The Drive of Life/The Drives of Our Lives
By Joe Reister
The Story
Anthony Ambrosini just crashed into a hell of a mid-life crisis
and he brought company.
He and his wonderful wife split last month, his horrible ex-boss
started to take over his organization last week, and his terrifying sister
wouldn’t stop laughing when he moved into the basement of their childhood home
yesterday. Worse, his ‘aunt’ Muriel
might be dying again, and he doesn’t know what to do. He does know that his 30-something staff want
to remake his organization or take his job, even though they’re dealing with
her dumb fiancé and his baby on the way.
But the worst might be that his whole future depends on four college
students succeeding when they barely finished high school.
Luckily, Anthony’s turned around terrible situations before,
convinced dumber people to do what’s best for themselves more than once and
knows that he has a distinct advantage as an educated white man in this chaotic
world. Unfortunately, this time he’s not
sure he can summon the necessary bluster and bravado to make things right
again. But you never know. His friends and family might exceed his
expectations and help him get out of his own head… For such are the drives of our lives.
Who knew? Anthony Ambrosini chuckled at a familiar shiny green
Subaru Forester all the way down the street.
Looks like being an altar boy might finally pay off. He ignored the once familiar Church of St.
Francis Xavier behind him and noticed a flash of cherry red in the green
car. Took long enough. He squinted in the drizzly, warm rain,
keeping his blue tie dry under the city’s shabby bus stop, and double checked
his pressed white shirt and crisp black pants.
So, maybe today won’t be as bad as I thought. He raised his thick right arm to the
incoming driver. Let’s just hope
Patrick had his coffee and wants to give an old pal a ride. He noticed the driver’s clerical collar and
frowned at the cherry red button shirt coming into focus. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, still embarrassing
himself at forty. He raised his hand
higher, seeing the priest’s eyes flicker, and stepped back as the Subaru
swerved, screeched and stopped 30 feet past him. Did he just drop an F bomb? He grinned at Patrick
shoving his head out the window and muttering the same four-letter word that he
couldn’t hear but definitely understood. “You should’ve stopped sooner, pal.” He laughed out loud. “I owe you money.”
“You owe a priest money?” a giant man in a sopping,
filthy gray long coat said next to him.
“Seriously, Anthony?” The man’s
face puckered up under a massive tangle of hair and a beard. “Even I pay priests back.”
“No, you don’t.”
Anthony matched the puckered expression and handed the man two
twenties. “And remember, appearance
counts, Isaac.” He nodded big to the
giant man and got the blank reaction he expected. “Looking good makes you feel good, and
feeling good helps you take on the world.”
“That didn’t work eight years ago, Anthony.” Isaac took the money with one hand and blew
his nose with the other. “What’s
different now?”
Almost everything.
Anthony frowned at the filthier
hand. “A shower wouldn’t hurt
either.” He pointed to St. Francis
Xavier and started for the Subaru. “And try
not to drink it, yes?”
“More familiar advice.”
Isaac chuckled, noting the open liquor store with the barred windows
across the street, and just stopped himself from stepping forward before
turning back. “You know you weren’t the
worst social worker.”
“Thanks, Isaac.”
He pointed to the huddle of wet college students waiting for the bus
huddled under the cracked awning thirty feet away. “And stop scaring people.” The rain picked up just then, and he moved
faster with a backhanded wave. “It’s not
helping, but a shave and a haircut would.”
“Of course, they would.”
Isaac grinned, stroking his long beard and mustache, and watched him
pick up the pace to the Subaru before turning back to the liquor store. “And anything’s possible.” He chuckled again. “Remember?”
Hard to forget. Anthony frowned at the falling skies and
started to feel the rain through his now damp tie, wrinkling shirt and creasing
chinos. “Because life is a wonder.” He put on a smile and then whispered. “Whether you see it or not.”
He sprinted the last thirteen feet to the Subaru to catch
Patrick laughing at him.
“Isaac there looks about as interested in your advice as
he was seven years ago.” Patrick smiled
big in his clerical collar and cherry red button shirt, pointing back to the
giant man disappearing into the liquor store, and winked. “Proving life is a wonder, huh?”
“You heard that?”
Anthony frowned with the increasing rain and rapped his knuckles on the
locked front door. “But can’t see that
I’m drowning out here.”
“You forget what happens without an umbrella in this
city.” Patrick popped the lock and
pointed his thumb back to an incoming bus. “I’m happy to give you bus fare if…”
“Shut up.” Anthony
shook his head, seeing the last of the crispness in his shirt and chinos, and
fell onto something hard and sharp.
“What the…?”
“Careful.” Patrick
yanked out the top half of a sharp and pointy Spider-Man hidden under Anthony’s
butt. “I’ve got little kids,
remember?” He dropped the Lego superhero
into the mess of toys in the backseat and nodded further back to the liquor
store. “And your friend didn’t want a
ride?”
“Isaac’s not that kind of friend.” Anthony yanked out a smaller black and white
stuffed beagle from the other side of his seat and dropped it in the mess. “Plus, he’s getting a haircut.”
“I’m sure he is.”
Patrick yanked the Subaru back onto the pot holed
street. “But that was the deal in your
social work days, right?” He made a face at Anthony’s now soaking tie, shirt
and chinos. “Appearance counts, can
inspire a person to feel better about themselves and therefore change their
world?”
“Good memory.”
Anthony pulled out the lower half of Spider-Man with a face. “Your kids play with Legos in the car all the
time?”
“They do.” He gave
him a look. “They’re kids.” He tapped the top edge of his collar. “And you’re right about appearance.” He smiled at his own dry, pressed and crisp
outfit. “I get all kinds of respect and
deference with the collar.”
“Including that shirt?”
Anthony cringed at the cherry red.
“It’s so, very, very red, Patrick.”
He groaned. “And I’m color
blind.” He closed his eyes for a
second. “And didn’t Vatican II junk that
kind of…?”
“Wrong denomination, Anthony.” Patrick pointed to the mess in the
backseat. “Or don’t’ you remember
pulling Spider-Man out of your butt 30 seconds ago.” He tugged on the shirt. “And people love the red.” He grinned down at
the cherry. “Adore it even.” He raised a red arm high to show off the
silk. “You should know that I get
compliments every time I wear it.” He
rubbed the red sleeve onto Anthony’s wet hand.
“See.” He laughed more. “That vibe brings happiness to the world.”
“It does not.”
Anthony pushed away Patrick’s arm. “Trust me.”
He frowned. “It’s too bright, too
shiny, and from any angle it looks like you’re bleeding out or worse.” He breathed deep. “I’m surprised Bishop Salerno didn’t kick you
out earlier with that kind of thinking.”
He sighed. “You didn’t dress that
badly back in the day.”
“We all dressed badly back in the day, Anthony.” Patrick stared at how wet he was. “It was called junior and senior high school,
and you had a mullet?”
“Playing hockey for the church, yes.” Anthony grinned big. “It was actually encouraged.” He nudged Patrick in
the shoulder. “And when Salerno
should’ve kicked you out,”
He crossed himself. “High
school.” He laughed. “You weren’t even a good altar boy.”
“I was better than you, and if you remember, I finished
seminary and got married in the same week.”
Patrick zipped through a yellow light.
“You were at the wedding.” He
gave him a look and pointed west. “And
got my oldest a job at Taste three months ago.”
“Marie’s still there?”
Anthony gave him a look.
“Seriously?” He shuddered. “Frankie didn’t drive her out?”
“Frankie’s fine.”
Patrick grinned again. “Always
has been.” He almost blushed. “And always will…”
“I don’t want to know that you still have a crush on my
little sister, Patrick.” Anthony turned
all the way on him while trying to forget Frankie’s forever noticed large bosom
and small waist. “Seriously, you’ve been
married for…”
“Knock it off.”
Patrick ignored the look. “And I
wouldn’t say Marie loves Taste.” He
shook his head. “It’s a hard job after
all, but she seems to like it well enough, or at least as much as any
eighteen-year-old is going to enjoy rough restaurant work.” He turned back. “And she wants the money.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Anthony laughed, adding some kind of rubbery necklace to the backseat
mess, but kept his eyes on Patrick. “And
how are Gigi and the twins anyway?
Good?”
“Great.” Patrick nodded to the giant mess in the
backseat. “Gigi is Gigi, and Aldo and
Donna rock. We’re living the
dream.” He frowned at some kind of black
scribble on the dashboard in front of Anthony.
“Life is beautiful, right?”
“Sounds like it.”
Anthony squinted at the etched in drawing. “Beats the alternative, yes?
“What a lovely attitude.”
Patrick stared at the wet clothes again.
“You own an umbrella and raincoat once upon a time?”
“Hat too.” Anthony
itched his two-day stubble. “One of
those old man fedoras, actually.” He
shrugged. “Although I don’t know where
it is right now.” He scowled at the
continuing rain. “I’d say I’m still
ahead, though, you know?”
“Of course, you would.”
Patrick snorted out a laugh. “But
in comparison.” He grinned at his cherry
red shirt again. “I’m shining bright,
huh?”
“No, and don’t laugh like that.” Anthony frowned. “Ever again.”
He shook his head. “That’s the
kind of stuff that got you beat up in junior high.”
“That was one punch. From you.
In high school.” Patrick’s eyes
narrowed. “When I asked Frankie out.” He shook his head, veering around a city bus
and pointed back to it. “And when did you start taking public
transportation again, huh?” He sped up
through another yellow light. “I thought
you gave that up at seventeen.”
“With dad’s beater twenty-five years ago, yes.” Anthony smiled. “Good memory.”
“Last I remember you drove a red ID4, dressed in tailored
suits and lived on the right side of the tracks too?” Patrick touched Anthony’s damp shirt with the
tip of his finger and pointed him to the west side of
the city. “Everything all right at
home?” He turned. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“You shouldn’t ask.”
Anthony held his breath. “But
sure. Everything’s fine.” He lifted his wet tie from his chest and
squeezed it. “Perfect.” He gestured to the sticky mess of the Subaru
and pointed to the pockmarked streets.
“My morning commute’s the best.”
He breathed again. “And tomorrow
should be even better.” He turned with a
tight look. “Obviously.”
“Okay, sorry.”
Patrick held up a hand. “I was
trying for subtlety.” He made a
face. “Obviously, it didn’t work.”
“Obviously.”
Anthony eyed him. “And heck of a
job there, Bishop Salerno level stuff.”
“Okay, fine.”
Patrick raised his hands in surrender.
“You’re right again.” He shook
his head at Anthony. “I apologize.” He breathed.
“I didn’t want to intrude, but...”
“We’ve known each other long enough for you to
intrude.” Anthony looked at him and
grinned. “I beat you up in high school,
remember?”
“It was one punch, Anthony.” Patrick raised a finger. “One punch, and…”
“You’ve obviously heard that my life hasn’t been
great.” Anthony turned to him
again. “And I assume Frankie been
spreading her usual gossip, yes?” He
tossed a newfound book into the backseat.
“But I’m happy to give you the real story if that makes you feel
better.” He pointed to the clerical
collar. “After all, confession is good
for the soul.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Patrick frowned. “But I’m Epis…”
“Whatever.”
Anthony looked past him. “Frankie’s
been telling everyone that Lisa and I separated about a month ago, yes?” They shared a nod. “And it sucks, obviously.” He threw up a hand. “But it was mostly expected, mutual, and
we’re trying to resolve it without other lawyers.” He sighed and his face sank an inch. “So, I think we’ll get through it without too
much trouble.”
“Okay. You’re
coping.” Patrick slowed down with the
traffic. “I like that.” He turned.
“And Lisa’s…?”
“About as well as you can be getting divorced in your
mid-thirties after being together for ten years and married five.” Anthony shrugged and gave him a look. “And I’m fine too.” He pointed to the less crowded right
lane. “Thanks for asking.” He ignored Patrick’s tight expression. “The problem was that we weren’t fine
together.” He shook his head. “And even our therapist agreed that we’ve
been having the same arguments over and over again, and that didn’t bode well
if we ever became parents.” He caught
his breath. “Which we were seriously
thinking about, ye?”
“Um. Yes. Okay.”
Patrick stopped as an old but pristine white Dodge Dart ran a red
light. “Sorry.” He watched the car jerk to a halt in the
middle of the intersection and heard a dozen horns a second later. “I didn’t know all that.” He frowned at the trapped Dart and turned
back to Anthony. “So, you’re living…?”
“In our old science teacher’s garden apartment,
yes.” Anthony blinked at the Dart. “Remember, Muriel Catera?” He nodded to an old woman in the front
passenger seat lecturing the young man driving.
“Believe it or not.” He turned
back to Patrick with a big laugh and shook his head. “She lives in my old house over on Sherman.”
“What?” Patrick
frowned, honking his horn at the Dart too, and turned. “I heard Mrs. Catera had cancer aga...”
“She got better again.”
Anthony shrugged and watched the Dart shudder through a narrow path of
more honking cars. “A few times now,
actually.” He raised four fingers and
then pointed to an opening on the left.
“But what’s cancer got to do with Muriel being my landlady?”
“Not a thing.”
Patrick stared at the Dart drive away.
“I guess.” He gave him yet
another look. “I mean, that’s great news
for her.” He nodded and inched
forward. “But it must be weird living in
your old basement, no?”
“Only a little.”
Anthony chuckled and gave him a look back. “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”
“Frankie told me about the separation and Lisa getting
the house.” Patrick pushed through the
interscection. “She didn’t mention Mrs.
Catera or the garden apartment.”
“That sounds about right.” Anthony sat up straight. “My sister and Muriel do not get along
exactly.” He breathed deep. “Or at all and never really have.”
“That’s too bad.”
Patrick noticed Anthony’s expression dip as they broke through the
unsnarling traffic to the rest of the city.
“You all right there?”
“About that same as I was few minutes ago.” Anthony made a face at the old, half painted
bright blue church in the distance. “I’m
guessing Frankie didn’t mention that Fillmore University’s Dan Preiss has his
eye on RISE UP, did she?”
“What?” Patrick
jerked them into the right lane. “I
thought you had a five-year deal with them.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And that
it was going well?”
“We do, and it was.”
Anthony pointed to the approaching taller buildings. “But you know how bureaucracies work, and how
seriously mucked up university politics is.”
“Church too.”
Patrick made a face. “Arguing
over office and parking spaces like they’re the a life
and death battle.”
“Exactly.” Anthony
sighed. “But unlike the church, colleges
don’t even pretend to practice what they preach.” He pointed to the old, ivy covered stone and
brick buildings coming into focus. “And
Dan wasn’t an altar boy like you and me.”
“Okay.” Patrick’s
expression tightened. “But aren’t you working
wonders and making the colleges happy with increased numbers and better
sophomores?”
“Yes.” Anthony
nodded. “But Dan isn’t exactly singing
our praises, and Fillmore let their reputation go to their heads about twenty
years ago, started dropping in the rankings and then began charging too much
for RISE UP’s typically local and working-class students.”
“So.” Patrick gave
him a twisted glance. “That sucks on top
of Lisa and living in your old basement?”
“It’s about as fun as you’d imagine, Patrick.” Anthony breathed deep. “Yes.”
He sighed. “Six weeks ago, I was
looking forward to the semester, grilling steaks on my back deck and enjoying a
Stella with my glowing wife while we talked about finally starting a
family.” He almost frowned. “And today I woke up in a lumpy bed, got
dressed out of a suitcase and had to bum a ride off of some dork who’s dressed
in a cherry red button down that makes him look like he lost a knife fight.”
“Okay. Sure.” Patrick gave him a look. “Of course.”
He took a breath. “And that
sucks.” His mouth twisted to the
left. “Sorry.” He sped through a yellow light. “I wish I could actually do something for
you, Anthony.” He swallowed. “But you might want to think about the bigger
picture.” He shrugged. “You know?”
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, finding a grin, and pointed
to the cherry red again. “Gigi really
likes this shirt.”
“Shut up.” Anthony
turned and almost laughed. “That’s just
the joys of a midlife crisis.” He shook
his head. “Mine’s a little bigger, but
you obviously get the concept.”
“Not at all.”
Patrick turned them to half bright blue brick and stone church on the
next block. “I’m a lot younger than…”
“You’re thirty-nine.”
Anthony took him in. “And look
older.” He did laugh. “A lot older.”
“That’s called having twins in my thirties.” Patrick pointed to the backseat mess. “And I feel younger.” He held up a bright cherry red sleeve again
and grinned too. “You know, because of
Gigi?”
“Please don’t say that again.” Anthony almost shuddered. “I know Gigi and like her.” He raised a finger. “And don’t tell Frankie about any of
this.” He eyed him. “It’s like confession, yes?””
“Yes.” Patrick met
his look and nodded. “My fake
confessions are just as sacred as Salerno’s.”
“Good.” Anthony
smiled. “And you’re definitely middle
aged.” He squinted at the shirt and
poked him in the belly. “And cherry red
isn’t as slimming as you think.” He
chuckled. “You’re getting fat.”
“Charming as ever, Anthony.” Patrick pulled into the parking lot, stopping in the first spot, and turned right to him. “Think that’s enough to get you through
this?”
“Yes, I’ll be all right.”
Anthony sat up but shrugged.
“Eventually.” He frowned. “It’s absolutely going to suck for a while,
though.” He breathed deep. “I have no doubt.”
“You’re right.”
Patrick sat up too. “Sorry.”
They both looked past each other for a moment.
“You know that Counseling degree from twenty years ago
might finally be paying off, Patrick.”
Anthony clasped him on the shoulder.
“And I want you to know that with your help.” He grinned again. “I’ve realized as a charming, well-educated
American man, that I’m going to be all right with my white, middle
class problems.”
“Okay.
Funny.” Patrick closed his
eyes. “And of course, you are.” He opened them with a look. “Although it’s quite that simple anymore.”
“It never really was.”
Anthony kept grinning. “But you
know.” He counted to three with his
fingers. “I slept in a comfortable bed
last night, have clean if wet clothes on now, and you gave me a ride to work
though I haven’t seen you in a while and don’t even like you that much.” He chuckled with a wink and poked him in the
belly again. “Sure, my life sucks right
now, but I’m going to be all right.” His
face twisted around as he took in the cherry red again. “And at least I’m not scaring people with
that shirt.”
“Funny.” Patrick
gave him a look back. “Hysterical even,
but you’re in a deep hole…”
“And talking has made me feel better.” Anthony mock punched him in the arm and then
opened the car door. “The Episcopalians
might want to reconsider the confession and absolution stuff.” He chuckled.
“It did more in ten minutes than my therapist did in the ten
months.” He smiled big. “Of course, you gave me a ride too.” He winked again. “Which helped the most.”
“Great.” Patrick
sighed and shook his head. “But you
should keep up the thera…”
“I know, Patrick.”
Anthony shut the door. “Just take
the win.” He nodded to the half bright
blue old church and the big RISE UP sign on it. “I’ll get the rent tomorrow, yes?”
“Sure.” Patrick opened
his window. “But you know.” He shrugged.
“It was due yesterday?”
“Yes, but there’s a five day
grace period.” Anthony nodded to the Subaru. “Pick me
up at the same time and place tomorrow, and I’ll have it for you then.” He shook his head with a laugh. “My checkbook’s somewhere in Mrs. Catera’s
garden apartment along with the rest of my life.”
“Fine, but you have other options.” Patrick pointed to the half
painted building and the white van two spots over that read ‘College
Painters. “You’re already doing whatever
you want to the building anyway.”
“Another perk of being a white American man.” Anthony grinned on his way to RISE UP’s back
door. “You have a good day, though,
yes? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Sure.” Patrick watched him go. “And you have a good day too.” He grabbed the wheel and started
forward. “It’s going to get better.”
“We’ll
see.” Anthony turned back and put on a
smile. Because that would be
something. He shrugged
to Patrick and the rest of the world.
So, why not?
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*** Of course the adventure
continues. Read how Jen faces down Scott and Jimmy, ends up owing
a crime lord a favor and learns that Hollywood is more venal, vile and
vengeful than anything she could have imagined all while looking good. Just email Joe at joe@joestories.com and he will get
the rest of One Cool Chick to you. |
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