Stumbling Out the Stable

By Sean Pravica

Stumbling Out the Stable is an irreverent trip down the turbulent backroads of early adulthood. Seamus, a college student with aspirations to hitch hike aimlessly after graduation, grows increasingly unsettled with the vagueness of the future. His friend Jamie, on the other hand, revels in its unpredictability. Together, they party with colorful characters, raise hell at their anarchistic workplace, and wax philosophic about life's hidden glitches. After a series of accidents intersect their lives, the boys stumble to find their footing as it becomes clear that not everything in life can be avoided.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pelekinesis
• Release date: Nov 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781938349348

Sean Pravica

Sean Pravica is a Californian writer. His fiction and poetry have appeared in over 40 journals. His writing has run the gamut from ghostwriting about consumer goods and health topics to penning press releases and newspaper articles. His work has been nominated for several writing awards including the Bea Hollefelder Award in Creative Writing, which he won. Stumbling Out the Stable is his first novel.

Book preview

Stumbling Out the Stable

Sean Pravica

pelekinesis_logo-8.png

Stumbling Out the Stable by Sean Pravica

ISBN: 978-1-938349-33-1

eISBN: 978-1-938349-34-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015948826

Copyright © 2015 Sean Pravica

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.

Layout and Book Design by Mark Givens

First Pelekinesis Printing 2015

For information:

Pelekinesis, 112 Harvard Ave #65, Claremont, CA 91711 USA

Pelekinesis Logo

www.pelekinesis.com

For my mom, Margaret O’Connell Pravica.

Thank you for being truly honest and supportive from the start.

Also: Mr. Cornejo and Mr. Archambeault,

I love you both, you animals.

Part I

It

1

Seamus knew that college did not matter. He knew that his degree would be a meaningless piece of paper that only served to justify his place among the rest of the graduates in the school of Establishment Values. He, like all the rest who bought into the empty promises of higher education, was being coded with the social binary of contemporary American culture. Class by class, all were tested and debugged until the big day came when they walked across a well-lit stage to the applause of friends and strangers alike, having proven that they could take it on the chin for four years. They had survived the first 13 years of indoctrination after all. And before they all knew what hit them, they would wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, unsure what had woken them on an insignificant Tuesday, the drapes open and the moon looking bizarrely foreign, and their partner beside them, sleeping soundly, looking suddenly like a person they had never met. This dark night of the soul, Seamus knew, would be the moment of clarity, passing and dying away with the restless submission to a troubled sleep, that one encounters when enrolled in the lifetime course. And once encountered, nothing outwardly would change. They would know something, but never be able to say what it was.

Seamus did not know what that meant for him when his time in school was through, but he knew he sure as hell did not want to move back in with his parents full time and work some damned job that would most likely be even more soul-sucking than the one his degree might help him land.

So to pass the time of his academic sentence, Seamus did what a significant number of college kids do and embarked on a consistent diet of drugs and poorly executed sexual activity while alternately pointing the finger at the all-pervasive system and its millions of brain-dead constituents. College life can be expensive for hedonists, however, so he begrudgingly took a summer job at Singing Pines Country Club where his high school classmate, Jamie Caballo, worked.

The two boys were never close but got high together when paths crossed at parties. Because their parents lived within a half mile of each other and Seamus did not drive, Jamie would pick him up for work often. Seamus had not logged a minute at his new job when Jamie’s influence upon his work habits already began to percolate.

Whoa, there went a glitch, Jamie said under his breath.

Seamus looked in the distance, though not sure where. What’s up, man? he said.

My man. What is happening? Jamie looked nervous.

You said something about a glitch?

Oh, yeah, never mind man, Jamie said and rubbed his mouth.

Okay.

He looked at Jamie who looked only at the road ahead and was silent for the duration of their short commute. As they neared the main road to Singing Pines, Jamie swerved unexpectedly to the curb and parked.

Get out of the car, he said.

What? Seamus laughed.

Jamie did not laugh with him. Get out of the car. He repeated.

Seamus was uneasy but he obeyed Jamie and followed him off the main road into land not as heavily manicured by the local home owner’s association.

Sit down on that rock. Let’s have a talk, Jamie said.

The houses in Singing Pines’ neighborhood were surrounded by A-list flora and fauna. Jamie took his seat on a log and looked out over a pond. A pair of ducks floated serenely across its green-blue surface. Birds chirped wildly before he spoke, to which his eyes turned askance into the density of leaves overhead.

The whistling ruckus ceased. Then, Now that that’s over with, I have a question for you.

Shoot.

Watch your mouth. he hissed. Leaning in closer he whispered, Did you see something strange happen when I picked you up today?

No. But I wasn’t really looking.

Jamie pointed his index finger at Seamus and released a righteous growl.

You weren’t really looking. They don’t want you to really look, otherwise you’d know, he said.

Whatever Jamie meant by that, Seamus knew that there was a wide-ranging network of intelligentsia that did not want anyone to be in on what was really going on behind the screen. Not only did the Emperor wear no clothes, there was no Emperor.

Most importantly, Seamus also knew that he had found a friend for life.

Listen Jamie, I know damn well they don’t want me to look, but that doesn’t stop me and it sounds like it doesn’t stop you. They want to coddle you into some kind of neutered state that resembles sleepwalking much more than it does living. They want you to work their jobs and make just enough money, which you never have enough of because you always owe it right back and then some. I don’t know what you saw back there but I’d guess that if it’s anything like what you’re hinting at, I’ve probably seen it too, one way or another.

Seamus stared pensively at a rock. His phone rang and broke his concentration, but did so only once and before he could answer it.

He looked at its screen. Missed call from number unavailable. Strange.

Jamie nodded slowly. Glitches often are strange.

Seamus considered. "A glitch? What, like from The Matrix?"

No one can say for sure what the Matrix is.

Seamus understood. Is that what you were looking at when you picked me up? A so-called glitch?

If by so-called you mean watching the exact same car drive past me for the second time within thirty seconds, then yes, it’s an apparently shoddy day in the so-called mainframe.

What if the person was just lost?

Jamie shrugged. I can only lead you to water.

Seamus smiled. Okay dude, whatever you say. It’s your trip.

Yeah, it’s a trip all right! And you haven’t even met Barry yet. Jamie stood up, waved his thumb back in the air, and said, C’mon Seamus. Let’s get to work.

2

Other than Jamie, Angela was the first person at Singing Pines Seamus met. She was a young woman who giggled and fidgeted often. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were curiously expressive. They betrayed an inner world of unanswered questions and compromised ambition. He looked into them during his interview, answering questions more about his personal life than anything else. Angela asked about his ability to get along with other people, emphasizing conflict resolution and the ability to see from multiple perspectives. He entertained the notion of telling her that he had held multiple perspectives many times before while tripping off his face, but knew such a remark, though tongue-in-cheek, would likely not warrant him a realistically hirable candidate. And though the last thing Seamus wanted was a job, if he was going to be able to afford to trip off his face over the summer he was going to need an income.

We learn how to think critically in college. I don’t know what’s it like to be a bat, as Thomas Nagel famously said, but I can use deductive reasoning to understand that your experience may not be very different from my own. In the workplace, we’re all operating under the same basic goal. In this case, I’d be happy to help you make the customer happy.

And so it was Angela that gave him a quick tour of the country club his first day. He met, fleeting and briefly, the secretary, the wedding planner, and the wedding planner’s assistant. The GM, Howard, could not be reached nor disturbed. His door was closed but Seamus could hear a faint human murmur from the other side of it.

Next, when taking a quick look at the member’s grill, a part of the country club Seamus was told he would never work in as he was part of the banquet staff but should see anyway, Seamus met Steve, the club’s finest bartender.

Sorry, Angie, but I couldn’t track you down anywhere. It takes a pack of bloodhounds to sniff you out sometimes, I tell you.

Steve, you know not to take the liquor from up here. Once I’m done showing Seamus around I can go to the storage room for you.

Well I know that, Angie, but then I’d have to wait for you.

Angela removed her keychain from her pocket, its long rubber cord neon green and shiny, and ran her fingers around it nervously.

Don’t do it again, Steve, okay?

No promises but I’ll take what you say into consideration when my bar’s understocked and I’m preparing it for a big ass night. Now, what in the hell kind of name is Seamus? Your parents from outer space or something?

It’s Irish, Seamus said.

Boy, you’re Irish?

Seamus shrugged. Genetically. I was born here.

Then why the hell your parents name you that? Should have given you an American name. Like Steve.

Seamus considered. I think they just really liked the name Seamus.

Steve nodded his head. Yep! There’s no budging some people. C’mon Angie, Seamus.

As though he was now in charge, Steve led the way down the stairs. Angela, probably regarding this exchange as a conflict, spoke up, Now Seamus, remember that Steve is the number one bartender at our banquets. He’s very important to us, but no more important than anyone else. He just acts that way.

Oh boy, Seamus, go back into Angie’s office and fish out some of those stupid cards with the spilled ink on ‘em and tell me what you see. I tell you, this one is all about the touchy-feelies. Didn’t go to college to study the human mind because it’s baloney. Nope, one hundred percent hard science.

You’re a psych major, right? Seamus asked.

Yes, Seamus. Good memory.

So watch what you say, Seamus. She’ll look you up one side and down the other and then she’ll ask you if everything is okay. Isn’t that right, Angie?

Steve! Listen, Seamus. Steve is a bit of a colorful man.

Hey don’t worry, Angie. We all love having you around. Beats the ice queen, Wanda. You meet her Seamus?

Yeah, for a second.

For a second is all you get. She’s up in that office and never associates with the help. Too much time planning weddings and ordering her assistant around. Hell, the only person from the upper world you’ll see is Angie. The Banquet staff brings in more goddamn money than anything else here but that’s not how they see it. They see it as Wanda. That’s what Howard will tell you, except he’ll never tell you because he never talks to anyone in real time. The man is a hermit in his office. Spooky place, if you ask me.

Downstairs, Steve immediately shot into his bar, a small hole of a place with a large, cut-out window guests would visit throughout the night. Throughout the rest of the room the banquet crew was working on setting the final touches on the tables. Seamus met the clubhouse’s second-most colorful man, as Angela put it, when she introduced him to Barry.

Now Seamus, if Steve wasn’t enough, you’re just going to get a kick out of Barry. He’s your captain. He really runs things down here. And he is instrumental to making every banquet run smoothly.

Did you get his fingerprints, blood samples, urine samples? Barry asked Angela without color in his voice nor expression on his face. He was busy straightening silverware laid askew, and never lifted his head to make eye contact with either of them.

Yes, and I got his hair samples, too, she said, laughing, though all mirth that exited her mouth sounded as forced as her smile looked. Her eyes were sad and weary, rung darkly. Though they were not as sad as Barry’s.

Hey now. You know that’s a sensitive subject with me.

Oh Barry. You’re such a clown! Okay Seamus, just do what Barry tells you to, okay? I know you’ll do great.

Sure will, he told her, though despite his best intentions he assuredly would not. He was new to working with food. Save for a pair of work-study jobs he pulled his freshman year that involved little more than sitting in a chair and saying the occasional hello, he was essentially new to work in general.

And so his first night at Singing Pines, busing and serving a room full of 380 people in a raucous wedding party, was hell. And when the work was not troublesome enough, Barry was always there to make his night worse.

For a young stud with a head full of hair you show all the urgency of an old man with low T, he said early in the evening.

Since when does this place hire the first person who applies, anyway? he asked later.

You better make it a real quick smoke because your tables look like shit, he said after dinners had been served. Other than Barry, only Steve the bartender worked with any degree of focus. Seamus’ tables were a mess of picked over plates and dirty glassware.

Seamus did not smoke but he gladly accepted a cigarette from Christine. It was dark outside when the entire crew, Barry included, took a break on the deck. The moon was thin and the fountain on the ninth hole was alight in shifting colors. Seamus, being of a particularly dreamy ilk, looked over at it and reflected on his evening so far. Seamus thought about thinking often, which usually meant thinking about himself.

Christine said to him, It’s always a tough night at first, Seamus. Then, He’ll do fine, won’t he Barry?

Fuck no, Barry said. He was sitting on the railing, his head down and his feet raised up on the lower bar, a scrawny gargoyle. He smoked quickly and nervously. As the captain, he did not have to serve tables or bus, but only delegate responsibilities and talk often, sometimes quite often, with the mother of the bride.

Okay, break’s over, let’s get back inside, he said and leapt off the railing in much the same way a monkey does off a tree branch at the zoo.

Seamus watched in awe as everyone ignored Barry and remained at ease. Whether they smoked or not, the crew always met outside and talked. Seamus listened to them and beheld an orgy of work-related anecdotes, movie lines, song lyrics, accounts of recent sexual conquests or lamentations on dry streaks. He heard laughter, he heard yelling, and he heard the united voice of a crew that felt no urgency to return to work despite Barry’s stern directions to follow him inside. Seamus would soon learn that this was the nightly standard.

Back inside, Seamus did his best to keep up with his busing duties while he woefully watched his coworkers behave as though the reception was held in honor of them. Felipe was moonwalking on a wet rubber mat in the service area while Jamie beat boxed the bass line to Billie Jean. Isabelita watched on and clapped.

Later, Jamie helped Seamus clear his tables of their unnecessary wares. Seamus marveled as Jamie bounded through the room with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. While Barry had looked only miserable all night, Jamie had looked only happy.

Don’t worry, my man. Barry’s tough on everybody. Especially at first, Jamie told him.

He loosens up after a while?

No. But you will.

Jamie bounced away to the service area. Seamus gave a few more minutes of miserably slow busing before the two caught up again.

You want some advice, Seamus? The key to working with food when you’re only getting paid hourly is to keep your captain happy, not your guests. And when you keep your captain happy, you’ll be happy. Call me crazy, but this place grows on you.

Barry was decidedly unhappy with Seamus at the night’s end and gave him a G, meaning good, on the captain’s report. While Es were nearly obligatory, Gs meant that something went wrong. Rarely did one earn a P, though it did happen on occasion.

The following night Seamus received another G. He watched Barry write it. Despite his earlier protests, Seamus had submitted to Jamie’s insistence that they stick around after work and have a smoke with the captain on the deck. Jamie promised it would be worthwhile.

I don’t care if it’s only your second night, Seamus. Your tables looked like hell all over again.

Now Barry. His tables looked like hell but I wasn’t there to bail him out. They looked like hell on his own, and that’s progress.

Shut up Jamie. You’ve been flapping your gums at me all night about this guys’ virtues and all I see is a floppy-haired asshole looking as out of place as Felipe does with a girl on his arm.

Felipe just lacks confidence. Much like Seamus here, but I’m telling you Angela found a diamond in the rough with this one. He’s going to make you proud.

Barry put out his cigarette and completed his captain’s report. He stood up quickly from the deck table, as though the wedding was still wilding away inside and the mother of the bride was experiencing a moment of unhappiness. Seamus started after Barry, but noticed Jamie was already disappearing into the shadows the other direction, down the outer reaches of the deck around the building and towards the parking lot. When Barry noticed Jamie was missing, Seamus was no help.

I don’t know Barry. He just disappears.

No shit he disappears, faster than my wife when I have a boner.

Seamus, sensing an opportunity to smooth things out with his adversary, asked, Married, huh? What does your wife do?

Jack shit. She used to cut hair but her salon shut down.

Bummer. Is she looking for work elsewhere?

Of course. She doesn’t want to work at Supercuts but I’m telling her there aren’t many options in this economy. We can’t all be artists. But what do I know? I’m just a 32 year-old loser.

Seamus considered. Well, at least she gets to practice on you. She cuts your hair, right?

I’m going bald, Seamus.

She could still cut the hair you do have.

Barry did not respond to Seamus for a long time. The two walked upstairs to clock out. Suddenly, Barry said, You know what, Seamus? For a young man who goes to a private school like yours, you’re kind of a dumb kid.

When they got to the time clock room, Jamie was standing there holding three flower centerpieces he had lifted from the tables near the reception’s end. He gave one to Barry and Seamus both.

Got the pick of the litter, boys.

Barry held Jamie’s floral gift limply in his hands and frowned. He asked, So you stick around with me after all the other guys went home already just to give me one of the free centerpieces I could have picked up myself?

I didn’t want them to get jealous. This was the best one.

Barry looked at Seamus’ and Jamie’s. They could have been cloned.

Just quit milking the clock out and punch out, moron.

Oh I already clocked out sir. I’m not getting paid to pick out flowers for my favorite captain.

Barry sighed. One of these days, Jamie, one of these days.

Driving home, Jamie rolled through several stop signs as usual. He took off his shoes and socks which caused some minor swerving. He rolled down his window, stuck his left foot out and said, Sorry my man but my dogs need some air after long nights like that one.

Looks like a good idea.

Oh it is! Jamie leaned over Seamus and rolled down the passenger window for him. Go on, he ordered.

Seamus stuck his right foot out and leaned back in his seat.

No man - get both feet out there! You’re not driving.

He had to admit it. The open air on his sweaty toes was relaxing. And though his field of vision was low from the compromised posture, he could still see his parents’ house pass by them as Jamie kept driving. Another detour. This time, to Jamie’s.

You don’t have anywhere to be right now I’m guessing? Jamie asked.

Seamus looked at the clock on the car’s dash. It was ten after two in the morning.

Nothing I couldn’t do later.

Jamie chuckled and answered, Yeah I’ll bet. C’mon in man. I’ve got something for the both of us.

Jamie stole two bottles of champagne from the reception, which he justified taking since they were already paid for, but remained corked.

You can’t have them selling these things twice, or even three times. I won’t have it, he explained. But that’s the moralist in me.

At Jamie’s house, there were horses everywhere. Paintings. Ceramics. Tin baking sheets. Needlepoint pillows.

Seamus smiled. I guess with a last name like Caballo a lot of your decorating sense is made for you.

The truth is, Seamus, my mom has a thing for horses. Even before she met my dad she had all this shit in her place.

Wow! What are the odds of that?

They say love is strange. Anyway, Seamus, check the freezer. I’ll be back.

Jamie disappeared and Seamus obeyed. A pair of mugs frosted over sat side by side next to a box of waffles. Clearly, Seamus saw, this evening’s meeting was premeditated. He filled the glasses with the lifted champagne and waited to drink until Jamie reemerged from whatever wormhole he shot down this time. With little to do but admire the walls of equestrian kitsch, Seamus realized just how much work Jamie had done to prepare his parents’ home for a massive party one weekend their senior year in high school. Jamie had cleaned out the living room and covered the couches with layers of trash bags. Outside, a ten-person tent sat in the middle of the lawn, constantly leaking smoke. Seamus wondered if he had even seen Jamie that night. Everyone in their class must have been there.

Jamie returned with pot.

You still get high, Seamus?

Every day.

That a boy. Cheers.

They clinked glasses and drank, followed by wincing.

How is it? Jamie asked.

Oh it’s top shelf. ’09 really shines when it comes to this varietal.

Jesus, you sound like my dad. He and my mom are big wine drinkers.

Mine too!

Yeah? They go on wine tasting vacations up north?

Seamus considered. They don’t really go on vacation too often...who knows though. I don’t talk to them much during the school year so maybe they get into trouble then.

Jamie shrugged. Well maybe they should go with my parents sometime, paint the town red.

They’d probably have a great time.

They would. Let’s get high.

Jamie’s backyard was large and grassy. A single tree bearing pink blossoms rested off center, and even at this late hour the boys could hear a bird call from its branches. Seamus began appreciating bird chirps ever since he started meditating during winter break his freshman year. The following semester, his mediation practice interfered with his classes but he never felt guilty. Seamus learned a great deal that had nothing to do with any subject offered in college, vindicating his absences further. He was onto something. He knew it.

He never skipped his photography classes, however. He learned things in the darkroom and studio alike from his professor and classmates that he could not learn on his own.

I’ll have to show you some of my photography sometime, Jamie. I’ve got some cool bird shots.

Yeah? Are they fucking or something?

Seamus had never thought about it that way. I guess they’re not that cool. They’re just birds.

That’s still cool. I’d love to see your work. You’re a photography buff then, huh?

Well man, I enjoy it more than anything else. I like philosophy too. Maybe get a double major in art and philosophy, photographic emphasis.

Yeah? Then what?

Seamus leaned back and put his arms behind his head to think. Then what indeed. About all he knew was what he did not want.

Seamus shrugged. Hell I don’t know. School is just a little rat race to gain position in a bigger rat race. Between you and me, man... I don’t know how I’ll pull this off quite yet, but I think I’d like to hitchhike.

Jamie packed a small bowl and smoked, saying nothing and staring at a reddening Seamus. Finally, he said, so you’d be like a philosophizing, hitchhiking photographer? That’s what you want to do with your degree?

Seamus took a large, awful drink of champagne and blinked hard. Boy, this stuff is rough. Thanks for picking it up, but–

You’re changing the subject! Jamie snapped.

Seamus shrugged. Ah, I don’t know. It’s a thought. I’ve just come across a couple hitchhikers. Chill as all hell, pretty enlightened too.

Jamie smoked more and stared longer. Then, with a voice slowly rising in volume and enthusiasm said, That has to be the coolest thing I have ever heard of!

Seamus brightened. Yeah?

Dude! I’ve never had a philosophizing, hitchhiking photographer in my backyard before.

Thanks dude, but I’ve got a long way to go ’til I get there. Truth is, I don’t want to race with the rats all my life, you know?

Hell no you don’t! Boy, congratulations! I know it’s early in the game, but so help me God, I’ll do whatever I can to get you on the road.

You’re serious?

Goddamn it, Seamus. I wouldn’t pull your leg! You’ve been unplugged already. I can’t just leave you to learn Kung Fu by yourself. Hey, I believe in you.

Jeez. Maybe it’s not so far-fetched after all. You’re a hell of a dude, Jamie. I know we never kicked it much before, but man I feel like I’ve been missing out on a good friend.

You’re telling me. But don’t worry about all that. We’re friends now and that’s what counts. You keep doing as I say at Singing Pines. If you really want to hitchhike, you’re going to need to get your eyes a little wider, if you know what I mean.

Seamus took a sip and nodded. I have to keep my eyes open for glitches.

Yes man, yes! Now you do as I say and you’ll see them for yourself. So-called and all.

Seamus shook his head. I didn’t mean it like that. But if you think a misdial from some restricted number is an assault on consensus reality, I’d say there are probably bigger holes gaping through our illusions.

Assault on reality or an agent accidentally showing his face from behind the curtain? Jamie said and drank. Anyway, no one’s going to lose sleep over missed calls, Seamus. I just want you to notice breaks in the patterns.

Seamus nodded. Like when people do things that are out of character for them.

Jamie snapped his fingers are pointed at him. Now you’re talking.

I took a class called ‘Sociology of Deviance.’ We talked about this stuff all the time.

I bet you did. School is good for talking. It’s not much good for anything else.

Seamus mimed the motions of tipping a hat. Now you’re the one talking.

That’s right. I don’t know what you’re doing at school, hell, maybe some of it will even help you to be a hitchhiker. It’s gotten you this far. But a whole new education is waiting for you at Singing Pines. You stick with me and I’ll show you.

So Seamus would, no matter what that would come to mean.

3

It took another week but Seamus started earning his Es on the Captain’s report. He developed a working pace more akin to his coworkers. He was also getting to know them better and joked with them often. He joined the fractured conversations during smoke breaks and the later night observations made about the women dancing and occasionally freaking and the drunken guys who thought they could keep up with them. The single people, guys especially, were easy to pick out at weddings and provided voyeuristic entertainment for the crew. For Seamus, Singing Pines had become a second home of sorts. The job was a grind, but as long as he stayed on pace, there was always time for a joke, a story, a laugh. Angela, noticing the uptick in the Captain’s report, smiled when she saw him and told him to keep it up.

Jamie noticed the uptick too. But his grading was based on something entirely different than Barry’s.

I saw you out there, Seamus. You’re not giving these people an inch. That’s what I like to see.

Yeah, that lady was asking me for coffee already.

Jamie dropped dirty dishes hard into a bus tub and leaned face first against the wall. His left knee was bent parallel to his elbow. His head was down, shaking. Seamus knew this look. It was taken from every debt forgiveness service commercial he had ever seen.

Jamie turned and said, The sun is still out, Seamus.

I know! I said coffee would come out later with the cake. She looked at me like I had pulled her granddaughter’s shirt down and sucked on her tit in front of the whole table.

These people think they run the place, Seamus. But they don’t. Never forget that.

I know man.

Don’t placate me. If a bus ran me over tomorrow I would want to know that you were still holding things down. You hear me?

Yeah dude. Don’t worry. I asked her if there was anything else she wanted and she just looked at me.

Jamie shook Seamus hard on the shoulders. Thatta boy. You give her the business, not the other way around. Now how are your tables?

One more round of clearing on table 17 and I’m off to the races. A few slow fillies are still licking their feedbags, but the finish line is a nose away.

That’s right. It only takes a few slowpokes to bring the night down to its knees. It’s early in the game but remember those people come dinnertime. Some nights you have to take their plates when they aren’t looking. They’ll try and ring your bell later but that’s not important. Barry’s going to look out there and see nothing but clean tables, and you’re going to get an E. Angela’s going to scan the report in like two seconds. So long as you got an E, you’re invisible to her.

Jamie opened the lid to the ice machine and pulled out a Modelo. He chugged it and tossed the can into the trash. He picked up a broom and pushed the evidence down and out of sight.

And invisible here, my friend, is everything, he said.

Barry returned from talking to the mother of the bride. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and was about to speak when the woman of the hour poked her head into the service area.

Barry, one more thing, she said and invited herself into the room. She clopped through it on thick high heels and spoke in a raspy kind of whisper that seemed better suited for a library than the raucous tenor of her already drunk daughter’s wedding party. Barry fumbled with his cigarettes and shoved them hastily behind him on the employee rack.

Melissa and Stephen are toasting with Dom, not the house champagne.

Yes they are. We have a bottle on ice for them.

That’s fine but we need to make sure that your workers know who they are.

Barry looked sadder than he usually did and paused before he answered her. It was probably a good idea.

I’ll make sure they know who Melissa and Stephen are.

Okay because we ordered that bottle just for them.

I’ll pour it myself.

You would? The mother of the bride brought her hands together and smiled satisfactorily signaling that she was getting what she was after.

Yes, just leave it to me.

"Oh thank you, Barry! Oh, and make sure they get poured last, I don’t want them to be sitting there waiting for everyone else to get their glasses filled. Everyone is waiting for them, after all."

Sure. We can do that.

Thanks Barry, you’re the best.

After she left Barry stuck a cigarette into his mouth as though just tasting the filter would calm his nerves.

Hear that boys? Leave the bride’s glass alone. She’s in a white fucking dress if you get confused. I’ll be on the deck. He then disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Jamie poured grounds into the coffee machine and jabbed the brew button with his thumb. If the mother of the bride asks you for coffee, make an exception. Don’t worry about that other old bag, though.

He then took a cigarette from Barry’s pack and ran upstairs. The kitchen crew hurled their usual shit talk at him in Spanish and English alike. He understood little of the Spanish, but he gave them back what he could. He picked up a mop, held it like a machine gun, and sprayed them with imaginary ammo.

Muere, pinche putos.

A couple prep cooks flung themselves over the open counter space. Jamie tossed the mop aside and said, Vaya con dios, and kicked the back door open violently. Dying sunlight bled over the floor behind him.

Finally alone, he visited his favorite place at Singing Pines. The garbage area was large and despite the rank odors it always smelled sweet to him. Fresh air could do that for a stir-crazed boy like Jamie, who only tolerated the indoors as society demanded that he did.

A ladder hung down from the wall at the back of the area. He jogged into a stutter-stepped gallop and leapt for the bottom rung. He made it, as he always did, and climbed to the