22
HUXLEY
It’s the end of another woodworking class, and I’m packing up my bag when Whit walks up to me, his typical crooked smile fixed on his face.
“That’s a really cool idea you got there,” he says as he points to my workstation. “And your execution is flawless.” His smile widens and with a proud laugh he adds, “You’re a natural.”
I’ve been attending his classes for two months now, and Whit has beenincessantlyencouraging me with every little thing. I haven’t gotten used to it. I don’t think I ever will. His words prickle against my skin anytime he opens his mouth.
At least, I’ve gotten used to simply nodding and smiling.
In a way, he reminds me of Ozzy.
They’re both trying too hard.
I look over to the project I’ve been working on and feel embarrassed. I don’t even know why I had the idea in the first place.
Waste of fucking time.
I look back to Whit.
“Thanks,” I grunt as I swing my bag over my shoulder, getting ready to leave.
“Have time for a beer?” Whit asks.
I stop in my tracks and narrow my eyes. “With you?”
He barks a laugh. “Yeah, with me.” He points behind him with his thumb. “There’s a bar just around the corner from here. The place sucks but the beer is cold.”
His invitation smells like pity. Like I’m a charity case that needs his attention. Why else would he invite me out for a beer? I almost say no, but something stops me.
Maybe it’s loneliness that has me nodding my head and agreeing. Or maybe it’s the fact that I lost all my friends when I went to prison. And that my only friend now is not even a friend at all but my sister Sophia.
Pathetic.
Whit’s face brightens at the sight of my half-hearted nod.
“Great! I’ll grab my coat.”
Whit was right,Stanley’s is a dive bar. It’s dark and dingy with a couple of pool tables in the back and a jukebox near the bathrooms. The bartender looks like he would rather die than be here serving us.
It’s perfect and exactly what I like.
We sit at the sticky bar, and Whit orders us a round of beers. After a quick clink of our bottles, we fall silent as we take our first sip.
I don’t know what to say so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “My brother used to work around here.”
“Yeah? Where?”
I feel stupid even to have brought it up but answer his question anyway. “Orso — it’s a restaurant on Miller.”
Whit gives me a toothy smile. “Oh yeah, I know that place.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Fancy.”
I wordlessly agree and suddenly feel awkward as if I’vecompletely lost the art of small talk. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever known how.
“Older brother?”
I nod, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “Younger brother and sister too.”
