, even if they aren’t married, because they could possibly be seeing someone that they aren’t legally bound to.”
“What the fuck? ‘Legally bound.’ I said I didn’t want to do this today.” Max was already hopelessly locked into this discussion and despite not admitting it, he enjoyed the banter with John.
“What? All I’m saying is that you’re limiting your options based on fear of what you don’t know.”
“Who the fuck is talking about fear? I just don’t want to deal with a jealous ex. That’s all.”
“So you’re assuming that if you were to ask her out that she would then immediately go dump this hypothetical boyfriend? Damn dude. You think pretty highly of yourself.”
“Fuck you, I didn’t say that. I just meant that jealous people do stupid shit and I don’t want to deal with it.”
“Because you’re scared of the unknown.”
“Because I got enough shit to deal with.”
“Yeah I was just at your place. Pretty sure I just cleared your schedule for the next fucking month.”
“Fuck you.” Max couldn’t hold back a small chuckle.
“Maybe later. So you’re saying if she didn’t have a boyfriend, you’d consider it?”
“If it will shut you up, then yes. If I knew she didn’t have a boyfriend or a recent ex-boyfriend, then maybe I would be interested in risking rejection to ask out the pretty waitress that’s brought me my food for at least the last 4 years. Are you happy now dick head? Can I enjoy my coffee?”
“All you had to say bro.” John raised his hands to concede. There was a snide grin of satisfaction on his face. However, his victory was short-lived.
“I wouldn’t be able to eat here anymore though. And this is my favorite place to eat. In fact, I’d argue this place means more to me than the risk I’d be taking asking her out.”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t you be able to eat here anymore?!” John was nearly shouting.
Max looked at John like he’d lost his mind and motioned to him to calm down while speaking quietly. “Because, if she said ‘no’ I wouldn’t want to see her every day and be reminded of the rejection. If she said yes I wouldn’t want to come in every day and have my girlfriend serve me food all the time.”
John looked pensive and was visibly mulling over the argument, glancing in several directions while scratching his chin. He sighed. “You make a valid point. Now turn around.” John pointed over Max’s shoulder. Max turned to look and saw that Abby was leaning over the counter looking at a magazine. Her jeans were tight and flattering to her body. Her back was slightly arched and some of the curls of her hair were falling over her shoulders and slightly into her cleavage which from Max’s angle was very much visible.
Max turned back to John and sighed. “I mean, this ain’t the only fucking diner in town.”
John’s look of satisfaction returned and he laughed. “You going back to work next week?”
Max shrugged. He hadn’t given it much thought. He didn’t particularly love his job but at the same time he didn’t feel the need to be away from it. “I don’t know yet. I can take another week if I want. I have the time and my boss doesn’t care.”
“Up to you I guess. I’d go crazy with nothing to do for three weeks.”
“Yeah.”
“How are the fellas?”
“Good I guess. I got a call from one of them last week. Left me a message. Said he was sorry and that he hopes Mary dies really soon.”
John chuckled. “Gotta love the fellas.”
“Yeah.” Max smiled a little.
When Abby returned with the food, she was smiling again and for a moment Max could have sworn she was smiling deliberately at him.
“Here you go,” she said as she put John’s burger in front of him. “And the special for you, Max.”
Max looked at her as he took his plate. She’d never once, in all the years he’d been coming here, called him by his name. He was so amazed that he didn’t notice the gravy spilling on his thumb until it burned the skin. He almost dropped the plate and instinctively put his thumb in his mouth. His eyes never left Abby.
She giggled. “Careful Max, it’s hot.” She smiled again at him, turned and went to another table.
“Dude.”
“Right?” Max looked surprised, even with his thumb in his mouth.
“Dude,” John said again.
“No shit?”
“You know what? I’m going to eat my burger. I’m going to drink my coffee. And I’m not going to say another fucking thing about this. But I swear to you Max, if you don’t ask her out soon I’m selling your dick on eBay.”
Max chuckled and set about eating his dinner, then paused, and with a very serious and genuine look said, “Thanks John.”
John caught his glance but looked back at his burger. “You’ll get me back next time.”
“I meant for everything today.”
“So did I.” He picked up his burger and started to eat.
They ate in silence.
—-
John was at the cash register paying the tab while Max was in the diner’s bathroom. He felt better. The food had done him some good but not as much as the time with his friend. As he washed his hands, he tried to remember the last time he had even seen John, let alone anyone else in a deliberate social situation.
Oh right.
Max remembered the night he received the call from the hospital that his mother had been brought in by ambulance. He was out that night with John and some other friends at a bar. Having just finished a twelve-hour shift, he opted to celebrate and relax with his friends and postpone some of his other responsibilities until the next day.
Max worked in a group home. The people living in the group home all had some kind of intellectual disability… Down Syndrome, Fragile X Syndrome, etc. He’d started there in college as a temporary staff and was promoted to a full-time specialist position with benefits not long after he had graduated. It helped that the previous specialist was fired and ultimately arrested for stealing funds from the people that lived there.
He liked the work and didn’t mind that his promotion was partially a desperation move on his supervisor’s part. He knew he was qualified. Max felt good about what he did and liked being a part of helping people. He took pride in that. As a specialist, he had input into all of the support planning for the people living there and thoroughly enjoyed helping them get the most out of life. And while it didn’t pay much, his promotion paid the bills and afforded him the luxury of going to the diner fairly regularly and out to the bar occasionally as well. Max felt like he was doing just enough good in the world to justify his existence.
Because of budgetary constraints outside of his control, the program where Max worked was often short-handed and he felt compelled to work longer hours and extra shifts to help fill the void. Max worked hard and despite the long hours, he felt satisfied. He was respected by his co-workers and he imagined the people living in the group home liked him too.
After particularly long weeks, Max would usually meet up with his friends at the bar and have a few drinks. None of his friends had jobs like Max’s. John was an accountant and Max had always assumed that John wouldn’t last a day working at the group home. So when the group of men would drink and regale the others with tales of their days, Max would usually just smile and wait his turn. Ultimately his stories were better anyway, at least to him. His stories had interesting characters and real conflict and comedy. Even his friend the bartender had trouble competing with some of the stories Max would tell.
Max was careful not to give away much information about the people he worked with. Despite how amusing some of the things he saw were to him, he had a tremendous amount of respect for the people in the group home and the confidentiality of their lives. His friends knew that too and never asked questions though they enjoyed the stories too.
To them it was like hearing a new episode of some dark comedy but not because of the disabled people… because of the other people in their lives.
Howard the bartender and Josh the web-designer would usually finish their stories with, “Ok Max, your turn,” and everyone would laugh. Some days Max didn’t have a story. Other days he had several. Max liked to paint the world of his stories in a respectful shade that typically displayed the best attributes of the people he served while highlighting the shortcomings of the so-called “normal” people that interacted with them.
He especially liked to tell stories about one of his co-workers being the victim of less desirable behavior by the people living in the group home. This co-worker had a tendency to treat the people in the group home like unfortunate children and not adults with self-determination. Max despised her and his stories made his listeners despise her too, like one despises the annoying character on their favorite sit-com.
She wasn’t particularly mean or even that offensive, but Max couldn’t stand seeing people treated like children. One of the stories Max told was about rhis co-worker being humiliated in a grocery store by one of the guys in the group home. Apparently he had had enough of being asked if he needed to “go potty,” in a public place in front of strangers. And he let that be known when he yelled very loudly, “Leave me alone bitch! I don’t have to piss!”
His friends would sometimes ask if Mary, his co-worker, had fallen prey to any recent retaliation by “the fellas,” as they were fond of calling them. This also made Max feel good. Although his friends had no interest in working in a place like that, they at least understood that “the fellas” were people too and had personalities not unlike their own.
Despite being exhausted at the end of his day, Max at least felt accomplished and enjoyed his drink with his friends as a reward and celebration for a job well done. His only “bad” days were when he was at odds with an over-protective co-worker or disrespectful community members but usually Max was more reinforced by the fellas than punished by everything else.
Max got to thinking about the last time he’d had a drink with his friends when his phone rang and a memory of his dead mother laying in a hospital bed flashed into his mind. It startled Max and he reached for his phone. It was John.
“Just trying to wash my fucking hands here, what do you want?”
“Don’t be mad,” said the muffled voice of John.
“Oh god. What?”
“Just don’t be mad and get the fuck out here.” John was insistent and whispering at the same time.
Max sighed into the receiver. It was deliberate but still genuine. “Whatever asshole.”
Max hung up, washed and dried his hands and found John by the cash register talking with Abby.
Oh god. What the hell did he do?
As he approached, he tried to prepare himself for whatever John may have arranged. Dinner. A movie. Marriage. Max could really only eliminate dinner as they’d just eaten.
Abby and John looked at Max who spoke.
“Hey. We all set?”
“Yeah, Abby gets off in an hour and said she’d meet us there.”
Max felt his stomach churn but tried not to show his anxiety.
“Oh good. You going to walk or do you need a ride?”
“It’s only two blocks. I can manage, but thanks.” Abby smiled at Max who couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Abby that included asking her if she wanted to be inside of his truck.
“Cool.”
John had prepared for an awkward silence. He patted Max on the back.
“Alright let’s get the fuck out of here. We have to get ready for the party.”
Max wasn’t trying to play along anymore.
“What party?”
John chuckled.
“More of a celebration I guess.”
“What are we celebrating.”
“I don’t know. Anything. Who cares? Maybe Abby is about to win something on eBay and she wants to celebrate. Who gives a shit? We’re drinkin’. Let’s go.”
Max turned pale and his stomach churned more as John slapped him on the back and urged him out the door. He heard Abby calling after them.
“See you in a bit guys!”
When they were safely outside, Max was no longer feeling nauseous. He was furious.
“What the fuck did you just do? How could you fucking do that?”
“What? You said if she didn’t have a boyfriend or a recent ex that you could probably find a new place to eat if she either would or would not go out with you. Well, she’s been single for a while now and you can find your own fucking diner.”
“I can’t believe you man. What did you say to her?”
“All I said was, ‘how come your boyfriend never comes to visit you at work?’ and she said she’s been single for a while.”
“Could you have been more obvious about it? Jesus Christ, John.” Max unlocked his truck and got in. John waited until Max was in the cab before looking up at the sky in disbelief then getting in the truck himself.
“Just ‘John’ will do, thanks. And yes, I could. Relax, it was casual. I told her we were going to the bar, she asked which one, I told her, she said she liked that one and I told her she should come hang out with us after work.” John trailed off.
“And that was it? There wasn’t anything else in that conversation I should know about?”
“What are you all investigative over? God!”
“John, I took a piss, came back and I had a date.”
“Bitch please, how do you know I wasn’t coaxing her out for me?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you!”
Max glared ahead as he pulled the truck out of the diner’s parking lot.
“Can we stop at the florist on the way? I wanna get Abby a corsage for our big night.”
“God damn you John.”
—–