"Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life."
--Andrew Marvell
from "To His Coy Mistress"
Through the Iron Gates of Life
Figures. Jordan and I made plans to go out for some platonic Tex-Mex and she ended up having to pull a double. Talk about star-crossed. Well, at least North and South of the Border's was open till two. With a sigh, I dismally told Jordan that I would meet her at the Pogue after her shift was through. She nodded and hurried back into the morgue, leaving me to watch her hop quickly up the stairs from the curb.
'Well' I thought, 'at least she is moving fast in hopes of getting out earlier.'
I smiled hopefully then glanced down at my watch. It was quarter of six. I sighed heavily and let my head slump backwards and stared at the twilight sky. It was gonna be a long 6 hours.
I sauntered into the Pogue, the familiar jingle of the doorbells announcing my arrival. I looked tranquilly towards the bar, at the regulars and the obvious tourists and a calming warmth spread across me as a feeling I had only recently been recognizing as home tingled down my spine. I had always felt welcomed here but it had always felt in the beginning like I was the free agent who joined the World Series team halfway through the following pre-season. But as I was accepted further and further into this family ( and there is no one in the world who can convince me that a family isn't exactly what it is) I began to identify less with the tourist, keeping to himself at the end of the bar, and more with the regulars who have a beer waiting for them on the counter before their butts can even warm the round leather cushion of the stools they perch themselves on.
Max throws me a nod and wordlessly sets a frosty Heineken down on the bar. I smile and nod to the regulars as I settle myself onto the chilly seat. Without any other sort of greeting, Max begins a conversation with me.
"Thought you and Jordan were going out for a bite after work." He says pouring a glass of that Sam Adams lager all the tourists feel obligated to drink.
I take a sip of my beer and nod as I let the icy brew bubble down my dry throat.
"Still are. She's working a double so 'a bite after work' means 12 am at North and South's." I say and don't even bother to hide my disappointment. Max has known me for a good two years; he's got my number as far as where I stand with regards to my feelings for Jordan.
He pats the hand not wrapped securely around the perspiring green bottle and winks at me.
"Don't worry boy," he says setting the freshly poured Sam wordlessly in front of one of the tourists. "If my Jordan is willin' to go out for some heartburn in a pita after midnight with you, you've already got one foot in that little door to her heart. Besides," he says leaning over the bar, whispering softly. "Jordan doesn't smile at anyone the way she smiles at you. Never has, and I would bet this bar you've never followed any other girl around with that look in your eyes before." I sat up a little straighter concern for how Max might respond clearly displayed on my face.
I just smiled and looked down at my beer shyly. I shook my head and sighed.
"I've been tongue tied since the first time I met her. Most of the time I finish a conversation with her then turn the corner and smack myself in the forehead for sounding like such a Neanderthal." I said and Max laughed the laugh of a man who's been there and back.
"Tell me about it." He said refilling a bowl of peanuts. " The first time I met Jordan's mother…I thought I might die of embarrassment trying to fake like I wasn't some bad-assed, Southie… punk, street hood." He looked off over the bar, a memory playing like a movie in front of his eyes.
I chuckled nervously and looked over near the cash register at the small, framed picture of Jordan's mom sitting comfortably on the shelf right under the register.
"I can see why…she was beautiful." I said eyeing the picture respectfully as Max turned and gently took it from its resting place to admire. He looked it over with a sad smiled on his lips then sighed.
"That she was. Inside and out. You know most people thought her running off and marrying me at 18 was just to rebel against her VERY privileged back ground. Maybe that was some of the lure, but I have no doubt in my mind that she married me more for love than anything else in the world. Love was just about all I had to give her." He said then remembering something, chuckled. "Well…love and that precious little baby girl." He said and set the picture down on the counter between us with a smile.
I tried to bring him out of his musings a little. "So you said before that Jordan's always been this way…this…independent?" I asked leaning forward on the countertop. Max just nodded and tore his eyes painfully away from the picture. He chuckled at my eagerness to hear about Jordan's past, and his own.
"Emily was in labor for 32 hours with Jordan." He said and I gave a whistle of surprise. "The doctor's were baffled. She let her mother dilate to 8 centimeters then decided she wasn't ready yet. She was gonna come at her own time and she was NOT gonna let anyone hurry her along. That's always been her way…" He said smiling.
"Now the looks, I won't lie, she certainly got from her mother…but that stubbornness and that…that mouth…well, I'm proud to say she got from her old man."
April 1953
"HAA! Fork it over Blackie!" thirteen-year-old Max Cavanaugh hollered unnecessarily at his best friend who was only maybe 2 feet away from him.
Blackie sighed angrily and scooped up his father's emerald green gambling dice from where they lay against the brick alley wall Max had just thrown his 4th straight "7" against. When he had re- straightened his body, and flipped his curly black bangs out of his eyes, Max was standing right beside him, one filthy palm held expectantly out waiting for 2 dollar bills to be laid in it. Blackie sighed again and reached into his pocket producing 4 wadded up bills. He took out two single bills and held them up, allowing them to drop into Max's hand. Just as the second bill was floating into Max's paw, Blackie took a jab at his jaw and Max's head snapped backward, his light blond hair whipping with the force. Max allowed the bills to fall to the ground and smiled as he wiped the blood from his lip.
"You crazy bastard Mc!" Max said chuckling as he raised his fists and pushed up the sleeves of his thermal shirt. Blackie smiled in return and cracked his knuckles, rolling up his own sleeves as he gave Max a second to pocket the two bills.
The boys began to laugh as they circled each other, jabbing and hopping back and forth as they had seen the real boxers do for almost every Saturday night of their lives to that point. They laughed and carried on before the two newly made teens bored of their childish game, sat down on some wooden crates and Blackie pulled out a pair of thin stogies.
Max's eyes light up with forbidden joy. "Jumpin' Jesus Christ, Blackie! Where the hell'd ya get em'?" Max asked reaching excitedly for the cigar. Blackie held them both out of his reach and took his time striking a match on the crate and taking a few starter puffs before giving Max an explanation.
"Where da ya think!?" He said around the cigar. Max swiped the second out of his friend's hand and held it out for Blackie to light with the remaining timber he had allowed to burn down nearly to his fingers.
"Pap's on Broad?" Max asked expectantly and Blackie nodded once quickly. Max thought of something else and a coy smile played across his face. He removed the cigar from his lips and let the thick smoke creep over his lips like a polluted fog.
"Pay for em'?" Max asked and Blackie looked off down the alley for a moment before answering.
"Sure," Blackie said removing his own cigar from his lips. "With my dashin' good looks and witty charm." He said lounging back against the wall with his still boyishly thin arms folded behind his head. Max just smiled and shook his head.
"I could never do it…I'd piss myself before I could even cop em'." He said with an honesty young men only use around their closest friends. Blackie nodded.
"That's what makes us different me and you. You can be bad only when someone else is doing the being bad part for ya…I on the other hand could steal the silver spoon outta one of them Vineyard kids mouths and be halfway down the street still listening to em' crying in their carriage, already thinkin' about how much I might get for the silver." He said and Max nodded sadly, the realization of just how far apart the lines he and his friend had drawn in the sand really were.