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To Read Excerpt #1

To Read Excerpt #2

The following is a continuation of Excerpt #2 and picks up the conversation with Sam:

Then, Sam gasped, paused and remained hesitant until finally saying, “Ok, buddy. I was in the Marines but did not make it out of basic training.  I hurt myself and ended up being forced out by a dick drill sergeant, okay?”

I remained silent while maintaining an intense stare focused on Sam to tell if he was giving me the whole story.

After an uncomfortable period of pause and stare, Sam grumbled, “Ok. I didn’t really get hurt, I pretended to get hurt because it was hard and I was homesick, okay?”

I nodded in agreement and said, “It sure it, Sam. A deal is a deal. I will now leave you alone and pay the bill…and tip.  I am gone, bro.”

Immediately after the last word rolled out of my mouth, I arose from the seat, made a straight walk of purpose toward the cashier.  As the same waitress and seemingly only customer service employee greeted me at the counter.

She said, “Yes, sir. You ready to pay for your bill?”

Reaching into my pocket to retrieve my wallet, reach inside and pull out 10 bucks as I then respond to the cashier, “Actually, ma’am.  That Sam fella over there,” as I turned my head toward Sam and gave him a nod which was met by Sam’s return nod of acknowledgment.

Hell, he almost looked happy.  I then added, “Well, that guy is going to pick up both my bill and his own. I’ll be honest with you, that came as a surprise.  I sure am glad our meeting turned out great.  I was worried.”

The curious cashier said, “I was worried about ya’ll when he first came in and thought maybe ya’ll were gonna fight or something.”

A jovial chuckle naturally flowed out of me.  As my laughter tapered off,  my head drew nearer to the cashier as I offered way too much information as my voice lowered to a near whisper, I said, “Me too, ma’am.  I was worried. I’ll tell you what that was all about. Um, me and Sam—that guy over there, well we were meeting because I’m his son’s boyfriend. Today, I came to meet Sam and tell him that me and his beautiful boy are going to get gay married. Now, my man was all scared and didn’t want his daddy to know.  I told him it would be okay and guess what?  It is.”

At this point, I flaunted the ten-dollar bill in my right hand as a method of distraction…just in case, Sam was watching.  The purpose of my pronounced movement was to shield the movement of the left hand that reached into my pocket to pull out my previously prepared envelope, the pen and sat both on the counter.

Then, I looked into the eyes of the cashier as her facial expressions indicated a mix of both disgust and empathy, I said, “Although Sam is gonna pay for everything. I would like to give you ten dollars to do me a huge favor and give Sam this card I got for him ahead of time. Just in case, things went well, I wanted to thank him.”

I then presented the money to the clerk, and as she accepted it, my eyes examined the card, followed by my left hand verifying my eyes, then I said, “Oh dang. I can’t believe this. Silly me, I forgot to put the card in.”

Then, I opened the envelope, picked up and began writing with the pen with an exaggeration to appear (again just in case Sam was watching) to be signing my name on a credit card receipt.  After adding the finishing touches to the note, I briefly glanced my writing to ensure it was perfect. The letter read,

“Dear Sam,

Fuck you.  PS, you are no Marine, you are a big fucking pussy.

Signed,

DR

PPS, Go fuck yourself.”

Pleased with my handy work, I tucked my letter into the envelope and handed it to the lady, then graciously reminded her, “Now, make sure you don’t give that to Sam until after he’s finished eating. I wouldn’t want him to get all choked up with emotions.  Oh, and please don’t read it, because it’s private and really personal.”

The clerk agreed and wished me goodbye as I exited the diner.  With my exit, a simple “Booyah, motherfucker!” raced through my mind.

Darrell Roberts :Writing is my passion, whether you agree, disagree, love, or hate the expression of my passion is not important. What is important, is that those that read my words are never bored by doing so.