Prop the Door
By Chris "Mac" MacNevin
I came back from work and opened up the door to the porch to find a foil wrapped package out by the railing. It was a pork chop and a hamburger. I thought about putting it in the freezer but it ended up in the trash. I had to assume Sean threw it up there. I was sitting out later that night and he came down the sidewalk and told me about the barbecue he was at down in Alabama. When he asked I told him it was good.
He invited himself up. "I'm coming up. Prop the door for me. I'll be back in a second. I've got something else for you." I didn't really have any other plans. He would come up and talk about his landlord and his half brother and sometimes about the guy who would take him out to dinner and then not call. We would listen to music together.
"I have got this CD you are just gonna love!" It was an old blues singer I'd never heard of. His mom used to play it. I copied it and made him a drink. He was trying to make it as an independent seamster. Soon after we first met, he made me throw pillows in three different sizes that matched my brown couch in various ways. I went home for christmas that year and when I came back, we had a little post christmas christmas like you do with friends. I only had my own alcohol to offer but he had made me a scarf.
I had no tolerance for his bitching and no reason to censor myself. "When you call him and complain about how he needs to call you back and you just don't understand what the problem is, well... you aren't helping yourself any." He smiled. "He picked me up in a limo one time and we went to Rathbun's. I love that place. You have to come down to the galleries with me this weekend. Free wine!" I didn't expect him to be interested in what I was doing for a living. I didn't expect him to be interested in my friends or family too much either.
His apartment flooded. It had rained hard and he lived in the basement. He had antique furniture ruined, and sweaters. His damn landlord was not going to pay for shit. He was definitely moving. There was a place though, not far. It was still under construction but they were going to put in an island and redo the sinks and put in recessed lighting and open up the closets. He was a cook and he was going to host the best opening party the block had ever seen. It would be sometime in late winter, when everybody would be ready for a party.
I was thinking about moving myself. I didn't need all that space. Sometimes when I was in bed I'd hear the rocks hitting my screen door.
"Cree-us, cree-us!" Then finally silence.
I found a place closer to work. The couch went but I still have the pillows.
C. "Mac" MacNevin lives Georgia.
Built Boyle home