Before arriving at the apartment

Pedaling my bike through the streets of my hometown, catching eyes with strangers. 

Taking sharp lefts and swift rights. Following the windy road along the outskirts of downtown. Where houses stood, police stations were built, and bars always stayed open. Spotting a man who stood sipping a beer outside the pub. 

“What uh yuh drinking?” I asked. 

The older gentleman looks down to see a brown eyed, short and stocky buzz cutted teenager. “Ain’t you like 12, kid?” 

“I’m 15.”

“Ok? Go away. Go home.”

“How long have you been drinking?”  

His knees cave forward. His head shifts up along with his back. “Ever since I got a job.” 

“Why, what’s wrong with your job? 

“Nothing wrong with it,” he said. “Just responsibility and shit.” 

The broad shouldered man’s beer bottle dangles back and forth in his palms. 

“Always wondered what it’d taste like," I said. 

“Huh?” 

“That stuff's bad for you yah know, taking years off your life I’ll never understand it.” Residue trickles down from the stranger's mouth, he wipes it. “I give a sip you leave?” 

“Just a small taste is all.” Amply tugging stepping back, raising the bottle to his nose. “Did you drive here?” Looking off into the distance using his arm to guide his gaze. Pedaling further along the road, shouting behind. “Why, when you can ride a bike.”

Door 2 

“I lived in Superior most of my life but I suppose I moved down here because things were just so expensive.” The older woman drags her wrist down her cheeks, sighing. “I had to stay with my sister-in-law cause I couldn’t support myself anymore. I was a real burden. I'm sorry, honey, where was I?”

Door 1 

Chewing his fingers. Messying his hair. Unwrapping a piece of gum. The door opens. 

Across from Ben is Diane, a blonde haired ponytail woman in a white robe. 

“Got one for me?”

“Uhh.. yeah.” Digging in his pockets, pulling out a mint flavor. 

“How does my hair look babe?”

“Like so good.” 

She turns for the bathroom, admiring herself in the mirror. “Really?”

The man leans his arm over the woman’s shoulder as she walks away. “Bet I could beat you. Come inside.” 

“No!” The woman yells, combing her hair, speed walking out the bathroom door tugging the man by his wrist. “No. We are not letting some lunatic ruin our night.” Her arms wrapped around his neck. 

Door 2 

“You said there was a man?” 

“That's right. Bill,” she says pointing over his shoulder. “In that room.”

Door 3 

“Hey. Bill.” Ben says, from outside the door. “Got a beer for yah.”

“What kind?”

“Not sure. Smells like cherry.”

“Ain’t no beer smell like cherry. What do you want?” 

“I was talking to the lady in 309.”

“Marge? She come out?” 

“Yeah.”

Door 4 

From inside room 306, Rory Macelroy winds back, and three thuds erupt. 

Door 2 

Bill opens Marge's door. “Marge, was this boy screwing with you?”

“What boy?” 

“This one.” Grabbing Ben’s wrist and hoisting it. 

“Oh. No.” Stepping closer and closer. Hugging the boy. Wrapping him in blankets. 

“Ok. Go back to sleep. Imma make sure he gets out of here.”

Ben’s outside the apartment in the wood chips, lured back by a brightness in a room. From inside room 306, Rory Macelroy winds back, and three thuds erupt. 

Underneath his breath the old man cackles, finishing the hit from off his cigarette. 

Inside Jimmie's room

“Do you have a sharpie?” Asks the boy, hopping off the couch, speed walking to the kitchen. “We're out of checkers pieces.” 

“Then it’s not gonna work. Put the board back in the box.”

A golf ball splits the drywall. A thick black expo marker seeps, drawing x’s and o’s. 

“It’s not gonna work. The board goes back in the box.” 

Unzipping the duffle bag, Ben tosses the game away and re-zips it. A 74 year old man named Jimmie, stands across from him, putting away into a red solo cup. 

Ben rests the remote, picking his fingers, taking a look around. “Have you ever thought about cleaning the place?”

“Nobody to clean it for.”

“You don’t got family?”

“No. I do.”

Silence

You ever took a shot?” 

“I’m only 15.” 

“I’m just thinking you need to let loose is all. I mean, surely this isn’t all about checkers. I never just wanted to hit a home run.”

Silence    

“What’d you do as a kid?”

“Lots of fighting. That kind of sort.” 

“Whats it about fighting?”

“Whats it about checkers? I did all the sports. Wrestled, played football, baseball, whatever I could get my hands on. Made it in the newspaper a couple times.” 

“Got any stories?” asked the boy.

Jimmie cushions into the couch, pouring wine, sliding a glass to his side. 

“Hank Aaron. Best baseball player ever... I’m at one of his games, when bloop, it slips out his hands. Would've been millions. Anyways, Jardy gives me hell for it.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Locked myself in the attic. Only had it a few days before someone held me gunpoint.”

“You should have a smoke. Makes you more of a man.” Jimmie hands him a Marlboro black before saying. “It doesn’t matter the taste. Whether you like it or not.” 

Finishing the last of his flame. He flips the light in the living room. “My father, uhh... he’d beat me as a kid. Couldn’t work the shop like he wanted me to.” 

Ben and Jimmie lay separated alone in the dark 

Snuffling, the boy pulls the blanket tighter, listening to the sound of the ac hum, and resting his eyes. “Your dad used to beat you?” he asked. 

“Everyday. All the time. Was always asking questions. Never had any answers. Your dad like that too?”

“It’s my mom. I am just sick of it. Of doing things the right way. Playing it safe, never taking any risks, not thinking about whether what I'm doing is good or bad.

“Can you turn back on the light?” 

The floor creaks and cracks amidst the darkness. 

“No. Smoke the cig.” 

Ben grabs the lighter from off the table. Struggling to get it to light but he does. 

From outside Jimmie's window a kickstand lifts.