Second Chance

A gentleman asked

The air was thick with the scent of coffee and broken machines as people’s eyes darted from their latest iPhones to two grown-ups facing off, two gallons of milk in front of each of them. And yes, I was one of those grown-ups, a legend in my own right.

The initial idea was to down 40 cups of milk, inspired by the artist's concept, but I knew that if I continued with the usual 'Pick and drop' method, I’d be toast. So, I launched into a dramatic monologue about how the dishwasher would collapse from overwork and then drag the café into a lawsuit.

Across from me was this guy, ready to discover who among us was the ultimate milk enthusiast. I flashed him a smile and asked, “So what do I get if I win? It can’t just be that you won’t paint me, Mr…?”

“Jack,” he replied, and then he paused, scanning the crowd that had gathered, all eyes on us, eagerly anticipating the showdown.

He reached into his pockets and pulled out something green, slapping it down on the table with a thud. "Five hundred bucks," he declared, causing the crowd to collectively gasp. I struggled to keep my eyes from lingering too long on the cash; after all, I was broke, but I had to maintain my diva status.

I shot a dismissive glance at the money and said, "I hope that's not your life savings, because if I see you out on the streets, don’t expect a dime from me." He erupted into laughter, pounding on the desk and even tumbling off his chair in his glee.

"Oh, darling, I speak the language of money! Did I mention I'm related to Leonardo Da Vinci?" he said, flashing a grin as he tried to regain his composure. "And how exactly are you related?" I asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"I'm his cousin, twelve times removed," he replied with unwavering confidence, crossing his legs with flair. I had to stifle my laughter because, honestly, my witch-like cackle might scare the kids nearby!

"Not sure you’ve got any family fortune left with all that 'removed', buddy," I said with a smirk, and he pouted as he slammed his hand on the table. "Let’s just kick off the contest," he replied, drawing circles on the table’s surface.

As a whistle blew, we dove into the milk, chugging it down while the kids cheered us on. But it was hard not to notice them zeroing in on Jack, who looked like he stepped out of Barbie’s Dreamhouse.

Just as I was about to finish my first gallon, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a woman glaring at me, her child struggling to hold onto an iPad with one hand as she gripped his wrist tightly.

"STOP THIS MADNESS!" she shouted. "My kid is lactose intolerant, and watching people drink dairy makes him really uncomfortable." I glanced at the so-called uncomfortable kid, who was too busy giggling and glued to Cocomelon to seem bothered at all.

"If you two don't stop, I'm going to sue!" she yelled again, clearly grabbing everyone's attention in the café. I slammed my empty gallon of milk onto the table, feeling ready to tell this lady to take her Cocomelon Kid and bounce.

I was furious she had interrupted the competition, but then I heard a soft gulping noise, like someone was trying really hard to stay quiet. I glanced at the guy across from me as he set his second gallon of milk down on the table. “DONE,” he declared with a smug grin that made me want to—well, let’s just say I wasn’t thinking nice thoughts.

“Finally!” said the woman next to me, as if she hadn’t just cost me 500 bucks, and thoughts of smashing either the iPad or her crossed my mind. Meanwhile, Jack was shaking his butt, claiming it was his victory dance he’d been perfecting for 12 years.

“Are you ready to become a work of art, mademoiselle?” he asked, clearly aware of my seething frustration, but something about the way he said “mademoiselle” caught my attention and pulled me in.

3 Years ago. Los Angeles, California (19 year old Kourtney)

“Are we just wandering around to score some drugs or what? We’ve been trekking for ages!” I exclaimed, my gaze fixed on Oscar, who strolled ahead with a blank look on his face. He had dragged me all the way to this park and insisted on holding my hand the entire time we were there. I knew he wasn’t being romantic; I just hoped it was some sort of spy mission and not a d**g deal.

“Less chatter, more walking,” he said, his deep voice echoing in my ears, a reminder that I’d heard it way too many times. The park was bustling with balloons, dogs, and hyper kids—not exactly my idea of a fun date.

“Mademoiselle!” A bothersome voice shouted from behind us, jumping in front before we could escape. “Mademoiselle, you’re a vision of beauty! Please do this fine gentleman the honor of capturing such a masterpiece.” He dropped to one knee and bowed, clearly waiting for me to respond.

“Get out of the way,” Oscar commanded, his eyes wide enough to intimidate anyone. The guy scrambled to his feet, annoyance written all over his face as he shot a glare at Oscar.

"Alright, Sir, I get it—you and this lovely lady are out for a stroll, but my question was directed at her, not you." That remark ignited a surge of fury within Oscar, and he lunged at the gentleman, grabbing him by the collar in a fit of rage, as if to choke him.

The man, however, calmly pushed Oscar's hands away and bowed slightly to both of us, placing a hand over his heart. "Looks like my exit is in high demand," he said with a smirk before strolling off, leaving Oscar grumbling about how nothing could ever undermine his pride.

Still fuming, Oscar seized my hand again and marched forward, his frustration bubbling over with every muttered comment. Suddenly, I felt a slip of paper slide into my free hand, followed by a soft whisper. "If you're in trouble, come to this address," the man advised as he moved away, turning his attention to other women nearby. I glanced back, trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded.

"What are you staring at? Get a move on, Ney!" Oscar shouted, calling me that silly nickname that sounded like a horse's neigh. I kept trudging forward, but my thoughts lingered back with that gentleman.

Present day. Los Angeles, California

I've tried to wipe most of my memories of Oscar clean—they didn't matter much anymore. Yet, some lingered not just as memories of him but as lost chances, regrets, and those little happy moments. This one definitely fit somewhere in that mix.

Jake burst into laughter at my expense, completely unaware of who I was. "HAHAHA!!! How does it feel to lose?" he teased, sticking out his tongue and wiggling his butt playfully. I couldn't help myself—I grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a hug, wrapping him up tightly.

"What the—" he exclaimed as I squeezed him, and a tear rolled down my cheek.