“No, it’s Ryan.”
She moans again. “I’m sleeping.”
“I know. What time is your shift?”
“Shift?” she asks disoriented.
“Yeah, you know, at the diner?”
“Three, I think. What’s today?”
“Friday, Ma, all day.”
She smirks. She’s so pretty, even with her messed up hair and weathered skin. “Three o’clock.”
“You have time to sleep then.”
“Good.” She rolls over. “Can you get me some aspirin?”
I hold out my hand. “Already got you covered.”
“I love you, baby,” she croons in her Brooklyn accent before she passes out.
I escape unscathed.This time.
I tidy up the rest of the apartment, take a quick shower, and throw on a white polo and a pair of checkered shorts before I head out.
“Hey, Mr. Williams,” I yell to our elderly next-door neighbor who does nothing but sit on his porch all day and smoke.
“Morning, Sean.” I hear the rocking chair creak.
“Ryan,” I correct him.
He waves me off as he lights a cigarette. I just roll my eyes and smile. It’s the same every time. He always thinks I’m Sean, and Sean is me. It is kind of hard to tell us apart from afar, even though we dress nothing alike. Sean thinks he’s Eminem. I’m more the American Eagle, surfer type.
It’s a nice morning, so I unzip the windows of my Jeep; if I wasn’t feeling so lazy, I’d take the doors off too, but not today. This car is my prized possession — a gunmetal-gray Jeep Wrangler that took me three years to save up for. Sometimes working multiple jobs at a time. But I finally did it, and last year on my twenty-first birthday, I bought it outright. It was October, so I didn’t get much top-down time, but there were a few days here and there. Now that it’s summer, and I live minutes from the beach, I’m taking full advantage of every nice day. New Jersey only gets four — five if we’re lucky — good months of warm weather, so there’s no wasting a moment.
I turn the key, hit the gas, and drive out of my ghetto-ass apartment complex with my shirt rippling in the wind.
* * *
I unlockthe wooden boards of the bar.
Mac isn’t here yet, so I start setting up by myself. The racetrack is empty, and for a little while, it will be peaceful. Until the crowds start pouring in, and the first horse race goes off. This job is entertainment, if nothing else, and the money isn’t too bad either. I’ve worked at the track for the past two summers, and it is by far my most favorite job. Where else can you come to work with thirteen dollars in your pocket and leave with three hundred?
And I don’t mean from tips.
I run the lines, releasing the air from the beer taps, fill the ice bins, restock the soda, and stack some plastic cups. By the time everything is finished, Mac is strolling up to the bar.
“Nice of you to show,” I jibe.
He pulls down his sunglasses showing me the bags under his eyes.
“Another late night?” I shove the scooper into the ice.
“Yup, and my last early morning.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I laugh.