Let's Waste Time

Chapter Four

On Wednesday night, Chris 81 with the black door came over at exactly six PM. I was ready for him this time and had thankfully finished work when I was supposed to. He brought Chinese food with him. We got it set up on the coffee table in front of the TV, and he handed me a beer. We didn’t waste time with small talk because Lord of the Rings was serious business. We got the movie started before we ever spoke a word.

“So tell me about yourself,” he said as he picked at his box with chopsticks.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like growing up in Napa and stuff. Like your family.” Now this was even harder to explain than the boyfriend question.

“Um—we’re not really that close. I was only close to my dad, and he’s dead,” I explained as short as I possibly could.

“That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.” I shrugged.

“It’s cool. That’s life, I guess.”

“So you have a thing for Bob Marley?” he asked with a nod to the poster hanging above the TV. “I’m starting to notice a theme here.” I laughed.

“That would be my dad again. He loved Bob Marley. My older brother’s name is Ziggy. Isn’t that sad? We were like the Zappa family growing up. My sister’s name is Luna. And my youngest brother’s name is Brian, which is weird. But I mean—Marley is fairly average.”

“So was your dad a reggae fan?”

“My dad just loved music in general. Zig and I were born fairly close and just happened to fit into his reggae period. Luna was born when he got really into classical music for a while. I don’t know where the f**k Brian came from, though.” He smiled.

“That’s kind of cool. My family wasn’t really creative with names. Christopher and Rachel. We even had a cat named George.” I laughed and picked at my food.

“That’s okay. My dad was the cool one. Not my mom. If it were left to her, we’d all be Brian’s and Rachel’s. Not that there’s anything wrong with those names. Just that she doesn’t really have much imagination.”

“You must take after your dad then.” I cleared my throat.

“Well, he’s not my biological dad. That’s kind of why I’m not really close to my family. I’m the only one of us that isn’t his kid.”

“Oh—Well still. He must have influenced you. You said you were close.” I nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, definitely. My family was kind of really shitty to me for not having the same dad as everyone else. I mean—the circumstances surrounding my birth was really shady, and so they kind of singled me out. My dad didn’t want me to feel excluded, so he kind of made an effort to include me and ended up spending more time with me than the others. Which made them hate me even more.”

“That sounds—really terrible.” I shrugged again.

“It’s whatever.” I gave a half-hearted laugh as if to express that I was okay with it. I wasn’t, of course, since I had just told him something most people don’t share with new friends.

“Have you ever tried to find your biological dad?” he asked then.

“Well no—he kind of r***d my mom, Chris.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It’s alright.”

“That’s still not a good enough excuse to treat you like shit.” There was a moment of silence as I dug around my container of rice. I wanted to change the subject asap. It was my fault for bringing it up in the first place.

“What about you?” I decided to ask. “Any psychos in your family tree?” He laughed, and the tension seemed to drain from the room.

“Just me. Not a psycho but a raging disappointment with every breath. You know the drill. Basic suburban white family with two kids, a family dog, a cat named George, and a divorce. Then the son quits college in an attempt to get back at his parents because there’s no other reason why a guy would leave college. The usual cliché.”

“That’s not really why you quit school, right?” I asked as I looked at him. He scoffed.

“The only reason I went to school was to play baseball. But I wasn’t cut out for accounting. I couldn’t keep my grades up. But of course, my parents attribute my failure to their marital problems.”

“Sounds like—a typical—story.” He laughed.

“Told you. Couldn’t get more boringly basic if we had a dog named Spot.”

“Please don’t tell me you had a dog named Spot?” I asked. He smiled and took a sip of his beer.

“No dogs named Spot. The dog is named Moneypenny,” he explained.

“That’s good. I was hoping you were more original than that.”

“James Bond is more original than Spot?”

“I think you might be kind of a nerd, Chris.” He gave me a dramatic expression. As if I had said something unheard of.

“Tell me it’s not true?” I laughed and shook my head.

“I had a cat named Jem once. From Jem and the Holograms.” He laughed and put his empty pink plate back onto the table. Then he stretched his legs out again, taking up more space than my tiny couch was accustomed to.

“I think you might be kind of a nerd, Marley,” he finally said.

“No shit.” He snickered and reached for his beer.

“So do you have any pets? Or just the fish?” He nodded toward the bookcase that was pushed up beside the single large window. My goldfish was swimming around in his aquarium, reflecting the light from the streetlamp outside the window.

“Just the fish. His name is Ultra Pepe,” I told him. He laughed again.

“Ultra Pepe is an excellent name for a fish,” he agreed.

“I thought so too. He’s the best roommate I’ve ever had. He’s small and silent. Never questions my life choices. Doesn’t mind if I come home late and leave things on the floor. He has a shorter attention span than I do.”

“That sounds like the best kind of roommate to me.”

“Do you have a roommate?” He shook his head and rested his arm on the arm of my couch. His black leather jacket was resting beneath his hand. He tapped the bottle against the sofa like a nervous twitch.

“Just Moneypenny. I call him MP for short. He lives with my dad, though.” I nodded.

“Dogs are good roommates too. Not everyone can be as lucky as I am with Ultra Pepe, but dogs are a close second.”

After the movie was over, I got up to clean up the mess we’d made on the table. Chris decided to take the leftover rice, and I took the noodles. We dispersed them between the two of us by the front door.

“I have to work on Friday, and I have a game on Saturday,” he told me as he balanced the boxes in our arms. He was towering above me so that I had to crane my neck just to see his face. "But I’m free on Sunday if you want to watch the next one.”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied. “But let me cover dinner this time. Anything in particular you want?”

“I’m not picky. But I’m a herbivore. Surprise me.”

“Well, technically you’re an omnivore, but you’re not vegan, I’m guessing. I mean, I’ve seen you eat cheese.”

“Not vegan. Just not meat if that’s cool.”

“That’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“Good deal. See you Sunday.”

“Bye.” He nodded to me and let himself out.