"Me too." He spends a few minutes reading the menu. "Don't know what to get."
"Well, you really can't go wrong with anything, but I'm partial to the stuffed French toast," I tell him.
He finds the item on the menu. "Never had French toast before."
I boggle at him. "What? You haven't?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Well then, that's settled. You have to get the French toast." I peruse the menu a moment or two longer before deciding on avocado toast.
The waitress comes by and we both get coffee; she brings that and takes our orders.
"So you walk everywhere?" I ask after our orders are in.
He nods, sipping coffee. "No car, no license."
"You don't have a driver's license?"
A shake of his head. "Nope. Never learned."
"I can teach you."
He looks down at the table for a second. "That'd be cool."
"We can do that after we eat. The parking lot at the dog park is big and open—it's a good place to learn."
"What's a dog park?"
I laugh. "A park for dogs?" His face twists, and I realize he probably thinks I’m mocking him. "Bear, I'm sorry. I'm not making fun. You just ask funny questions sometimes—I forget how vastly different our experiences are. It’s just a fenced-in area where people who don't have backyards can go to get their dogs exercise and socialization."
He nods. "I was a street rat. Until I went to prison, I lived my whole life in the same ten-block radius—the territory my gang controlled. Wasn't a whole lot there, but it was ours."
"What was the gang like?" I ask. “Do you mind me asking questions?"
"Nope. Don't mind."
"You don't ever have to answer, obviously. I'm just curious. But please tell me if I’m being nosy."
"It's cool." He sips coffee, his massive paws making the porcelain mug seem like a plaything. "It was complicated. They were my family. We took care of each other. Protected each other. Someone came for one of us, they got all of us. Some had families, a mom, or a brother or sister. I didn't. I stayedwith whoever I could. Usually, I stayed with my boy Gerard. His mom was nice. She'd feed me. Let me sleep on her couch. I kept Gerard outta trouble."
"You still talk to him?" I ask.
His eyes narrow, flick away. "Nah. He died."
"Oh god, Bear, I'm so sorry." I reach across the table and take his hand.
Bear nods. "My fault."
I shake my head. "Bear, I’m sure it wasn't."
"Was. I was with a girl. Gerard was beefing with this clown from another gang. Wanted me to go with him for backup. Told him it was foolish. Forget it. Let it go. He went anyway, figured he could take the guy himself. Got jumped and beat to death." He looks away, his gaze hard. "Shoulda been there for him."
I squeeze his hand. "Bear, you were trying to keep him out of trouble. You told him not to go."
"Your boy asks you to go, you go. I didn't. He died."
I sigh. "I'm sorry. I know I have no idea how that must feel."
