When I came back out of my thoughts, I was finished. I zipped back up and walked out of the stall. Whoever had been at the urinal was done, too; the shoe had gone. I stutter-stepped, though, when I started for the sink; the shoe had belonged to Kevin O’Malley. He was at the sink, washing his hands.
His head was down, so for a second it was only me, my shocked reflection in the mirror, and the back of his head. His short, spiky black hair seemed so out of place with all the graying, balding, heads out in the bar. He seemed lost.
Instead of standing up, then noticing me, though, he did something odd. Kevin, still bent over at the sink, spat once, then cut his eyes toward me. It was only then that I began to wonder what he was doing. His eyebrows came together slightly, and his lips, though together, moved against each other. Something in the set of his shoulders changed. He reached over and shut off the tap without standing up. The only sounds were the echo of the last drip from the sink, and the muffled music outside.
Both of us were wondering the same thing. Me because I’d never talked to him, and because I wondered if he’d ever known how afraid of him I was. Why he didn’t say anything I’ve never figured out. Looking back, it also seemed odd to go that long without anyone coming in; most bar restrooms are a continuous flow of people. That moment hung there forever, though.
“Mikey Kendall, right?” he asked, barely moving his hips or legs as he stood up. He was wearing clothes that didn’t fit with the bar, either; dark jeans and a shiny black pull-over. Something about him made me think that he was lost.
“Yeah,” I said, “You’re Kevin O’Malley.” It wasn’t a question, because I knew who he was the second I saw him. I’d lived in fear of him for so long that something even deeper than his features was burned on me permanently. I guess some writer guy would say that better, but it’s the only way I know to describe it. I felt like I could be blindfolded and still know exactly where Kevin was in a room. It seemed so funny, at that moment, though; I noticed that my shoulders were higher than his. Age had gotten the better of us; I was taller than Kevin O’Malley.
“Ain’t seen you in a long time,” Kevin said, and sniffled. His right hand moved like he wanted to bring it up to his face, but he didn’t.
“Yeah,” I said, and I was about to say something else when a burly man waddled in past us. He unzipped and hawked up something deep from his throat, then spat it into the urinal as the splashing sound started. At the time, I didn’t know what to make of it, but I saw Kevin’s eyes follow the guy for a second; something hungry lived in that stare. Then he looked back at me, and with a flick of his head toward the door he turned and left.
I took a second to wash my hands, and wondered what I should do. He’d meant for me to follow him, obviously. I wondered if I should.
I must’ve spent more than a few minutes thinking about it, though, because the big man who’d come in shouldered up to me, trying to get some space at the counter. “Pardon me there, fella,” he said. I started, then moved aside.
“That there little queer boy ain’t givin’ you no shit, is he?” the man asked while he washed. I noticed his hands were so big, he couldn’t fit them both into the sink at the same time.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“The little queer that ‘us in here a second ago. He wuh’n’t botherin’ you, was he?” the man asked, shutting off the water and pulling paper towels from the dispenser.
“Keh—,” I started, then decided not to say his name, “No. No, he wasn’t bothering me,” I said.
The man nodded to himself, then left. I looked into the mirror, and my eyebrows were pulled together so tight, the rest of my face looked pinched. I walked out the door, and almost right into Kevin. He nodded at me, and then walked down a short hallway that lead away from the bar. He opened a door with a sign above it that would have read Exit if it hadn’t been broken.
Outside, the smell of wet garbage mixed with the smell of woods. Sully’s had only been slapped into an undeveloped plot of forest land; that land crept closer and closer every year. Some day, it would have to be cut back. Kevin walked five feet from the back door of the bar and was standing next to a tree. I walked slowly toward him, hearing the door click shut behind us. Two feet away from the door, though, the smell of the garbage went away; only the wild smell of trees remained.
Kevin put his hands in his pockets, and I noticed just how thin he was. The light from around front and the full moon made most people look pretty whited-out, but Kevin was nearly silver. I noticed how sunken in his eyes were.
“Jesus, it’s been a long time,” he said, “how’ve you been? What’ve you been up to? Where do you live, now?” I couldn’t figure it out; Kevin was curious about me? His lips were pulled back from his teeth a little and it occurred to me he was smiling. He was happy to see me. He seemed small and something else; some poet would probably say he was withered, that he looked like a decayed version of the golden menace in my head.
“I’ve been good,” I said, still not believing. His eyes were bright and intent on me. “Working as a mechanic and—,” I started.
“You always were good with your hands,” he said, smiling. Something in his voice said that he’d always known how things would turn out.
“—seeing this girl—,” I stumbled.
“Of course. Happy good kind of life, right? You always were the good one,” he said, and looked away. I felt like asking him what he meant, but he seemed to be almost crazy, in a way. His eyes, his voice; something wasn’t right. I don’t mean that he didn’t fit with the image I’d always carried around in my head, I mean that something in the way he was acting was more like a dog that’d been whipped too much. He wanted something from me, and I didn’t know what it was. “I bet she’s a real looker, huh?” he said. I smiled at his tone because I didn’t know what else to do.
“Kevin, it’s really great to see you, but I need to—,” I started and his face fell. Not in the classic movie sense, where the actor falls apart, but it shifted just enough that I knew I’d said the worst thing in the world before I’d even finished saying it.
“Sure,” was all he said, over and over again, quieter each time. His head bobbed with each sure. His arms were twitching, though, and his breath was ragged.
“Kevin, are you—?” I started to ask, but before I could finish, Kevin feinted. He didn’t pitch backward like they do on all the television shows, though; he just crumpled. It looked like someone had snipped all of the wires that were holding him up at once. I stood there for a second because I didn’t know what to do. That feeling had never left me.