Sunday

The following Sunday afternoon, I’ve taken my parents out shopping while R. plays poker with his buddies for god only knows how long. I glance at my cell phone around 1:30 p.m. and notice that I’ve missed a call and have a new voicemail message. I wander away from my parents and dial my mailbox number. It’s David, sounding miserable.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Sunday afternoon, I’m just watching the game and having a beer. Listen, I really…I want to see you. Really bad. On Wednesday, if possible. I’m in such a bad way right now. I gotta get out of here. Um, I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we’ll talk, all right? OK, talk to you later.”

The next morning, before I leave the house for work, I check my phone and see a new text message from him.

I’m pullin the trigger.

He calls me later that morning and tells me that he needs to find a new place to live. His girlfriend is a loser, he needs to get out of there but has nowhere else to go, has no money saved up because she bleeds him dry. She has two kids that are not his, but he pays for things for them anyway. Her son is a delinquent and and is always in trouble. The kid just got out of the county’s juvenile detention center and already it appears he’ll be back there shortly.

David is planning to ask his older brother, the one with the drinking problem, if he can move in with him. It’s far from the ideal situation, but there are no other options. He asks me if I can see him on Wednesday after work. I tell him sure. We plan to meet up again at Applebee’s.

“I can’t wait to taste you,” he whispers into the phone. “I promise I’ll go nice and slow.”

I’m wet again.