“Hey man,” he said, “do I know you from someplace?”
We were at Ed Marshall’s house. I had worked with Ed. He’s a pretty good guy, a bit quiet though, and hanging with him, well, I can’t explain it really – but when Marc came around it was like seeing an old friend.
I was in my early twenties. I had very few friends. Marc didn’t know Ed too good. And Ed didn’t like Marc too good. I could sense that the way he barely glanced over the side of one eye when Marc came into the room. Ed and I were watching hockey. That’s all we’d ever do, quite frankly. Sit around, watch sports, and then I’d take off home.
Cudd, Ed’s roommate (Ed had two roommates) was sitting behind the couches after having followed Marc inside. Cudd had a barrel chest, was slightly overweight, and his hair color would change practically every week.
As Marc stood there behind the couches, watching the hockey game, he’d make these sniffling noises. I could tell Ed was growing annoyed. Ed kept everything inside but I could read him. I didn’t know him too well but I could read him. He didn’t like Marc Sandoval right off the bat.
(Most of the time I prefer being alone. But I like knowing that soon I’d be hanging out with someone, knowing that in a matter of hours I’d be alone again…)
The Marc situation continued as it began. I’d be hanging with Ed, watching hockey. Marc and Cudd would come back from the gym, and Marc would come in and stand behind the couch while Cudd would go into his bedroom. And then Marc’s sniffling would begin.
“There’s some Kleenex in the bathroom,” Ed said one night.
I remember laughing inside. The poor guy couldn’t take it anymore.
Marc just replied, “No, thanks. It wouldn’t help. I got allergies this time of year.”
But you know what, strangely enough, for the rest of the game, on that particular night, Marc didn’t make another sound.
Marc had a look, an expression, like he wasn’t not so secure, safe, or comfortable. But he was quite confident. Ed and Cudd were secure, but not confident.
With Marc, even though he’s fat, was still a pretty muscular guy. And he’s got a real lean stare. He seems hungry, like a contender. And like a contender he seemed very discontent.
On those first few nights that Marc stood behind us I felt uneasy, and yet, I wasn’t bored. One thing had replaced the other. I remember thinking if Marc were around on a weekend night maybe things wouldn’t be so dull. I really can’t think of a better word to sum up my life, or those last few years before I met Marc Sandoval, than dull.
I think it was the fourth night (of Marc’s prolonged introduction) that I heard the sliding door, which was next to the couches, open up. Marc went outside and closed the it. The sun had just set. It was a hot night. Back then it was always pretty hot. I remember that. Some particularities, I’m sorry to say, I don’t recall. And if this was a novel, and not just a sloppy journal, I guess I’d have to. But in a journal I can simply say - back then it was pretty hot. And quiet, too. Because when that door opened and closed it was awfully loud. It was as if there hadn’t been a sound inside that house till Marc went outside.
Ed, every time we sat and watched a game, would drink a beer. ONE beer. So would I. But on this night, Marc, before he took his place behind us and then went outside, had something in a paper bag. He had put it in the freezer, let it stay there a little while, and then grabbed it out. This was right before the sound barrier had cracked with that sliding door opening. So Marc stood holding a large bottle of beer, a 40-ounce.
I looked out into the backyard and saw Marc over by the slide, on the other side of the pool, smoking a cigarette, and felt a pang inside related to what felt like envy…
READ CHAPTER TWO
READ CHAPTER TWO
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