Sidewalk
"I'm just not into that way. You understand? But we're still friends, right"?
It had been two months since she said the words to Kane and they echoed through his head on lonely nights
and in quiet moments. The reverberated through his head now, the sound of them seeming to bounce off the
walls of mind again and again until all other thoughts broke into fragments. He felt the curb drop away beneath
his feet.
Kane and Ossi, the girl who turned heads in the traffic, who should have been a model, whose laugh still sent
shivers down his spine after two years, still spoke daily, sharing private jokes and laughs and going out regularly.
But now they were just buddies, not that they'd ever been anything else to her apparently. And so without a
thought to what it really meant Kane put aside his hopes, in essence a whole part of himself, so that she wouldn't
feel bad for rejecting him.
"You sir, are a busta. All that time she wants to spend with you, but you ain't good enough for some ass? And
you still speak to her? For what? Man give me your playa card." Chuckie wasn't one to mince words. They had
been drinking after a party, counting up the door take and just talking when Kane spilled to his boy. Chuckie had
started to go further but stopped, just shaking his head and said no more about it.
Good enough to spend his money when they went out. Good enough to be there when a male presence was
needed. But not good enough for a "relationship". Ossi sometimes called him at midnight or later, wanting to talk
and he'd yawn his way through work. But the conversations made him feel whole and sometimes found himself
waiting for the phone to ring.
In private she called him "Bumper", after the #3 combo he ordered every Thursday when they got together for
slices.
"What you are is an entertainment center. I just read about it in this book. That's the term for you. You're the
other half of the relationship. One guy does what you do, and she sleeps with the other guy. She gets it all. That
would make you the non-booty call." Tisha laughed at her own joke. They were eating lunch and Kane had
explained his position over his reheated spaghetti and her rice pilaf and chicken. She noticed the pained
expression on his face and tried to look sad for a second, but couldn't help but giggle. The conversation had
gone swiftly downhill from there.
Kane had marginalized himself in his own mind, without thought or pretense. If Ossi needed someone to run an
errand, he jumped like his name was Fechit. If Ossi was hungry, he knew her favorite foods and when she
wanted them. Had she suggested skydiving, Kane would have already been strapping on the parachute. And she
couldn't remember his middle name.
Twenty five minutes ago, he'd ordered his usual #3 Bumper combo at the counter. The counter girl said it with
him as he ordered and gave him a knowing look, as she took his order every week for the same thing. Ossi got
the #17 this time. She rarely ordered the same thing twice in a row, and even as she said it Kane unfolded the
little piece of paper he'd written his guess on. He was right again, his fifth correct prediction of her order in a row.
He was on a streak since he'd missed three times straight.
Twenty minutes ago, drinks in hand they settled into the booth by the window, and she started in on her week.
He listened with interest, asking questions as she went over the rough spots and shared her triumphs. He smiled
quietly, just happy to be in her company. It was moments like this that made him feel warm all over.
Fifteen minutes ago just as the conversation paused and he hesitated, the pizza arrived, the meats still sizzling the
cheese steaming. With barely a word they dug in, passing the pepper, garlic and parmesan as requested.
Ten minutes ago, the initial hunger beaten back they eased back into conversation. Ossi insisted there was a new
gospel stage play that they simply had to go see this coming weekend. Her eyes glowed as she made plans,
repeating funny lines from the commercial and laughing at her own jokes. They shared a moment.
Five minutes ago, something inside him broke. Kane had been sitting at a table with a woman he realized he really
and truly loved, who he was willing to break himself down to the bare essence to be with, who was not going to
love him back. No matter what he did, no matter how long he waited, he would never be that guy. In the story
of his own life, he was secondary character.
Kane had been emasculated.
His face apparently changed, as she looked at him with concern suddenly. "Bumper, you okay?"
He got up and walked out. He didn't say anything, didn't get his jacket or stop to when he ran into people, he
just kept moving. On the sidewalk he became frantic, then started running, long strides that ate up the distance.
He heard her yell behind him but didn't look back. His legs and arms pumped, the soles of his sneakers a steady
slap on the concrete.
Kane ran until he was out of breath, but kept going. He ran until his chest burned and legs ached, but kept
going. Teetering on exhaustion he finally came to a stop on corner against a light post. He bent and labored in
his breathing as he tried to gather his wits, come to grips with his thoughts. His cell phone rang that special ring
that said it was Ossi on the other end, and without a second thought he threw the phone into the street.
At the back of eyes he could feel the tears, and fought them back. And started across the intersection, he felt
the curb drop away beneath his feet. He closed his eyes against the pain. He never heard the car's horn or the
squeal of the tires. The last thing he felt before he died was the sidewalk, the grit and sand, as the pain and the
blood seeped out, a crimson red pool of his soul.
It couldn't leak out fast enough.
"I'm just not into that way. You understand? But we're still friends, right"?
It had been two months since she said the words to Kane and they echoed through his head on lonely nights
and in quiet moments. The reverberated through his head now, the sound of them seeming to bounce off the
walls of mind again and again until all other thoughts broke into fragments. He felt the curb drop away beneath
his feet.
Kane and Ossi, the girl who turned heads in the traffic, who should have been a model, whose laugh still sent
shivers down his spine after two years, still spoke daily, sharing private jokes and laughs and going out regularly.
But now they were just buddies, not that they'd ever been anything else to her apparently. And so without a
thought to what it really meant Kane put aside his hopes, in essence a whole part of himself, so that she wouldn't
feel bad for rejecting him.
"You sir, are a busta. All that time she wants to spend with you, but you ain't good enough for some ass? And
you still speak to her? For what? Man give me your playa card." Chuckie wasn't one to mince words. They had
been drinking after a party, counting up the door take and just talking when Kane spilled to his boy. Chuckie had
started to go further but stopped, just shaking his head and said no more about it.
Good enough to spend his money when they went out. Good enough to be there when a male presence was
needed. But not good enough for a "relationship". Ossi sometimes called him at midnight or later, wanting to talk
and he'd yawn his way through work. But the conversations made him feel whole and sometimes found himself
waiting for the phone to ring.
In private she called him "Bumper", after the #3 combo he ordered every Thursday when they got together for
slices.
"What you are is an entertainment center. I just read about it in this book. That's the term for you. You're the
other half of the relationship. One guy does what you do, and she sleeps with the other guy. She gets it all. That
would make you the non-booty call." Tisha laughed at her own joke. They were eating lunch and Kane had
explained his position over his reheated spaghetti and her rice pilaf and chicken. She noticed the pained
expression on his face and tried to look sad for a second, but couldn't help but giggle. The conversation had
gone swiftly downhill from there.
Kane had marginalized himself in his own mind, without thought or pretense. If Ossi needed someone to run an
errand, he jumped like his name was Fechit. If Ossi was hungry, he knew her favorite foods and when she
wanted them. Had she suggested skydiving, Kane would have already been strapping on the parachute. And she
couldn't remember his middle name.
Twenty five minutes ago, he'd ordered his usual #3 Bumper combo at the counter. The counter girl said it with
him as he ordered and gave him a knowing look, as she took his order every week for the same thing. Ossi got
the #17 this time. She rarely ordered the same thing twice in a row, and even as she said it Kane unfolded the
little piece of paper he'd written his guess on. He was right again, his fifth correct prediction of her order in a row.
He was on a streak since he'd missed three times straight.
Twenty minutes ago, drinks in hand they settled into the booth by the window, and she started in on her week.
He listened with interest, asking questions as she went over the rough spots and shared her triumphs. He smiled
quietly, just happy to be in her company. It was moments like this that made him feel warm all over.
Fifteen minutes ago just as the conversation paused and he hesitated, the pizza arrived, the meats still sizzling the
cheese steaming. With barely a word they dug in, passing the pepper, garlic and parmesan as requested.
Ten minutes ago, the initial hunger beaten back they eased back into conversation. Ossi insisted there was a new
gospel stage play that they simply had to go see this coming weekend. Her eyes glowed as she made plans,
repeating funny lines from the commercial and laughing at her own jokes. They shared a moment.
Five minutes ago, something inside him broke. Kane had been sitting at a table with a woman he realized he really
and truly loved, who he was willing to break himself down to the bare essence to be with, who was not going to
love him back. No matter what he did, no matter how long he waited, he would never be that guy. In the story
of his own life, he was secondary character.
Kane had been emasculated.
His face apparently changed, as she looked at him with concern suddenly. "Bumper, you okay?"
He got up and walked out. He didn't say anything, didn't get his jacket or stop to when he ran into people, he
just kept moving. On the sidewalk he became frantic, then started running, long strides that ate up the distance.
He heard her yell behind him but didn't look back. His legs and arms pumped, the soles of his sneakers a steady
slap on the concrete.
Kane ran until he was out of breath, but kept going. He ran until his chest burned and legs ached, but kept
going. Teetering on exhaustion he finally came to a stop on corner against a light post. He bent and labored in
his breathing as he tried to gather his wits, come to grips with his thoughts. His cell phone rang that special ring
that said it was Ossi on the other end, and without a second thought he threw the phone into the street.
At the back of eyes he could feel the tears, and fought them back. And started across the intersection, he felt
the curb drop away beneath his feet. He closed his eyes against the pain. He never heard the car's horn or the
squeal of the tires. The last thing he felt before he died was the sidewalk, the grit and sand, as the pain and the
blood seeped out, a crimson red pool of his soul.
It couldn't leak out fast enough.
What happens when you love someone and they don't love you back? Tragic. And then they
still want to be friends? Er.. what? I guess that sometimes the story is only good if you're the
person turning the page.
still want to be friends? Er.. what? I guess that sometimes the story is only good if you're the
person turning the page.