Just In Time

Jessica Gilmour was born and raised in New York City. She received her education from schools, her mother, eclectic and highly creative friends, and the streets of NYC from The L.E.S. to The Bronx. Thus far, she has made her way in life in a rather circuitous manner and is pleased with the results of having strayed off of the beaten path on more than one occasion. She is currently debating attending law school, instigated in no small part by the politics of Mayor Giuliani. She wishes to remind anyone who cares that the people who believe that Giuliani's New York City is a safer and better place are tourists, newcomers, and the very, very rich.

She stared at the freshly sealed envelopes on the desk in front of her and wondered what sort of response they would receive. Rebecca was twenty-eight years old now and on July 23rd, just seven short days away, her company Just In Time Development would be going public. The date was no coincidence and Rebecca did not want to be the only one who recognized it as important. Hence these hand addressed and very special envelopes. The invitations to the party at Tavern on the Green had gone out weeks ago (corporate types needed plenty of advance notice), but these invites were hers alone. These invites were for those people who knew next to nothing of her life over the last few years, but knew everything about who she was inside and out. They were for the people who had gotten her this far without even knowing it.

Leaning back in her chair, she lifted her feet up onto the large oak desk that she had bought at the Salvation Army years ago. The desk had been through it all with her and she would not give it up despite the scratches and worn spots. She had moved it from her home to each successive office she had been in and she had it still, though everyone in the office begged her to invest in a new one. Her relationship with this desk had become a running joke over the years and the people closest to her now would call her “Linus” because of her unfailing attachment to it. She laughed to herself because she knew it was true. Her youth had taught her the value of loyalty above all else, even if it translated into a fierce regard for a piece of furniture.

Sitting up, Rebecca pulled a piece of thick mahogany hair from her eyes and pushed it behind her ear without thought. She leaned forward and grabbed a cigarette from the pack on her desk. Lighting it, she had the argument with herself that she had had a thousand times before. You have to quit, she scolded herself, and then, no you don’t – it’s the only vice you have left. She gave the cigarette a long, hard pull and pressed the intercom button on her phone.

“What do you want now? I’m busy out here,” came the response through the speaker.

“How about getting your ass in here when I ask you and not giving me a hard time just once?”

“But what fun would that be? You wouldn’t know how to handle it if I were that good. Give me five minutes. And stop smoking in the office. You know I’m allergic.”

“It’s my office and I can do what I want,” Rebecca teased and blew smoke long and loudly into the intercom.

She leaned back again and closed her eyes. There was a time, she thought, when her loud, deep voice was all the intercom she needed.

“JUSTIN! HEY JUSTIN! C’MON, THROW DOWN THE KEYS!”

Standing on the corner of Riverside and 100th Street, Rebecca screamed up to the fourth floor window waiting for a response. She shielded her eyes from the blinding morning sun with one hand while pulling up her jeans with the other. She was sixteen years old and had been out all night. She smelled like a brewery and her jeans and Tee shirt, which hung on her as if meant for an older brother, were covered with grime. It was only 10:00 and already the July air was thick and saturated with the filth of the city streets.

Reaching into her pocket for a cigarette she continued to fix her gaze on that fourth floor window.

“TODAY!” she screamed and the response came. The keys bounced on the pavement a few short inches away from her. “Nice try,” she mumbled and lifted them off the ground.

Letting herself into the apartment, she flung the keys at her ex and headed straight for the shower.

Shedding her clothes as quickly as possible she jumped into the shower and scrubbed the excesses of the night off of her body. The water was cool and refreshing and she could feel the grime slip from her skin and watch it as it swirled down the drain. She stood under the steady stream and surveyed the bathroom.
The bathroom was clean. There were no towels on the floor, the toilet seat was down, and the soap was in its holder. There is very something wrong here, she thought.

Turning the shower off, she stepped out onto the cool tiles and let herself drip dry while searching the room for evidence. The medicine cabinet was chock full of prescriptions stolen from other cabinets and hustled from ignorant doctors. That was nothing new, they had been doing that for years. She checked the shelves and found only colognes that he never used and an empty beer bottle that had been left there for weeks. What am I doing, she questioned herself as she leaned down to pick up the small, baby blue garbage pail next to the toilet. Rifling through it she found, under wads of clean toilet paper, the small cellophane package that she had feared would be there.

“Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not again, Justin, please not again.”

She shook her head and replaced the package at the bottom of the pail. She had been through this too many times with him. She wanted to do something, to say something, but she knew that it would be futile and would lead only to an argument that could not be won. She glanced at her thin and tired face in the mirror and thought quickly of the old saying about the pot calling the kettle black. But there was a big difference between heroin and all other drugs, she rationalized to herself.

Slightly comforted, she walked out of the bathroom naked and allowed the light breeze that filtered into the apartment from the Hudson River to finish drying her.

“Mmm. Sometimes I forget what I’m missing.” Justin’s deep, scratchy voice cut through the thick air and landed heavy on Rebecca’s chest. It hurt, sometimes, to look at him. His once beautiful and muscular six-foot frame could now scarcely cling to his pale skin. She still loved him terribly. Terribly, she thought, was a precise word for how she loved him. They both knew that it was over and done with but those things they had shared over the years, the times they had both put and gotten each other through, were so strong that there was a connection between them that would remain unbroken.

“Yeah, Justin, you do forget what you’re missing. So let me remind you, it’s your brain. That’s what you’re really missing. Now scoot over some, I need to get some sleep.”

Rebecca yanked on a pair of his boxers and his Giants Tee shirt that was worn so thin it felt like gauze on her small frame and she climbed into bed next to him. He turned on his side so that she could press her back into his chest and he laid his arm over her waist. Here she felt safe; she knew that no harm could come to her if she just stayed here next to him.

She surveyed his room noticing the model airplanes that he had been assembling since he was seven. She thought of the care and the delicacy with which he would put each piece together. She remembered how she could sit enthralled for hours, watching him as he worked. His concentration would remain unbroken and the room would simply fill with his devotion to the task. What had happened, she asked herself as she looked at the B-52 Bomber that had sat unfinished on top of his dresser for two years now. Knowing the answer but not wanting to think of it she shut her eyes and let the rhythm of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest, rock her to sleep.

“Hey there missy, it’s a busy week for some of us. You want to wake up and tell me why you called me in here?”

Jonathon’s voice found its way through the haze that had enveloped her and caused an embarrassed flush on her cheeks. “Say, based on the shade you just turned I’d be willing to put aside some time to hear what you were just thinking of,” he teased.

“Nothing. It was nothing, really. You just caught me off guard. Make a note of it because it isn’t bound to happen too often.” She shook off the memory and picked the envelopes up off the desk. “These need to go out priority. If they can’t be there within the next two days then I’ll expect them to be hand-fucking-delivered. Got it?”

“There’s the boss I know and love. You got it. But why are they going out so late? I was sure that I had gotten all of the invitations out on time.”

“You did. These names just aren’t in any Rolodex.” Her voice was low and serious as she turned away from him to gaze out her window at the sterile metallic office building across the street.

“Okay. I see there won’t be any further explanation so I’ll just get these out ASAP. Anything else?”

“Oh stop, you know I get so heady when you call me that,” he quipped and left her to her thoughts.

“Shit.” Michael winced as he scraped his hand on the screw that protruded from the door of his tiny prewar mailbox. These mailboxes were not made for holding dozens of catalogs and solicitations. They were installed when the most that would come through them were a few handwritten and personal letters. Licking away the thin line of blood that emerged from the small scrape, he began up the stairs to his apartment. He opened the door to his studio and felt the rush of summer heat that had been confined within smack him in his face. Michael threw down the pile of mail on the already overflowing table beside the door and turned on the air conditioner. The day had been long already, but it was all in preparation for the long night ahead of him. One day, he promised himself, he would find a group of musicians that could get their shit together. Until then he would have to be the backbone of the band. He would be the responsible one. He would be the one who rushed around and made sure that all the equipment was where it was supposed to be, that the sound check went all right, that everyone else knew what time they were supposed to be at the gig and where it was.

He really couldn’t complain, though. He was doing what he loved to do and he could pay his bills doing it. That couldn’t be said for too many people he knew. Of course he wished that he could do more than pay his bills. Of course he wanted to be rich and famous, too. For now, however, he was content. Who would have believed that, he asked himself. Who would have believed that the man whose entire existence once screamed out “MORE!” could be content? He was probably the last person to expect it, but things had changed over the years.

Michael lifted the pile of mail off of the table and dragged the garbage over to the couch with him. Falling into the ratty, worn out couch, he began to sift through the mountain that he had neglected for the last few days.

“Crap. More crap.” He reviewed each piece of mail, sorting them one at a time into either the garbage or a much smaller pile on his coffee table. “Please, Land’s End, stop it. I’ll never look good in khakis no matter how many times you send me these catalogs. Crap. More crap. Shit. Victoria’s Secret, I’ll keep this one, thank you. Bill. Bill. Crap.” He stopped. In front of him was a hand-addressed envelope. It’s thick texture and creamy color meant an invitation to something.

He checked the name again. Michael Anderson. It was for him all right, but he couldn’t think for the life of him who might be getting married.

He dropped the rest of his mail on the couch beside him and leaned back into the couch. He opened the envelope slowly, savoring the surprise of getting a piece of mail from a personal source. This is what that mailbox was meant for, he noted gladly and thought that the scratch on his hand might be worth it after all. He pulled out the card and read the invitation slowly.

Rebecca Young
and
Just In Time Development
cordially invite you to celebrate the growth
of the company at Tavern on the Green
July 23rd, 2000 at 7:00pm.

At the bottom, in thick blue ink, she had added, “Please be there. Please.” He reread the card several times. Rebecca Young. It had been years since he had last seen her. He had missed her over the years, as he had many of the people from those days of hanging out at the monument in the park. She had said “Please” twice, he noticed, as if there were some question in her mind whether or not he would be there. She should have known better, they were family after all. The lack of shared genes between them was overcome with ease by the tireless devotion that they had had for one another; that they all had for each other in those days. The date of her celebration did not escape him. Jesus, Rebecca, he thought, you’re really something. You just never let something go, do you?

He picked up his guitar and fingered the strings, allowing the simple rhythm of Bob Marley’s “Jamming” to float into the air around him and transport him back to that place where it seemed everything began and ended.

“Hey, Mike, do you think you could play another fucking tune already. We’ve heard “Jamming” enough times now that I’m about to do some Jamming on your ass!” Kenny was yelling at him, his face only a few feet away from Mike’s.

“Leave him alone, loser.” Rebecca’s voice came deep and husky, defending him as she always did. She was the baby of the group and the only girl that was a genuine part of this irregular family they had fashioned for themselves. She was tough enough, and had been around them for so long that she was simply one of the guys, sort of. When out in the real world, it was she who needed to be protected most of the time, from herself and the trouble she could cause with that big mouth of hers. But here she was safe and could say or do anything without fear. And she did. That was one of the things that Mike loved her for. She was loud and raunchy and on his side. “You should know by now that when you let him light up a spliff, which you took quite a few pulls off of, he’s going to play Marley.”

She smiled at Mike and he laughed, putting down the guitar. He walked over and sat down next to her on the stone bench. They were at the monument, the light of the day just fading out over the Hudson River. The monument spanned a full city block on the edge of Riverside Park. The massive white stone structure, with its wide marble benches, columns, dark niches and recesses, and its several different plateaus, was a safe haven for them and had been for years. It was here that they would come to be themselves; here that they could feel comfortable and truly at home.

Mike looked up. The sky was shades of pink, blue and purple and the heat of the summer day had not yet lost its intensity. He put his arm around Rebecca and laid his head on her shoulder. Her neck smelled like Ivory soap and her hair was damp with sweat.

He grabbed the Budweiser from her hand and stood in front of her. “Go ahead, recite,” he commanded, taking a deep swig from her beer.

“This is the famous Budweiser beer. We know of no other brand produced which costs so much to brew and age…” she began to recite the words printed on the can, then stopped. She looked up at his face, framed by short dreadlocks, his smooth brown skin glistening from the heat. “C’mon Mike, I’m too fucked up right now to do it. Just give me my beer.”

He laughed and handed it over. She lay back on the bench signaling the end of this interaction and he moved with the long, easy stride of his thin, six foot four frame back over to where the action was. Kenny had picked up the acoustic guitar and was desperately trying to bang out a heavy metal tune. Johnny “call me Warrior” Sanes was telling pathetic lies to the two most recent females to show up here. New girls were always good for a laugh, but none of them stuck it out. None of the girls who showed up from time to time were really useful to their group. At first they became a distraction, as each of the boys vied for their attention, then they simply began to get on everyone’s nerves, finally they disappeared. This time Johnny was telling the story of his snakeskin boots. He had, according to his own vivid imagination, killed the snake himself. The best part of Johnny was that he could tell a story so many times that, in the end, he actually believed it himself. Mike listened for a bit and watched the na•ve girls as their eyes widened.

He sat down with Eric “Sauce” Morgan and Eddie Billy. Eric was called “Sauce” because he drank a lot, but that title could have been given to any of them.

Eddie Billy, on the other hand was dubbed with this name for no reason whatsoever. His name was Eddie, pure and simple, but Linc had added the “Billy” to the end of it one night and it just stuck. For a while he had tried to fight it, but finally he gave in and became Eddie Billy to all. The two were deep in a debate that had lasted years and promised never to be resolved.

“How can you say that Jiu Jitsu would beat heavy weight boxing? One punch man and that little sucker would be out on the floor,” Sauce argued.

“That’s bullshit man. Heavy weight boxers are too damn fat and slow to take on a Jiu Jitsu master. They’d have to catch the fucker first.” The logic of this defense seemed inescapable to Eddie Billy, but the debate continued.

“WHAT? Are you stupid? Have another drink, brother. The wrestler’s got it.”

His work done here, Mike looked up the block and saw Justin meandering down the street, making his way towards them. Standing, he walked over to the stairs that led to the street from the monument’s white and tan marble-floored expanse. Uh-Oh, this doesn’t look pretty, thought Mike as he noticed that the languor with which Justin walked was not ease but concentration. He watched as each step seemed to take Justin’s complete attention.

Mike’s voice reached her through a semi-intoxicated haze and her stomach knotted in fear. Lifting herself up off the bench, Rebecca joined him by the stairs and watched alongside him. He felt her hand grab his forearm and her head come to rest just at his shoulder.

“He’s back on it.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I was with him this morning and I saw it with my own eyes. Don’t say anything, it’s not worth it.”

Mike shook his head. He loved Justin as much as Rebecca did, more so maybe. The bond between them was forged during countless nights of insane and death defying activities, the kind of episodes that one looks back on in horror. For each of those episodes, though, there was always Justin’s presence. There was always the clear and simple fact that Justin had been there with him and the two had saved each other over and over.

Justin approached them and gave Rebecca a kiss on the cheek. “Hey man,” he said turning to Mike. “What’s the story?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” Mike didn’t know what to do. He was scarcely trembling on the outside, but inside he could feel every nerve in his body twitching and writhing with unchecked anger and frustration. He wanted to take Justin by the throat and hold him against the cold stone wall of the monument.

He wanted to make Justin see what he was doing to himself. He wanted to beg him to stop.

“Nothin’ much. Just chilling out, you know.” Justin’s eyes were barely slits in his face. The lids were thick and heavy and Mike saw that it took physical exertion on Justin’s part to keep them open at all.

“Yeah. I know,” was all he could manage to spit out. Mike handed him a beer and turned away from him to retrieve his guitar from Kenny who was close to busting the strings.

Grabbing the guitar from Kenny, Mike plucked at the strings and watched as Justin sat on the cool stone floor across from him and leaned his back against the stone bench that Rebecca had returned to. She was stroking his hair and he just smiled up at her, not taking his gaze off of her as he mumbled almost incoherently, “Hey, Mike, play some Jamming for me, will ya?”

The sound of the telephone smacked him back into the present. He couldn’t be bothered to answer it; he just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to talk right now. There were a hundred “What Ifs?” lurking in his mind. They had been there for years and would haunt him, still, from time to time. Especially around this time of year. He looked again at the invite and smiled. Leave it to Rebecca to give July 23rd a new definition, one with a sense of justice. He’d be there; she didn’t even have to say please.

“One for now and one for the road.” Kenneth Benn said to himself as he rolled up a couple of fat joints. He sat by the open window and let the sounds of Amsterdam Avenue roll into his cramped and sloppy apartment. From his third floor window he could hear the blare of taxi horns; the yelling and laughing of the old men who played dominoes on a folding table in front of his building; the ear splitting screams in Spanish of mothers calling their children in for the night, as his mother had done before he left for good.

He lit one of the joints and sucked a cloud of thick, pungent smoke into his lungs. Holding his breath as long as he could, he felt the burning in his throat and delighted in it. He let out the smoke with a long sigh and spoke to the second joint, “Hang in there, little buddy. Don’t be jealous ‘cause I’ll need you soon enough. Tonight is going to be some fucking night.” He slid it into his Marlboro pack alongside the regular cigarettes and made his way toward the mirror.

The invitation was hanging there on the mirror, attached with scotch tape to the one place that it could not be buried. Please, she had written at the bottom.

Kenny liked to think that she was begging now. So many years later she was finally begging for his attention. After all the times he had tried so hard to get hers, now she needed him. Well, he had thought when he first opened the envelope, fuck her. She’s the one that just disappeared after that night. She’s the one who left us all behind to sort shit out on our own. But he could not deny her; he never could. He loved her today, despite the lost years, as much as he had loved her then. He had never told her how he truly loved her, settling, instead, for the less passionate yet much more secure type of love that is found between siblings.

Kenny looked at his reflection in the mirror and noted the pockmarks on his tan skin, the slight film of grease from the humidity of the day, and the dark brown, almost black, eyes that still seemed lost. Fixing his tie, the only one he owned, he took another draw off of the joint, ripped the invitation off of the mirror, and headed for the door.

Out on Amsterdam Avenue the thick air was stagnant and heavy on his body. He lifted his arm and a taxi came across three lanes of traffic and screeched to a halt in front of him. He opened the door and got in thinking that it certainly hadn’t been that easy to get a cab on that night so many years ago.

“Kenny, why don’t you pass the fucking joint over. You’ve gotten it sloppy wet with those big Puerto Rican lips of yours already. I don’t want to have to tongue kiss you by association.” Mike was messing with him again. Kenny laughed along with everyone else and passed the joint down the line. It was evening now.

The light of the day had disappeared somewhere beyond the Hudson River and the New Jersey skyline. The light from the lampposts on Riverside Drive spread a dim yellow hue across the sprawling stone monument. Kenny looked up at the immense, ten story white marble tower, which stood at its center, and briefly considered climbing all the way to the top of it tonight. He glanced at Linc who was busy grinning and staring intently into a half-pound bag of M & M’s. Tripping motherfucker, he thought as he laughed out loud, I bet I could convince him to do it.

Reaching for his beer, Kenny looked across the way at Rebecca and Justin and felt a pain in his chest as the smile faded from his face. Lucky fuckin’ bastard, he thought to himself. She was stroking Justin’s hair and would occasionally lean over to kiss his forehead. What the hell does she see in him, he asked himself, he’s nothing but a junkie now.

He took a big gulp of his warm beer and started in on her. “Hey, Becca. Why don’t you come over here and give me some of that good lovin’? You’re just wasting it on him, he don’t know you’re there.”

“Fuck off, Kenny,” came her response. “Why don’t you find a woman already so you can get rid of that sexual tension that explodes all over me. I’m not as stupid as you think. It ain’t about love with you, it’s about p-u-s-s-y and that’s all it’s about.”

Kenny masked his feelings in crude talk for a few minutes about the virtues of virgins when it came to pussy and about the value of some really good herb in making a serious connection with a woman. The laughter was non-stop and Kenny was at the center of everyone’s attention for those minutes. He was lightheaded and giddy from the beers, the joints, the heat and the laughter. He wiped tears of amusement from his eyes and looked across the way again. Rebecca wasn’t laughing. She looked up at him and the moment became frozen in time. Her eyes burned a hole through him, she was terrified and she was looking at him to help her.

Her mouth hung slightly open as if she wanted to say something, but there were no words coming out.
Kenny felt the heat of the summer night all at once, he felt each bead of sweat on his upper lip, and his Tee shirt was clinging to him, drenched in sweat from having spent the last hour practicing skateboard moves on the steps of the monument. He got up from his seat and moved towards her. Although he was running to
her, every step felt like an eternity.

“What? What happened?” He spoke to her with a thick tongue, barely able to conceal his desire to help her.

“It’s Justin. Look, Kenny. Look at him. There’s something wrong.” She pushed Justin’s shoulder and they watched his head just roll to the side. Kenny watched as she leaned in to Justin, pressing her lips to his ear and begging him, “Please, Justin. Wake up.” She looked up at him again and those eyes of hers, those dark blue eyes with the specks of gold, were pleading with him to do something.

Kenny smacked Justin square in the face. The sound bounced off of the marble walls of the monument that surrounded them and called everyone’s attention to the situation.

“What the fuck is wrong with you man?!” Mike was yelling at him as he pulled him away from Justin.

“He’s screwed, Mike. He’s gone over the edge man. I just wanted to get him back here, back into reality. Look at him. LOOK!” Kenny was screaming now while tears ran down his cheeks.

Kenny looked around. They were all just standing there, their gazes moving from Justin to himself and back again. Only Mike had kneeled down to check on Justin. They were all paralyzed with fear. Kenny looked again at Rebecca and she was staring at him still. He looked at Justin and thought that this little shit had taken from him the thing he wanted most in the world. The thought that he would be better off without Justin crossed his mind so quickly that it barely registered and then he moved. He moved with a sureness and urgency that no one had ever witnessed in him before. Justin is one of us, no matter what, and Becca needs my help now, he thought.

“C’mon, Mike. Grab his other arm. Sauce, go hail us a cab,” Kenny ordered.

Mike complied without hesitation and Eric ran down to Riverside Drive to get a cab. Mike and Kenny threw Justin’s arms around their shoulders and hoisted him up off the ground. They moved down the stairs to the street and Kenny could hear Justin’s boots as they hung behind him, dropping down into each step with a loud thump.

Eric had hailed a cab and was waiting with the door open, but as they approached with Justin dragging between them the cab pulled away, sending Eric flying to the pavement.

Four more cabs passed them by as they stood in the street with their dying friend and brother.

“Holy shit. You’ve got to be joking. Okay, Sauce, the next one that comes, you just get in it first and do whatever it takes to keep him in one place.” Kenny had taken control of the situation. They moved behind a large tree and Kenny stood staring at the ground where the roots of the tree had pushed up the pavement. He waited what seemed like an eternity for Eric’s call, and moved quickly when it came.

The back door was open and Rebecca was seated inside already. Eric was in the front seat holding the driver’s shift bar in “park” and yelling at them to hurry up. Kenny and Mike pulled Justin into the cab and closed the door. Kenny looked out the window and saw the frightened faces of the rest of this group. They stood there, bunched together as if ready to have a dysfunctional family portrait done.

“St. Clare’s, you assholes!” He screamed out the window and briefly watched them wake up. The cab squealed away from the curb leaving the smell of burnt rubber and tread marks that would be there for weeks after.

“That’ll be five seventy-five.” The cab driver was turned in his seat looking at Kenny and waiting for his fare. Kenny looked out the window and saw the lighted trees of Tavern on the Green. He reached into his pocket to pull out the money and felt his heart speed up and his throat close up. He handed over the fare and stepped out of the cab. He pulled the joint that he had not yet finished out of his pocket and walked across the road to Sheep’s Meadow. He lit the end and took a long pull off of it. He didn’t think of all the actions that he took that night; all the things he did right. He thought only of the fact that, for a split second, he had wished Justin gone. He took another pull off the joint and headed back to the restaurant with the same anticipation and dread that he had felt that night so many years ago.

“Shit.” Eric Morgan was looking at his watch and he was running late. He was always running late. It was one of those things that distinguished him. He had had time only to slip on his jacket and run out the door to the Lincoln Town Car that was waiting. He slid into the back and realized that he had not even had a moment to fix himself up.

When he had received the invitation, he had promised himself that he would not make any appointments for at least three hours prior to the party. Why can’t I ever get anything done on time, he berated himself. I’ve screwed this night up, and it hasn’t even started yet. This party had been on his mind all day. He had reminded himself again and again of the time. He had wondered what she looked like now. He wondered who else would be there, if anyone were left to come.

The profession he had chosen, however, made demands on his time that could not be ignored. He was currently involved in defending another young drug suspect against criminal charges that were brought despite the profound abuse of police power used in the arrest. The time had slipped away from him again when the boy’s mother phoned in tears asking about the case and needing detailed explanations, which had to be translated from legalese into English. It had taken over an hour to calm her and to assure her that he would call her with any new developments.

The Lincoln pulled up at Tavern on the Green and Eric stepped out and his made his way directly for the bathrooms. He laughed to himself as he remembered all the times he had come in here as a teenager to use the toilet when the lines at the public toilet by the Meadow were too long. He pushed open the large oak door and the faint odor of disinfectant reached his nostrils. Suddenly he remembered today’s date. It was July 23rd. Nice one, Becca. It was funny, he thought, how the sense of smell seems almost benign until one is faced with its power. Throughout the past decade the smell of disinfectant had triggered the memories of July 23rd, and no matter how he tried to move past them, they would not be quieted in the least. He moved into a stall and, sitting on the closed seat, shut his eyes. Breathing deeply he inhaled the stinging and caustic scent and allowed the memory, because tonight was the anniversary.

“Fuck the red lights, man. Just move!!” Eric was seated next to the cab driver and was yelling directly into his ear. There could not have been a better man for the job that night. He was six feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds of unchecked anger. If his time was not spent arguing the advantages of one violent sport over another, it was spent illustrating his points physically on anybody who tweaked his nerves at all. He had no patience for humans in general, and less than that for strangers who were not a part of the family that now sat in the back of this cab.

The cab driver responded quickly and floored the pedal of the cab while muttering to himself in a language that was unintelligible. The cab pulled up to the emergency room entrance and came to a violent stop on the curb in front of the doors.

“Good job, man. Nice job.” Eric patted him hard on the back and threw a twenty at him. He turned around to see Mike and Kenny trying to push Justin out of the back of the cab.

“Sauce! Help us out, man.” Kenny was breathing hard from the fear and the exertion. Eric came around the door and pulled Justin up onto his shoulders.

“Jesus. He sure does feel a lot heavier than I would have thought. He’s such a skinny little bastard.”

“Quit whining, you dick, and get him inside.” Kenny had taken control somehow and Eric just followed orders at this point.

He walked into the emergency room and went straight to the desk. Knowing more about Justin’s personal information, Rebecca spoke for them and she remained as calm as possible while trying to explain the situation. Eric watched her as tears streamed down her face and she gave the nurse as much information as she knew. Just in front of him was Kenny who kept turning and pointing to Justin, hanging over Eric’s shoulder like a sack of laundry, as if to illustrate the situation further. There was no movement in Justin’s body, no breath from his lips. He saw Mike trying to drag doctors over to Justin, alerting them to an emergency as if they had never actually seen one until this night. Eric stood there in the middle of the chaos with the smell of alcohol on his breath mixed with the institutional odor of the hospital assaulting his nostrils. He reeled from the stench and made it over to the blue plastic seats to put Justin down.

He had made it to the seats with only seconds to spare before vomiting on the floor of the emergency room. The sound of his throat constricting and opening coupled with the projectile spray of his pizza dinner and Jim Beam dessert were enough to get the attention of everyone in the vicinity, including a couple of doctors.

As they rushed towards him it was all he could do to point them to the actual patient among them. The doctors called for a stretcher and pulled Justin onto it. They wheeled him away from the scene with Rebecca firmly attached to his side, despite the protests of the doctors. No doubt Becca would be there when Justin opened his eyes, Eric thought, as he watched them disappear down the corridor. Kenny turned to Eric and gave one more command. “Call his mother, Sauce.”

Justin’s mother didn’t really like any of them, but sometimes Eric thought that she liked Justin less than all of them put together. He didn’t want to do this at all, but it seemed the wrong time to start an argument so he walked over to the payphone. He dropped the coin into the slot and pressed the numbers. He listened as the phone rang on the other end and watched through the sliding glass doors as the cab containing the rest of crew pulled up to the entrance. Each ring on the other end seemed interminably long and finally he heard the click of the answering machine.

“You have reached the answering machine of Maureen Crane. Please leave your message.” He breathed a long sigh of relief as he listened to the machine’s greeting and began to leave his message.

“Uh. This is Eric Morgan, Ms. Crane. I’m calling about Justin, he’s…” He heard the receiver being picked up on the other end and the bleep that signaled the tape had shut off.

“He’s what?” Her voice was hard and ice cold. It was matter of fact and insisted on a short, concise explanation for the phone call she was receiving at 11:00 at night.

Eric swallowed hard and felt his stomach turn again. He was acutely aware of that hospital stench, and thought he might vomit once more, if only to get out of this situation.

“Well, Ms. Crane, he’s here in the hospital. We’re down here at St. Clare’s in the emergency room. Justin isn’t looking too good and we thought that maybe you might want to come down here in case you’re needed.” Eric got the words out and thought that he had sounded as clear and competent as he was able.

“What’s wrong with him?” Her voice was utterly lacking in emotion. She asked the question but spoke again before Eric had time to answer. “Let me guess.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Eric had never used the word “Ma’am” in his life, but it seemed appropriate right now. He expected her to break down now, to show some sign that her son was in trouble, to display some sort of emotion. It didn’t happen that way, though. The next words out of her mouth brought Eric to tears. He looked at the crew, who had lined up to watch him and to witness the catastrophe. He hung up the phone and broke down sobbing uncontrollably. They were watching him, this huge young man who had rarely showed an emotion outside rage, and he didn’t care anymore.

“What did she say? Is she coming?” Eddie Billy was speaking to him. They all needed to know what in the hell was going on.

“You want to know what she said?” He asked, hoping that somehow one of them would have the sense to say no. None of them did. They just nodded.

They wanted to know; they needed to know. “She said ‘Fuck him. Let him die. He’s just a piece of shit junkie anyway’ and she hung up.”

Every one of their faces contorted in the same confused manner. He knew that they believed him because it was the truth, but they also knew that it shouldn’t have to be this way. They all sat down on seats in the waiting room and remained quiet. There was nothing to be said about it. The fact of the matter, Eric realized now, was that they were all each other really had. Despite the arguments, despite the sometimes polar differences among them, it became unmistakably clear in those moments on the blue plastic seats, with the acrid smell of disinfectant in the air, that they were family. They came from places where they weren’t comfortable and met up in Riverside Park to form a group that was dependable and safe. They would always be a family.

Rebecca emerged at 11:34 on the summer night of July 23rd, her eyes red and puffy. They looked to her to tell them something that she could not. She whispered, “He’s gone. Justin’s gone.”

The summer days faded out quickly after that. They had banded together for a few weeks following his death and then each found on his or her own that his death had somehow closed this chapter of their lives. Rebecca didn’t come around too much, and when she did she refused any beer or herb. Mike started writing his own lyrics and spent a lot of time with a new band he had formed. Kenny became quiet and almost serene. He moved into Justin’s apartment for a while and finished the B-52 Bomber that Justin had given up on.

Eric remembered his own awareness of those days. It was time to act or be acted upon. He looked at his rage and his penchant for arguing the merits of any given subject and decided to become an attorney. That was a long time ago, but it seemed that the lessons they had all learned had been taught only yesterday.

“Hey, buddy, is everything coming out all right in there? You want to maybe give someone else a shot?”

Some asshole was banging on the door of the stall. Eric stood up and let his still intimidating frame do the work of insulting the man as he pushed out and past the little prick of a man. He washed his hands and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was as unruly as it had ever been and he licked his palm to smooth it down a bit. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had managed to make it there almost on time. It was only five minutes after seven. He took one long, deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom. Too many years had passed and he did not want another minute to go by without these people in his life.

Rebecca was standing beside a small podium at the front of room. The place was packed with suits and smart evening gowns. She peered into the crowd, searching for the faces of those that she had wanted here. Oh please, she thought to herself, please let them come. I can’t do this without them. I’m not really a grown up yet.

Then she heard her introduction and made her way to the microphone. She looked out into throng of faces watching her and began to speak. She read off the yellow index cards that Jonathon had printed up so neatly for her.

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate this occasion with me. This is truly a momentous day for Just In Time Development.” She read what had been written for her like an automaton, thinking that she sounded ridiculous and pompous, and knowing that these people could never understand what had gotten her to this place. She stopped for a moment and looked up. There they were at the back of room! They had all come. She laughed out loud and felt tears spring to her eyes as she saw the motley crew of her youth standing alongside each other as they had every day and night for all those years.

“Hey! You guys!! I missed you so fucking much,” the words exploded from her before she had time to catch them. She heard faintly the exclamations and drawn breaths from the crowd but the loud, raucous laughter of her family at the back of the room and the beating of her heart overshadowed her embarrassment by far.

“I’m going to have to depart from the wonderful cue cards that my loyal and perfect right hand has written up for me.” Rebecca glanced at Jonathon and saw him smile even as he looked very confused. She winked at him and looked back into the crowd. “I need to tell you all that this day is more special to me than most of you could ever know. But there are people in this room right now who know exactly what this day means and I can’t keep them waiting another minute. They were and are my family. Simply, I want to dedicate this day and this company to my family and to the memory of Justin Crane who, through his tragedy, saved our lives just in time.”

Just in Time