A Kept Promise

27 never really seemed like a big deal to me. People talk about it like a major event. As if it was some turning point in life. “The big 2-7,” my Dad would often say to me during our half hour, mindless phone calls that mainly consisted of how the Braves were doing and how work was going. Then again, what else did we have to talk about? I just never really saw the lure or gratification of becoming older. The only real solace I found in it all were the birthday parties, and, even then, those weren’t always glorious.

My birthday parties always seemed to turn from mediocre to atrocious extremely fast. I’ll never forget the year my mother tried to light the large, cartoonish-looking candles in the exaggerated shapes of a one and a three on top of my cake. After tedious efforts of trying to ignite the candles, she ended up getting the lighter too close to her hair, and the large, stringy, clump of brunette beauty went up in flames. I remember everyone at the party being so surprised; none of us knew that hair was that flammable. Then again, I guess mom’s White Rain hairspray didn’t really help much. Dad dropped the camera and dashed to the sink as fast as he could. Pulling the detachable sink head off the metallic surface, he ran the hose as far as it would go before he felt the cord pull against him, and then he sprayed Mom’s hair flambé until both the fire and the cake were drowned in tap water.

This year, however, I am determined to have a remarkable, nonflammable, birthday party once and for all. Time and time again, my celebratory events seem to fall flat on their face. All I want is for one to just go the way I want I to. I want to celebrate this, meaningless or not, without a care in the world. In means of doing so, I’ve went through all the ins and outs to ensure the success of this one. A black tie event. I rented out a space for the occasion normally used for wedding receptions. The spot has all the bells and whistles needed for an ideal party: a large dance floor, a stage, a provided DJ, a wide variety of caterers, and even a light machine programmable in a hundred different colors. I didn’t even know a hundred colors f*****g existed! The only compliant I can think of is the location"it was near an old cemetery in town. “Buehler’s Cemetery” reads across the black, steel gate that blocks off the land of the dead from outsiders. Most people from this town end up there. My grandfather is buried there, so maybe it’s not that bad at all. He can be at the party with us in spirit. The old bird loved to dance.

I sent out the invitations months in advance and the majority of the people responded with a “yes.” Besides, how could someone say no to the artistically designed cards I spent hours trying to make? I still have one laying on my kitchen table that I saved for myself. An old keepsake to remember the glorious occasion. They’re pitch black with alabaster white letters on the front reading “FORMAL INVITATION.” The invitations are beautiful if I do say so myself. It’s times like these I’m glad I majored in graphic design. The inside encases all the details of the party including time, location, theme, etc… Sometimes I like to try and imagine the faces of my friends when they first opened the envelope and got a glance of the card, followed by a whiff of the lightly sprinkled cologne that each card was treated with.

I am truly trying to go all out for this one. I saved up for a while trying to make everything work for this event. After all, as my dad likes to tell me, you only turn 27 once. Everything is perfect and, if it all goes according to plan, it will be a day to remember. That I am sure of.

I understand I’m getting overly excited for my party but none of that even compares to the most important part: the arrival of my best friend, Mak. I would have thrown this party even if it wasn’t my birthday just so Mak would have an excuse to come down.

You see, Mak moved away from Georgia right after college to go work as a Sales Manager for a massive company in New York City. Needless to say, we didn’t get to see each other that often. However, once every few months, Mak would take a trip down here to come see his parents for a bit. After visiting them for what he thought was a respectable amount of time, he spent the rest of the time staying over at my place.

There was truly never a dull moment with Mak. He was always the life of every party. Everyone wanted to be around Mak, and I couldn’t blame them. He was one of those all-around great guys. Top of our class, he had secured a good job, was respectable, always told the best stories, and was the type friend that people didn’t even believe existed. If I’m being honest, I was fortunate to have found him myself. He impacted my life like no one else could. Growing up an only child is strange and lonely, especially when you don’t have any older siblings to look up to as your heroes or role models. I was able to find that sense of admiration in Mak. I knew from the first second we met that he was the type of person I aspired to be. I didn’t need a brother or sister when I had Mak because… well, because Mak practically felt like family to me anyways.

 

I received the text about an hour ago from him telling me he was on his way from his parent’s house. I remember going over to his parent’s house a lot in high school. Before I could even shut the door to my car, Mak would already be calling me over to play basketball with him on his parent’s driveway. Mak was shooting guard on the high school team and he lead the team in points most nights. I was never able to win against him, unless, of course, we were playing with street rules. That was about the only time I could beat him. I’d run out of bounds and throw up a prayer. I’d close my eyes and wait for the sound of the worn down ball hitting the rusty backboard, causing a terrible metallic screech, then a “swish” as the ball darted through the withered net. We’d both laugh at how incredibly lucky I was to have that shot somehow go in the hoop. “The basketball gods smile upon you today, Josh Locke,” he’d say in a mocking tone.

 

A beating on my apartment door springs me forward out of my chair. I rush to the door and then stop for a minute to compose myself. I hear a voice on the other side of the door shout, “put your pants on Josh. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.”

I shout back from the other side of the door “what’s the secret password, a*****e?” I look through the peep hole in the door that I often use to spy on the drunks outside my apartment. They like to congregate in the parking lot late at night, often times swearing at extreme volumes. The blue in Mak’s eyes shifted up, unconsciously meeting my peeping gaze. A slight smirk crept on his face.

“Now how am I supposed to know that?”

“Think 2001: A Space Odyssey,” I sighed in response.

“That’s too quotable. How do you expect me to guess that?”

“What’s the first one that comes to mind?”

He stops for a moment to think and then says, “Is it: ‘I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.’”

I let out a small laugh, turn the knob, and swing the door open.

“Stanley Kubrick would be proud,” I say while gesturing my hand towards him. He slaps my hand away and opens his arms wide like you’re instructed to do when they tell you to make yourself bigger than the bear if you’re ever to be attacked by one. I open my arms in an attempt to match his, and Mak steps towards me sporting a grin about as wide as his arms and hugs me. My arms wrap around him just as well and we both squeeze tight. Our first game of “strangling embrace” since the last time he came down.

“Strangling embrace” is a game Mak and I like to play whenever he first comes home. The point of the game is to keep hugging each other tighter and tighter until the other one can’t speak or breathe anymore.

“How long has it been?” I say while squeezing tighter.

“Too long man. You need to throw birthday parties more often.”

“I would but, sadly, I only have one birthday a year.”

“That’s funny because I have about five as far as Red Lobster is concerned.”
“You do love their seafood birthday platters,” I struggle to exhale the words as I feel his

hands lock into each other behind my back.

“You know I can’t risk a good deal like that.”

“I know, it’s a hard deal to pass u……” I say as I feel my face turning red and my lungs pumping as they work overtime trying to search for remaining oxygen.

“Is that a win I hear, or should I say, don’t hear?” he says with ease.

All I am able to muster up is a sad wheezing sound. Mak lets go, and I land on my feet, double over, and gasp for air. Mak scoffs at me and shouts, “Yes! That’s three times in a row now.”

I gather my breath and say, “What are you talking about man? I don’t know why you let go? I was totally about to win.”

“Dude, not even close,” he says looking at me with a smile. I could have sworn I saw his “tooth paste commercial” teeth glisten like they do in the ads.

Mak grabs the handle to his suitcase and starts walking towards the guest bed room, his luggage rolling behind him. I watch as he enters the room and disappears behind the wall.

“Sorry about the time, by the way,” I hear echo through the house. “I would have been here sooner, but traffic was really bad. Apparently there was some terrible wreck a couple miles up. I think the driver was drunk or something.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. I’m just glad you made it here safely.”

Mak reappears from behind the wall and stands in the door way of the guest bedroom. His short, blonde hair that he always keeps brushed back in a James Dean style shines softly under the lights in my apartment. His large stature could surely intimidate any pedestrian that passed him on the street. Walking around with Mak was like walking around with your own bodyguard, at least that’s how I assumed it appeared. Mak was tall, athletic, intelligent, and he did well for himself financially. He was the real life embodiment of Jay Gatsby; I was sure of it. I am convinced that Fitzgerald must have envisioned Mak when he wrote about the dashing Gatsby.

I started to make my way towards the fridge and asked Mak, “you want anything to drink?”

“Actually, yeah! If you don’t mind? What do you have?”

I opened the fridge and grabbed two ice cold beers out. I turned around and thrust my hip against the refrigerator door until I heard it close shut. Then I tossed one of the drinks over to Mak while shouting, “I got you your favorite.”

He caught the drink in his hand, turned it around to look at the label and replied, “you know me too well, Josh. I guess that’s why I keep you around.”

We both laughed as we popped the top off our beers and went bottoms up. A little bit of the drink escaped between my lips and the bottle and soaked my shirt. The liquid left a wet stain that seemed to take the shape of some country.

“I think you missed your mouth there, buddy?” Mak said jokingly as he was swallowing.

“S**t.” It seemed to be the only proper reply.

I grabbed a dish towel and started dabbing the wet spot on my shirt. Mak just chuckled again and went back to drinking.

Whilst looking down at my shirt and simultaneously attempting to clean the mess I made, I say in a lower tone, “You know,” I clear my throat and start rubbing the wet stain harder “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“Anything for my best friend.”

“No seriously man, it feels damn good to see you.”

“Don’t sweat it. You know I couldn’t miss your big 2-7.”

There it was again. The big “2-7.” I must have missed the memo when 27 became so important.

“I mean you didn’t miss mine, so why would I miss yours?” Mak says.

“I know, but you didn’t have to clear your schedule for me. You know the party isn’t until Friday?”

“I realize that, but it felt right to come down a couple days before the party.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Well, I was thinking...” Mak says while looking down at his, now empty, bottle.

“Sure, what was it?”

“Well, I was thinking we could go out before your party, you know? Like have a celebratory night out before the big birthday bash,” he says as he makes his way towards my couch. He lays his empty beer bottle on the wooden coffee table, and then, almost as if he had just remembered, he picks the bottle back up, grabs a coaster, and set the glass on top of it. He kicks out the foot rest and resumes, “just me and you, buddy. A night out on the town, shutting down every joint we don’t get thrown out of first.”

“Honestly,” I start back in a reply, “that sounds absolutely amazing to me. I could really use it; you know? I’ve been stressing out about the party ordeal this entire week.”

“It’s your party, Josh. There’s no reason to stress out about it. Parties are meant to be fun.” I watch as Mak turns his head towards me and smiles. It was a smile that could drag any answer out of a person, no matter how reluctant the person was. “Just promise me something, okay?”

I look at him and shake my head, fearing the words that would come next. “Sure, what is it?”

“Just promise me you’ll try and have a good time.”

“Alright…” The look on his face tells me that he knew my tone wasn’t that serious.

“Good.” Mak shifts his look towards the ceiling and slouches into the couch.

 

~~~~~~

 

Mak is getting dressed in the guest room while I am sifting through my cluttered closet trying to find the missing brown dress shoe that goes with its twin currently untied on my foot. My red and navy checkered shirt is halfway buttoned on my body, my tie relaxing loosely around my neck. My room is littered with dirty clothes, unmatched socks, plates, bottles, and a, assumingly, empty pizza box.

“What time is the cab getting here?” The deep tone echoes the question around the house.

“I figured I’d just drive so we wouldn’t be in a rush.”

“Good idea.” Mak replied.

I drove a beat up, silver sedan. I remember thinking how nice it was when my parents gave it to me right before I went off to college. My friends were all jealous of the black leather interior back then, but now even a freshly aged 16-year-old would scoff at the awful worn down leather seats. I should’ve gotten rid of the thing years ago, but I can’t bring myself to do it. At least, that’s just the reason I like to use to justify keeping it. The real reason is probably because I know I won’t get nearly as much out of it as I’d like.

“You ready?” A brooding body now stands in my doorway. Mak is dressed in a nice tan long sleeve shirt layered with an off-green bomber jacket, his jeans rolled at his ankles, and his boots a nice stained brown color. He looks like he walked right out of Urban Outfitters.

“Yeah, just about,” putting on the other dress shoe that I finally found. If Waldo was a shoe, I’m certain he would be this brown one.

“Cool. I’ll go wait in the car while you finish. Where are the keys?”

“On the counter in the kitchen, I think.”

I finish getting dressed, buttoning the last few buttons on my shirt and tightening my tie. I hear the metallic jingle of the car keys as Mak grabs them from the counter and then the opening and shutting of my apartment door. I straighten the laces on the dress shoes, making sure the strings don’t hang too low and avoiding making the loops too big. After making sure everything was just perfect, I make my way towards the dresser in the corner of my room and eyeball the different selections of colognes I have assorted in a line from full to empty. I grab the black bottle in the middle with the label that reads “Midnight.” I’m not sure what’s funnier, how they market these things to men, or the fact that I bought it. I press the top a couple times until the fragrance is evenly spread across my neck. The smell of the cologne hangs in the air. I’ve honestly never been able to tell the difference in the smell of colognes. They all smelled the same to me.

I walk out of the doorway from my bedroom to the loft of my apartment and head towards the door. I stop right before I turn the knob and look at the sunflower that sits lonely in the vase on the coffee table near the entrance. Mak gave me the stupid thing before he left to go to New York. “You’ll take care of it while I’m gone?” he made me promise.

The yellow petals circle around the orange and black stamen. It’s strong, green stem holds the flower up erect, as if the flower was asserting its confidence.

I open the door and head towards the car. I see Mak’s head bobbing up and down to the beat of the radio playing entirely too loud. I approach the car, open the door, and sit down in the driver’s seat.

“You done pampering yourself?”

I laugh a little and then retort “It didn’t take that long, did it?”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, buddy. You look good.”

I give a small smile and repay the compliment. “You too.”

“You ready to celebrate?”

“You know me, I’m always ready,” I reply.

Mak laughs and says, “Yeah.” He pauses for a moment and looks at the stained carpet floor of the car. He starts back “remember your promise?”

“I remember,” I say in a joking manner. “Now buckle up, and let’s go have a good time.” I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway. Mak continues to dance and sing to the songs on the radio. I put the car back into drive and start down the road.

 

~~~~~~

 

Four and a half gins later, I think I’m about ready to leave. Mak is at the other side of the bar scamming people out of their money with a bar trick he learned from a mutual friend of ours.  Mak takes a salt packet and pours it out entirely into his balled up fist. He gives a magical wave over his hand that encases the salt as if he is casting some spell on it"and for all I know he was. He recites a few fake magic words that I assume he’d made up on the spot, and then opens his hand, revealing to his gullible audience members that the salt had magically disappeared. They’d all examine his palm closely and then look at the floor to see if he somehow managed to drop the small, white grains while no one was paying attention. Then they’d give a slight smirk, scoff, and throw their dollars on the table for Mak to collect. Every bystander observing the spectacle would give him a pat on the back and ask him how he did it. Mak was a steel vault though. The audience members would sigh when he gave them the age old line, “a magician never reveals his secrets.” I think I’m the only person he ever told how he does the trick. He made me promise not to tell anyone.

Mak approaches my side of the bar after hustling about $10 from the spectators behind him.

“Had a good time?” he says as he opens his wallet and stuffs his ill-gotten gains in it.

“Oh yeah.” I lied. I hadn’t had the greatest time tonight, but I didn’t want to upset Mak. I knew how important it was for him to help me relax a little tonight.

“That’s great!” he put his wallet back in his back pocket. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

I set my empty glass down, bringing the total to five gins now, and looked up at Mak. His wide smile welcomes my eyes.

“Well, I’m glad you had a good time and all, but it’s getting kind of late, don’t you think?” I realize I hadn’t even looked at the time. My eyes glance around the bar to find the clock on the back wall behind the bartender, but it’s a little too hard to read right now. “You ready to call a cab and get out of here?”

“A cab?” the words come out of my mouth faster than I can think. My gaze is now focused at Mak. “I can totally drive, man. My house isn’t even 10 minutes from here.”

“Are you sure? I can pay for the cab if you want…if that’s the issue. I just don’t think either one of us should be driving right now.” Mak glances down and spots the empty glass near my hand on the wood stained bar. “How many of those have you had?”

“That’s been my only one.” I knew I was lying, but I didn’t want a lecture from him right now. I stand up from the bar, dusting off my pants to rid them of the empty peanut shells that had served as my snack with my glasses of gin, then grabbed in my pocket for the keys.

“You ready?” I say to him while pulling my hand from my pocket. The key ring wrapped around my index finger as I jingled them like small wind chimes.

Mak inhales and slowly starts to shake his head up and down in an uncertain manner.

He exhales his answer, “yeah, I guess so. I trust you.” Mak grabs his jacket from the barstool next to me, and we head out of the bar and get in my sad excuse for a car.

I jam the keys in the ignition and start it up. Mak turns up the radio to a volume suited for him. I’m not quite sure how he doesn’t have hearing aides listening to the radio this loud. I back out of the parking lot of the bar, barely missing the bumper of another car in the lot, and start down the road.

I squint my eyes as the passing car headlights are nearly blinding my eyes. “F*****g idiots with their brights on,” I think to myself. Mak changes the station until he finds a song he knows. The radio swiftly shifts through the stations as the muddled sounds pass my ears. The noise is hard to decipher. The yellow lines on the road, at first apparent, are becoming harder to identify from the deep black asphalt. As I hear the speakers in the car start to emit a vaguely familiar sound, Mak retracts his hand from the tuning knob on the radio quickly and screams “Hell yeah, dude! Bohemian Rhapsody!”

Mak begins to sing loudly, only to grow quiet and hum the words he didn’t know. I watch the cars pass by me, each one seemingly getting closer. The steering wheel feels like it is slipping out of my grasp. I start to grab at the wheel tighter as I try to keep the car aligned with the road. I spot a bright pair of headlights about 100 yards down the road from me, but then again, I didn’t trust my depth perception at this moment. “Mak,” the words escape my lips but I don’t hear them. The only sound in my ears is the increasing volume of Mak’s singing. “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,”

“Mak,” I say again.

“For me!”

“Mak,” I say, urgency tainting my voice as I grip the wheel harder, my nails digging into the rubber.

“For Meeeee!!!” he closes his eyes and holds the note.

“Mak!” I’m practically screaming at this point, but my words are still lost in the shared falsetto of Mak and Queen. Nothing could be heard in the car, not even the horn of the approaching truck.

 

A searing pain throughout my body keeps me stiff against a soft surface. I don’t feel the tightening hold of my tie around my neck, or the warming touch of the wool socks I had put on earlier. I only feel the sharp, stinging pain jolting through my body, like a bouquet of needles pressing against me in unison. I awake to the noise of men and women dressed in scrubs crowded around me. The lights above me shine directly in my eyes. I attempt to turn my head to look around the room and avoid the light but my neck won’t allow for that range of motion. I feel the pierce of a needle into my forearm causing me to get lightheaded. Moments pass before I drift back off into darkness.

 

The creaking sound of an opening door alerts me, causing my eyes to dart open. The unbearable light that shined above me before seems to be much more tolerable to my eyes now.

“Doctor Lawrence,” I hear the voice in the room say.

“What is it Nurse Espinoza? Can’t you see I’m busy taking vitals here?” a much deeper voice replies.

“I’m sorry doctor, but its urgent. There was an issue with the sample in the Lab. Mr. Locke’s blood sample was unfortunately contaminated. We’ll have to grab another vial if we want to test it.”

“Contaminated? That’s the third sample this week,” the doctor lets out a slight sigh, then continues. “Alright, I’ll draw up another sample.”

“Thank you doctor.” The sound of tiny footsteps leaving the room become distant from my ears.

“And please tell them to be careful with this next one,” the man retorts. The sound of heavier footsteps walking towards the door fills the room. “If you want something done right you got to do it yourself around here, god dam…” the trailing words are cut off by the slamming of a door.

I sit up straight on my bed, my unfocused gaze drifting down towards the clean, white hospital gown covering my arms and torso. My head is currently swimming with thoughts while I simultaneously try to recollect the last memory I have. All I can assume is that I got in a bad accident last night at the bar. At least I hope it was last night. I’m not quite sure how long I’ve been here. Head still spinning, my eyes search the room for any indication of the date. A small digital clock beside my bed reads Tuesday, June 10^th, 2015. 2:10 p.m. It’s only been almost two days since the night at the bar.

The faint sound of the door reopening puts me in a panic. I lay back down and pretend to be asleep while still peeking through my slightly open eyelids. Out of the corner of my vison, I see a familiar brooding figure creeping in through the doorway, then slowly shutting the door.

“Josh, get up.” I hear Mak’s voice say in a hushed tone. “We have to go.”

I reopen my eyes to see Mak, completely unscathed, fully dressed in hospital scrubs.

“What are you do"”

“Can you walk?”  Mak cuts me off.

“Yeah, I think so.” I reply.

“Good to hear. Now put these on,” he throws me a pair of light blue scrubs folded neatly into a square shape.  “Wait, a second,” he says in realization. “Let me get you out of these first.”

Mak steps closer to the bed and starts to remove the cords and tubes from my body. His hand reaches and grabs the cord to the IV in my arm. His wrist is decorated with a hospital band reading “Mak Velli; Gender: M; MR #555906; DOB…” I am unable to read the rest as his wrist jerks by my face, and with it, the cord from the IV.

“Ouch!” I let out in a yelp.

“Shhh! Be quiet.” Mak helps me out of the bed. “Now take off that gown and put on those scrubs. We have to sneak out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“You heard the nurse, your blood sample was contaminated. We need to get you out of here before they can poke and prod you to get another one. We don’t want them to know about… well… you know.”

Immediately, I am flooded with memories of the crash. I’m struck slight glimpses and flashes of certain gruesome scenes. The feeling of guilt rushes through my body as I muster up the only words I have: “I am so sorry.”

“Listen to me. It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.” Mak replies in a sincere tone.

“No, I lied to you. I was drunk last night and I told you I was fine. I’m the reason this happened. You trusted me…” I can feel my voice tremble and the lump in my throat emerge. “I caused all of this, and you were just trying to help me have a good time. I should’ve listened to you.”

“Make it up to me by listening to me right now. Put those scrubs on and let’s go.” He grabs the light blue outfit and hands it to me again. I grab them and look at Mak. “Well, what are you waiting for? Take off that gown and put them on.”

“Turn around…” I say.

“Oh my gosh. Whatever you say, diva.” Mak turns around and I begin to strip out of the gown and change into the scrubs. I attempt to make it as unobvious as possible that I am not an escaping patient. I grab a nearby surgical cap on the counter and put it on. Then I reply, “okay, I’m ready.”

Mak and I pass by corridors with doctors eyeballing us at every step. They seem to only be looking at me, but then again, I might just be exaggerating. Keeping my eyes glued to the ground as I try to find the nearest elevator, I accidently bump into someone. “Excuse me, sir,” I say as I keep my head down.

“You’re fine,” he replies. I start to make a step before I’m caught by my arm. “Actually, I may need your assistance in room 314. The patient is needing his blood drawn. Will you come with me?”

Anxiety fills me, my brow begins to sweat as I look to Mak. He shrugs his shoulders at me. I fixate my eyes back towards the ground and reply “I can’t. I’m sorry… I have to… uh…” At this very moment, I regret not joining an improv group in college. My brain won’t work fast enough for me to come up with an excuse. My stomach starts to sink before I am able to draw out any conclusive justification.

“What do you mean you can’t?” the doctor’s tone becomes demanding.

“I have to... uh… I have to go take a s**t.”

I free my arm from his grasp and speed walk down the hallway. Shifting our direction at every corridor, we round a corner as I catch a glimpse of metallic elevator door. I rush over to it and slap the down arrow button. Mak and I sit and wait for the elevator. Fear and paranoia start to set in as the constant worry of getting caught still lingers in the back of my mind. The elevator dings and opens, revealing an entire medical team in it chatting and gossiping. Mak and I step into the elevator when one of the staff members asks us “what floor?”

Mak nudges me and I say, “ground floor, please.” The member hits the G button and it starts to illuminate with light, or possibly hope.

“Anything crazy happen to you today?” a voice echoes in the confined space.

“Oh yeah,” I say without thinking. “Um… I held a dude’s heart” I’m starting to get pretty good at this.

“Oh man! Which patient underwent surgery today?” another staff member asks.

“Oh... you know. It was Burt…” It was the only name I could conjure up. I take it back about this whole becoming good thing.

“Burt. Burt, who?” I hear in reply.

“You know Burt. Everyone knows Burt. Burt…. Mr. Reynolds.”

“Oh!” The elevator fills with simultaneous epiphanies. Soon after, everyone goes back to talking.

Mak leans over to me and whispers, “nice one,” then the elevator doors open up. Mak and I immediately exit the metallic box and make our way outside the hospital. I flag down a cab and we both get in. Mak nudges me once more and says, “tell him your address.”

I mumble off my address to the driver and he starts down the road.

 

Outside the door of my apartment, I fumble around for the spare key under the doormat before unlocking the door. We both enter, I shut it behind Mak, and we slowly start towards the couch. Mak sits down first and I follow suit. We sit there in unison, hunched over, in complete silence. My chin meets my chest in a sad embrace and my mind trails back to thoughts of what I had done. Mak’s hands are clasped together as one would do in deep thought. I want to fill the void in the room with some apology, but something tells me that Mak didn’t want to hear it. The apology wasn’t really meant for Mak at this point though, I wanted to be able forgive myself for what I had done. I attempt to raise my head up, and as I do, I notice the sunflower Mak gave me near the door again. However, this time, instead of standing up straight with its petals giving off a bright yellow bloom, the flower sat hunched over, mirroring mine and Mak’s current disposition. Its stem laid slouched over the glass vase it was in, the petals stripped from the flower as the lay arranged in an unorderly fashion on the floor. It was no longer the beautiful flower I remembered.

 

~~~~~~

 

“The black tie, is that correct?” the man says while holding the tie in one hand and gripping a measuring tape in the other

“Yes, that’s the one,” I reply.

“Great. One moment please and I’ll be right back with your jacket.”

“Thank you,” I say as he shuts the door to the changing room behind him.

I turn around to look at myself in the mirror. My eyes examine my reflection from head to foot. The black oxfords fit perfectly and shined in just the right way. The dark slender pants made me appear smaller in the waist than I did in regular jeans. The well formed white shirt contrasted starkly in the sea of black that was the rest of the outfit. It fit nicely against me, giving my body an athletic, yet professional, aesthetic. The black tie around my neck really topped off the the suit perfectly. It was the cherry on top of the whip cream on a milkshake; which, whether you like it or not, wouldn’t look the same without it. It all matched perfectly, except for maybe scars on my face from the wreck a couple days ago. I have to admit though, they are looking exceptionally better than they initially did. In low lighting, it would be hard to tell they were even there.

I hear the sound of the dressing room door open behind me mixed with a deep shout. “Who! Someone is looking fancy.” I turn around to find Mak fully dressed in a black suit, somewhat similar to my own.

“Thanks, man. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“I appreciate the compliment, but I’m being serious right now. I can’t even hold a candle to that right there.” Mak points at my shoes and motions his finger upwards towards my tie.

I smile and look at the ground, mostly because I was flattered, but also because it was still hard to look at Mak without being reminded of the repugnant thing I had done to my best friend. The crippling guilt I had been living with for the past few days really irked me. Knots in my stomach have kept sleep at bay, and the massive pain weighing on my chest kept me from reaching out to him. I wanted to talk to him about it but it felt impossible to come up with the right words. I was a coward, in truth. I didn’t want to know what he had to say back.

“Now what time is the party, birthday boy?” Mak says, clearing the silence.

“We have time. We’ll leave as soon as he brings my jacket.”

“Did you pay for yours already?”

“They have a pay-on-return policy.”

“Oh, how neat,” Mak replies in a surprised tone.

A knock outside the small dressing room wall repeats in a musical pattern. “Here it is,” the tailor says handing me the coat. “Try it on and tell me what you think.”

I place one arm in the jacket, swing it around the other side of my back, and place the other arm inside. I straighten out my arms to make sure the cuffs are not too short then adjust the jacket.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“It couldn’t fit any better!” the tailor says with a smile on his face. I look over his broad shoulders to see Mak grinning with his thumbs up. I button the top button on the coat and turn towards the mirror to see for myself. The outfit couldn’t have looked better. It felt fit for the occasion.

“Well happy birthday to me,” I say under my breath while straightening the cuffs of the jacket. I turn back around, shake the tailors’ hand and tell him I’d bring it back in one-piece tomorrow. The man smiled and wished me a happy birthday.

Mak and I exited the shop and approached the rental car that I was using as means to get around for the rest of the week. I got in the driver’s seat which I still felt hesitant to do, but I was not about to ask Mak to chauffer me around due to my own dumb mistakes. I’ll never understand how he is still able to trust me after what I did. Things like this are how I knew I would never find another friend like Mak.

Heading towards the party, Mak and I reminisced about old memories again. We ranted about our other friends from school that we didn’t really keep up with anymore. “They’re a rotten crowd,” I joked to him. “You’re worth the whole damn bunch.” He laughed, admiring the reference. I hoped he knew I meant those words though. I could see that Mak’s eyes never looked away from me the entire time we were talking. After a couple minutes of telling stories, we eventually ran out of things to say and just started making small talk. Pondering the notion of what’s next, what life holds in store for us. “Let me tell you, after the big 2-7, the sky is the limit.” There it was again.

The car grew silent after a couple more moments of talking. We passed a long line of cars as we neared the building where my party was to take place. My hands started to sweat slightly the more I thought about the event. I knew all this planning would go to waste if no one liked it. The lights, the food, the DJ. I started second guessing myself on all the choices I had made for the party. Then I got a glimpse of Mak smiling as we passed the building, and almost immediately, my worrying melted away. Mak was right, everything was going to be okay. I knew that as long as he was here, I would be fine.

I pulled into a gravel parking lot nearby and slowly pressed my foot on the brake until the car came to a halt. I shifted the car in park and then reversed the key in the ignition. The car’s engine shut off and the silence filled the air. I took the keys and put them in my pocket as I unbuckled my seatbelt. I looked down at the floor board of the rental car and took a deep breath. I reached for the handle to open the door when I suddenly felt the touch of a hand on my leg. I look over to Mak who looks at me with a blank expression.

“Listen… I kind of want to say something before…” he stops and breaths a moment then continues, “well…before all of this. “

“Of course,” I say letting go of the door handle.

“I want you to make me a promise.” Mak says to me.

I shake my head and laugh a little as I retort “always the promises with you.” I stop shaking my head only to meet Mak’s eyes staring at me. The emotion in his voice and expression on his face tells me that this was a promise he intended I keep. “Alright, yeah. What is it?”

“I want you to forgive yourself.” Mak lets go of my leg and breaths deeply.

I chuckle in an attempt to try and make light of the situation. “For what?” I say back. I knew what he meant, I just needed to hear him say it.

“For everything that happened the other night.”

I can feel my eyes tearing up again almost instantly after his words. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t"”

“Don’t worry about any of that,” Mak cuts me off. “I just want you to promise me that you will forgive yourself.”

I stare at the radio in the car and think back to the night of the crash. I remember the loud singing in the car. I remember the steering wheel coming loose in my hand. I remember the headlights getting closer and closer until they faded into black. I look back at Mak and wipe the tears out of my eyes. I take a few deep breaths and desperately try to hold back any more sobbing. “I promise,” I say back to him. The words felt powerful when released from my lips.

“Good.” Mak smiles at me and nods.

The heavy feeling of guilt loosens its hold on me until I don’t feel it anymore. The burden falls away from me.

 “I love you, buddy.” Mak says as reaches across the car to hug me. His brutish arms wrap around me as his hands gently rest on my back. This hug was different than the ones I was used to. It wasn’t a strangling embrace hug; it was much more genuine.

“I love you too, man,” I reply in all sincerity as I hug back.

Mak lets go and sits back in his seat. “Alright, let’s do this then.”

I grab the door handle again and open the door to the car and step out. I begin to straighten my suit and mess with my tie as I use my foot to close the door behind me. Making sure the top button on my coat is fixed, I align my tie with the folding crease on my shirt. I look down at my shoes to make sure they are tied and that the bow on them looks neatly done. Tilting my head upward now, I pull the knot on my tie a little tighter so it fits snug to my neck.

“You ready to do this?” I project my voice while still pulling on the fabric of the knot.

“Ready for what?” I hear a familiar voice echo back.

“The dancing, the lights, the music, the food. Oh, and especially the chocolate cake I had them prepare. You know, the normal birthday stuff.”

“What are you talking about, you murderer?!” the same voice replies.

I turn around to find the owner of the voice standing behind me near their parked car. An older woman with brown hair that was progressively graying, she was dressed in a slender black dress with eyes slightly bloodshot and puffy. She appears like she had just seen a ghost. I knew the face of this woman. It had been awhile since I had seen her last, but seeing her face instantly jogged my memory. This was Mak’s mother.

“Are you deranged? Where do you think we are?” The confused and disoriented look on her face mirrored my own. “To think that I welcomed you into my home all those years ago disgusts me. Then you’d have the gall to show up here today. How dare you, Josh! I ought to have you arrested for what you did. I hope your rot in a cell.”

I break eye contact with Mak’s mother to slowly turn my head in the direction where Mak had previously stood on the other side of the car, my body following the motion of my head and shifting itself in the same direction. Mak’s welcoming face was no longer there to meet my gaze. My eyes slowly scanned the scene in front of me. Off in the distance I can see chairs lined up in a row where most of the seats are already filled. The people are dabbing their eyes and embracing one another while the older men stand in the back of the procession taking place. Tombstones liter the yard in front of me, some elegant, others plain and subtle. A large, narrow rosewood veneer coffin sits atop a large platform in front of the chairs. On top of the coffin is a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers decorated with white bows. Next to it, a large photo. The grand, golden rimmed frame, sitting high atop the coffin for everyone to see, displays an image of the recognizable, kind, and loving face that welcomed me at my doorstep less than a week ago.

 

 

Author's Note

I wrote this short story for a creative writing class