Tulsa wasn\u2019t ever a place I\u2019d thought I\u2019d visit, but when the opportunity presented itself, I didn\u2019t hesitate for a second. My mom got scared when I went to places like this, but she also knew I\u2019d always try places like this. Myself, I was excited. I believed I\u2019d made myself so versatile, I could go anywhere. All I needed was a reason. Didn\u2019t need to be good or bad. I just wanted to see something I\u2019d never seen before.<\/p>\n
I was driving cross-country, and there was an old friend I could stop and see on the way. That was the opportunity. I was driving cross country because I was getting back with my ex.<\/p>\n
I knew it could be a giant mistake. I didn\u2019t care. She gave me purpose, even though I didn\u2019t fully understand that yet. Plus, she was the most beautiful woman I\u2019d ever known.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d never go through this part of the country otherwise. Nate was a middle school friend. That\u2019s how far we went back. One of the two white kids I could remember from the school we went to. Back then, he\u2019d already been tough. He\u2019d had to be. So that\u2019s how I met him. Trailer trash.<\/p>\n
After all those years, he\u2019d popped up on my Facebook. Tulsa was where he\u2019d emerged. A mystery as to what lay between.<\/p>\n
As the days came closer to my visit, I could sense him becoming more nervous over the phone, more nervous through text. I was pushing the issue now, to meet. I didn\u2019t mind pushing.<\/p>\n
It was a mystery. I was going to figure it out.<\/p>\n
The town didn\u2019t look bad as I drove in. I drove past country things: haybales, memorabilia shops, a Cracker Barrel. I drove over a bridge. The sun felt nostalgic, old timey. I went up a hill, just for kicks.<\/p>\n
But I could see the rough edges. I could recognize them by that point in my life.<\/p>\n
It was a nice day. I booked a hotel over my phone but when I arrived, I became suspicious. I needed something quaint and affordable but that doesn\u2019t always look like what you want it to be. I had all my belongings in my SUV. The move.<\/p>\n
I could smell tweakers from a mile away.<\/p>\n
I was keenly aware of those who preyed on the loaded travelers. Case the mark during the day, then in the middle of the night, raid the whole car. Just a carpet of glass left on the asphalt to discover come morning.<\/p>\n
I got the keys to the room. Once inside, I pulled the curtains closed, checked the sheets and the bathroom, got back to the curtains and spied out one end of the window, clocking the coyotes.<\/p>\n
Nate said he was cooking dinner. I knew he\u2019d married his parole officer. She had three kids. All girls. He worked in construction. He was some kind of pit boss. It didn\u2019t sound like he liked Mexicans when he referenced them, but that\u2019s all that was available apparently. In Tulsa. Here he was, a felon, but some ideas die hard, I guess.<\/p>\n
The sun was beginning to set and make everything look like rust. I stopped on my way to his place to get some toys for the kids. I don\u2019t like to show up empty-handed.<\/p>\n
The only thing I passed was a Dollar Tree. I picked up six bags of candy. Mom would hate me, but the kids would cheer, I was confident. A trick I learned from my Oma.<\/p>\n
In the front of the line, there was a woman hashing through coupons. After the coupons, counting coins on the counter. Small Asian woman, short hair cut, strands of grey, dusty pink puffer jacket, maybe a little younger than my mom. Just out here, in Tulsa, trying to make it on a late Tuesday afternoon.<\/p>\n
How\u2019d you get out here? Whose mother or sister or daughter were you? Was life just going to be like this? What the fuck.<\/p>\n
I drove into Nate\u2019s neighborhood, noticing all the neat little yards and absolutely no one out in them or the streets or sidewalks or anything. I pulled into a cul-de-sac, nice little one-story houses with clean driveways, a big truck in almost every one of them, and banners hanging. America or a school or an American football team. Nate met me outside his house, and you know what? He still looked like Nate.<\/p>\n
Still looked strong. He was wearing jeans, not skinny, not baggy, and a 311 shirt.<\/p>\n
I stepped out my car, smiling big. I was wearing my jean jacket, a baseball cap. We hugged. I handed him the plastic bag full of candy.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor the kids,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBree won\u2019t like it,\u201d Nate said. But he was grinning. Nate was still in there.<\/p>\n
We stepped inside his house. It was nice. Like what you expect. Carpet. Lots of wood. Picture frames on the walls. The girls said hello to me and immediately lost interest. The wife also briefly said hello, then turned back to her computer. Something was off, but I just followed Nate for the house tour.<\/p>\n
Decent backyard. Tidy kitchen. Bunch of cabinets. Cereal on top of the fridge.<\/p>\n
Nate had a nice little life here. So why did I feel like I\u2019d walked into one of those cages where the fences were electric?<\/p>\n
\u201cWe already ate,\u201d he told me. \u201cI made tacos.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought that was weird. We were supposed to have dinner together.<\/p>\n
\u201cWant some?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh, yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took a big tortilla and tossed some beef onto it and some frozen shredded cheese and put it in the microwave.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou remember I used to be a decent chef,\u201d he told me. He wasn\u2019t being sarcastic, but I didn\u2019t remember him being a chef. True, he\u2019d been a line cook at seafood restaurant in a strip mall in our small town, but I\u2019d never gone.<\/p>\n
I just nodded. The microwave beeped and he took the plate out. At least he had a bottle of Tapatio.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me know if you want more,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I rolled the oversized taco into a makeshift burrito and blew on it, eating at the kitchen table with him, his family in the other room.<\/p>\n
It got night. Nate didn\u2019t drink anymore. He told me out front in the driveway the reason he\u2019d gone to jail was for four DUI\u2019s. You do years for that many.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was never any good at it,\u201d he told me. \u201cI had to keep finding that out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I noticed skittish tendencies of his. I noticed skittish tendencies of his wife. She never spoke to me. She wanted to look but she\u2019d catch herself, do something else. Look back at the computer screen. The kids were in their own little TV world. They did love the candy. Mom did not, but she wasn\u2019t mad at me.<\/p>\n
We watched a movie with Will Smith in it. He had it on DVD. It was fine. I drank a Dr. Pepper. No one talked during the movie. When it was over, the kids were promptly sent to bed.<\/p>\n
While Mom arranged that, Nate and I went out onto the driveway again. Music was playing next door. His neighbors were out on their yards in lawn chairs, drinking beer.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese Mexicans. They look at my wife,\u201d he said with a low level of venom.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor real? Is it a problem?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHas there been any problems?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I just\u2026 get protective. I get protective of her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething happen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told you where I met her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think\u2026 being inside just makes you very possessive of what you got.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can understand that. But you trust her, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d he said a little softly.<\/p>\n
I allowed for a moment of silence. To just cool down.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were in there a while, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at you now though,\u201d I said. \u201cYou got a house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCause of her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what? Y\u2019all are a unit now. It\u2019s yours. And those are your daughters. They\u2019re lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are. Thank you, man.\u201d He drank his Dr. Pepper. \u201cWe have a good thing, I think. And the job is stable. I just gotta whip these guys into shape sometimes. They don\u2019t always want to work. I don\u2019t want to be that guy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou talk to anybody?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike, a professional. Just, about stuff. How you feel and stuff like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck that,\u201d he said, sneering.<\/p>\n
We stood quiet a beat, looking out into the now dark sky, the black trees, the lights of the street.<\/p>\n
\u201cI do,\u201d I said. \u201cI was talking to someone. I needed to. Especially if I was going to make this move, get back with my lady. I needed to talk to someone. Not a friend, not family. Someone I could just say it to. And they could listen. And not to tell me I\u2019m not a bad person. Not tell me I\u2019m a good person. Just listen. And tell me things that could maybe help. Or maybe just say I hear you. It\u2019s not a bad thing, Nate. You know, I think we need it, honestly. I think it\u2019s pretty helpful. I think being in our own heads all the time is a little dangerous. It\u2019s not good to be there all the time. Alone. And I like being alone. But you\u2019re not supposed to be there all the time. You know? Plus\u2026 you just can\u2019t always tell people you love what you feel, what you think, all the time. You might not know how to say it just then. Am I making any sense?\u201d<\/p>\n
We were quiet for a long time. Then Nate said, \u201cI was talking to someone. My last months, inside. I just didn\u2019t want to say it. I thought it\u2019d make me sound crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
The neighbors had gone back inside their house. It alleviated the situation. I put my hand on his shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t sound crazy, hoss.\u201d<\/p>\n
Looking at him, I could see in his eyes, some of that old mirth, the wealthy glitter of hopefulness from our youth. It just blinked out so fast I didn\u2019t have time to latch on. But I knew who I was too. We went back inside the house. His wife and the girls had gone into their rooms. It wasn\u2019t even nine o\u2019clock. I knew I ought to leave.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, man. It was damn good to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRemember when I was your math tutor?\u201d he asked me.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t and said so.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mom asked me to help you.\u201d<\/p>\n
We hugged. For a long time. He didn\u2019t look me in the eye when we parted.<\/p>\n
\u201cCall me. Seriously. If you just need to\u2026 talk,\u201d I told him, knowing I\u2019d never see him again.<\/p>\n
\u201cDrive safe,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n
I started driving back to my motel. Last minute, I decided to stop by a pub I\u2019d looked up. It had the name \u201cdog\u201d in it, so I figured it ought to do the trick.<\/p>\n
I parked in the lot. It was packed. When I got in there, I encountered the most elderly white people I\u2019d ever seen in my life. Some were dancing. Most were sitting. Talking. It was lively. All of them looked at me like I was an alien. I went to the bar anyway. The bartender, middle-aged with red hair and white roots showing, asked me without enthusiasm what I\u2019d like.<\/p>\n
\u201cShot of tequila, chilled, and a Modelo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t want to stay there, but I wasn\u2019t going to run out. I was resolute. I took the shot, drank half the beer, and then I left. No fuss.<\/p>\n
The parking lot of the motel was quiet. I slept three hours. Then I left Tulsa and never went back. But I still thought about Nate. Often.<\/p>\n
For a long time, I used to tell people: when you think of someone, just hit them up.<\/p>\n
Contact them.<\/p>\n
It\u2019ll mean a lot. It\u2019s nice.<\/p>\n
But these days, I\u2019ve found I\u2019m more inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Nate didn\u2019t drink anymore. He told me out front in the driveway the reason he\u2019d gone to jail was for four DUI\u2019s. You do years for that many. \u201cI was never any good at it,\u201d he told me. \u201cI had to keep finding that out.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":22813,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[4194],"class_list":["post-22090","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-wolf_cassoulet","writer-x-c-atkins"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22090","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=22090"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22090\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22814,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22090\/revisions\/22814"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/22813"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=22090"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=22090"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=22090"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}