11

 

The evening air was a tad bit cooler than was expected for early autumn in Oakhaven, but Ken had always liked the refreshing feel of the season. It was as if his lungs could hold more of the crisp, clean air and his senses were set to tingle with alertness. Yes, quite pleasant indeed, he thought to himself as his brown, leather loafers climbed the cement stairs of an old brick building. The sign above the door creaked noisily as the chill wind set it to swaying, it's worn and faded lettering still reading 'City Hall' despite this being the Hall's old location, now used only by clubs and organizations for small gatherings.

The building's interior was scarcely warmer than outside as the city was still responsible for utilities and weren't about to up the heat this early in the year. It's stark white walls did however remove the wind's bite. Of course Ken was a firm believer in layered clothing. He simply adored cozy sweaters and woolen jackets, and don't get him started on his scarf collection. Rounding the corner of the short, dimly lit and almost eerily silent hallway, he spies the familiar door. Upon its frosted glass pane is taped a piece of yellow legal pad paper with the letters BMR written in black sharpie. Drawing closer, he hears two familiar voices, the door having been left ajar. Stepping with the small, white walled room with it's flickering fluorescent overhead lighting, Ken smiles to the faces of two individuals whom he had come to think of as friends. Not bothering to close the door behind him, as the group had the building to themselves on Monday nights, he quickly helps himself to a cup of spiced apple cider and a pumpkin shaped sugar cookie courtesy of Mabel, Oakhaven's former event coordinator who at the age of 72 still liked to help out here and there. Incidentally, Mabel was also the wizard behind the majority of Ken's handmade scarves. What that woman could do with a pair of knitting needles was nothing short of magical.

Claiming his spot upon the last of three black metal folding chairs, Ken takes a sip of his cider then crosses his legs at the ankles, resting his napkin and cookie upon his lap "Evening all." He says with a grin. The blonde woman to his left smiles warmly upon him, the expression causing her facial jewelry to twinkle in the harsh lighting. "Hey, Ken." She replies, two and a half of her own cookies clutched in one hand, pale crumbs littering the front of her black hoodie. The man at his right nods and offers a, "Sup." before shoving his phone into his jeans pocket and sipping from his white paper cup. The trio makes light conversation for several moments until a fourth party arrives, the man's dark hair slightly mussed from the wind and jacket collar pulled high about his neck. "And how is everyone this evening?" the man asks, moving to draw forth two milk crates as they seemed to be short one chair. After fetching himself a drink, he positions himself before the trio and removes his jacket, slinging it over his lap. Murmurs reach him stating that all are well, to which he smiles then dives right into the purpose of their gathering. "OK, so last week, we established that despite each of your relationships having landed on the toxic end of the spectrum, all three of you have come away with some manner of lesson learned which will aid you in present and future relationships, correct?" The trio nods, the man to Ken's right uttering a soft chuckle and a, "Fuckin A right." At this, Jack arches a brow, his gaze fixed upon the man. "Would you care to elaborate, Darius?" Hesitation visible within his dark eyes Darius lets out a long, slow exhalation. "Man, Jack...since Barbie and I separated, I swear my bullshit meter has kicked into overdrive. I've always thought of myself as a pretty smart dude but that woman had me in blinders. Not even so much Barbie herself, but the whole group of folks that run shit for her. They had me wearing a whole mess of gold chains, pants down around my boxers and they almost...ALMOST talked me into combing out my fucking hair." Darius lowers his gaze, his dark, neatly done braids grazing his shoulders as he shakes his head shamefully. Jack sips his cider and nods. "They wanted you to play the token black man." Darius gives a small nod. "Yeah. It was all just for show."

Jack shifts his gaze to the blonde woman who was absently scratching at her left forearm, her new ink just starting to heal and in need of some cream for the itch. "That sounds very similar to your own situation, doesn't it Tara?" The woman gives Darius a sympathetic smile and says, "Totally. I was just the short term lesbian girlfriend that gave her an excuse to fill her closet with rainbows for one summer. I mean, there were times when we really seemed to click, and things were pretty hot in bed, but I should've known better. If I had a dollar for every straight chic that wanted to play around just to have some secret to share with her friends after a few glasses of wine...still, she's pretty hot though." Darius nods in agreement, "Bangin."

Ken sighs in resignation, "She does look quite lovely for her age. Not many women can pull off 62 like she can." Ken's statement causes Jack to momentarily lose track of his professionalism, the result being his sputtering cider down the front of his shirt. "Barbara is 62 years old?" He asks incredulously, his thoughts now mirrored in the faces of Tara and Darius as well. Feeling his cheeks flush at having divulged such information, Ken clears his throat and says, "Forget I said that." then stuffs the remainder of his cookie in his mouth, hoping the awkward moment will soon pass. Of course it doesn't, so Ken squares his shoulders a bit and speaks again. "You know what? Contract be damned. It's true. Barbara Millicent Roberts is no spring chicken. That woman is so full of plastic they'll most likely recycle her into a handbag when she kicks the bucket. For 43 years I was forced to play that woman's perfect companion, adopting every passing fancy of hers. I've been a figure skater, a doctor, been in a rock band and even worked at a soda fountain! Except for a very brief period in 1993 when I got to run around in purple leather and pierce my ear, I was never able to be myself. Not EVER! I've had my stomach stapled because Barbie could never have a overweight boyfriend, I've had LASIK because Barbie would never date someone who wore nerd glasses, I've had laser hair removal on 95% of my body because Barbie would never date someone with back hair which of course means I can't even grow a God damned beard for the first time in my life to keep my surgically reconstructed face warm this fucking winter! And now...now that I am free to do as I please...free to announce proudly that I am, and have all this time been a repressed gay male, the woman is in total denial! She refuses to even entertain the notion, and God forbid I 'embarrass' her by finally entering into a healthy and loving homosexual relationship with someone!" Ken suddenly feels himself beginning to hyperventilate and Jack, recognizing the signs quickly rummages through his jacket pocket. Finding a small paper bag holding only donut crumbs, he empties it onto the floor then hands it to the uncharacteristically upset Mr. Carson.

Jack glances around the room, momentarily unsure how to continue. Scratching his head he finally says, "Ok...let's call this meeting a short one shall we? I'll be out of town next Monday, but you all have my number if you need me. Ken, I'm going to give you a ride home. Take your time to calm down while I clean up for Mabel." Jack then moves off to dump what's left of the cider and rinse out the carafe. Darius and Tara rise quietly from their chairs and make their exit, Tara giving Ken a comforting squeeze on one shoulder in passing.

Some time passes, and once poor Ken has finally regulated his breathing and regained control of his emotions, Jack escorts him out to the silver Prius parked outside.

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