Mike was originally from the area but did odd jobs for a construction company in the town. These days he was over on Lake Street, a new complex was being built. Money would be in his pocket for Christmas. Somehow, he always managed to cut across town and beat the evening traffic to make his way to Sonny’s the last Friday of every month. Or had he perfected the art of sneaking out early? He had been doing this for years. Maybe no one cared. He was a constant presence at Sonny’s. Like many young rising stars from the neighbourhood, he had tried to leave. He had left but like the others before him, he came back. It was as if the neighbourhood refused to let him go. They always came back.
Tab! That word sounded too rich, damn way too stylish for this old pizza ... hmm cook shop. Only Mike could get away with flinging in words like those in the middle of a workman sentence. Too many blasted books and schooling, you hear. And to think that neither of them ever got him any further than the construction site. Mike had promise. He had made it all the way to university until he was forced to drop out after his first year. His scholarship had run out, his family could not pay the way and he didn’t have guarantors to sign his student loan forms.
​
“Mait as wel mek op mi main fi fiid yu fi frii!”
​
Sonny yelled back to Mike in laughter, his musical lilt accentuating the word ‘tab’.
​
The place exploded this time. The joke never changed. No one, not even Mike was offended. It went without saying. These men, who sought to make ends meet on a salary already tighter than a trunk welded shut, tried to feed their moss-like children and still have a little squeeze left to meet up with the boys once in a while to wail to their favourite tunes and drink the blues away. At the bottom of each bottle they tried to forget the poverty and misery that stared them straight in the eyes, reminiscent of a wayward child. These men once had promise, once they had dreams; all left unfulfilled by life’s circumstances.
These same men who now looked at their dreams through their children’s eyes. By the fifth bottle the same refrain could be heard, “This is mi last drink because I can’t touch what a put up for so and so,” naming out their children’s names who ranged from little tots in nappies to ones now off to university, “because one day de goin change things, de goin change di future an create a better tomorrow ... di demself and fi wi fambili.” No one ever said anything to the contrary. But in their minds, they all doubted. Their pappies and grand pappies had said the same before. Hadn’t they?
Some of them had indeed gone off to college, hadn’t they? Studying this and that and who knows what else. Reading books until you felt like your eyes were going to pop. Endless numbers of written papers to be submitted. Papers the markers always found faulty. Papers returned with more red pen markings and crossing outs than you thought necessary. Sometimes even with a grade way below what you knew you deserved. The system faileth one and kills expectations with one blow… or should we say with the stroke of a red pen? Some went but none ever finished. Had anything ever really changed? The answer was not needed. In their hearts they came to the same silent conclusion. No one would ever come out of his hole to attract attention, except in a body bag.
“Hey T-man gimme your special today!”
​
“What special?” someone quipped. The other question would have been, who was T-Man? This was met by raucous laughter because they all understood. The menu was the same everyday. What special? It must be a newbie, trying to fit in. Reminiscent of the daily life, people coming, people going, people staying, forever changing, forever the same.
​
“Bwai Sonny, get sombadi fi elp yu out lonc taim no man. A feel like you taking too long to sarv mi di likl fuud man.
Cho! By the time a get muh likl moch, it done gone cold!”
​
“You joking Rabbi. You of all people know that I don’t trust no body. Not even you… Eh he heee!”
Sonny’s goat-like laughter finished the statement.
​
This time the laughter exploded, almost lifting the zinc roof off the shop. It was no secret that Sonny and Rabbi had been friends for donkey years. They went to the same primary school as little boys, back in the days they even used to share a bottle on a Friday night in town if they both came up short to buy two. They knew each other’s secrets, their kids called them Uncle this, Uncle that.
If anything, they were the best of friends, if nothing else.
