Read Online After by Francis Chalifour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Francis Chalifour
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laugh at every one of my jokes–not all of which are funny, I’ll be the first to admit. I hate it when I make a truly unfunny joke or when I forget the ending of a joke I’ve heard. I just
hate
that! You know, you’re talking, talking, talking, and in the middle, you forget what you wanted to say, but you don’t want people to know that you forgot what you wanted to say. You keep talking, talking, talking, and you feel like your brain is about to burst, because you are searching for words, and then you pray that some famous guy will suddenly land right beside you, and everyone will look at him instead of you. But obviously, just when you need famous people they are never there to help you, because they are incredibly selfish. There you are, sweating so hard that you are swimming inside your I ♥ NY T-shirt, that only cost you two dollars, which is so cheap that you bought ten of them to give to your friends, but they had also each bought ten because they are just as cheap as you are (or just as broke), and then you try to distract everyone by pointing to something like the nose of the girl who is seated at your left, and you seize the chance to run in the opposite direction. And you keep running until you become this tiny black spot on the horizon, and that’swhy they smash you, because they think you are a fly–and then you realize how ridiculous it is to say “He’s so kind, he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” because everyone has smashed a fly at least once in their life, including you.
See how my mind works? I’m twisted. No wonder Jul was sticking her hand into David’s bag of popcorn and leaning against his arm. She leaned into his shoulder and whispered something without turning her head. Because of the time she spent in France, she speaks French with a Parisian accent. It would probably get on my nerves in the very near future, but for now I was willing to handle it. If only I got the chance.
After the movie, everybody went off for pizza, but I’d had enough of The Jul and David Lovefest. Besides, my face ached from two hours of enforced hilarity courtesy of Melanie. Instead I went to Deli Delight. The place was empty. By way of greeting, Mr. Deli said, “Fries?” When he brought them he sat down across from me with a loud grunt.
“Your girlfriend didn’t come with you?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Sorry.” Mr. Deli passed me the ketchup bottle and mayonnaise. “Tell me, young man, what do you want to become in life?”
The I’m-Talking-to-a-Kid-and-I-Can’t-Think-of-a-Thing-to-Say Question that adults ask.
“I don’t know.” I did know. I wanted to go to university to study music and then teach people to play. I alsoknew that it was never going to happen. There was no money. Mr. Deli studied my face. He seemed to have read my mind.
“You’re a strong kid. You could take a job to earn some money for your studies. I need some help here. You know, I’m becoming a little bit old. Just a little bit. My eyes are not as good as they were before. Sometimes, I mix up salt and sugar.”
“I don’t know how to make bagels.”
“You can learn. Everything has to be learned in life. Even poker. Your father understood that, you know.”
“Did you play with him?”
“Not for a long time. Before I got the deli I had quite a problem with cards. When I had enough money to buy this place, I left the boats and stopped playing. Your father stayed on. You know, your father had a sickness, but he fought it like a gladiator. He was a brave man.”
“If he was so brave, why did he abandon my mother, my brother, and me? That’s not brave.”
“Don’t say that. We can’t judge others like that.”
“Is it your religion that forbids it?” I wasn’t asking him for a theology lesson. I was being sarcastic. He didn’t notice. Mr. Deli chose his words carefully.
“It is not my religion. It is me. It’s something I really believe. You know, in life there are things that we can answer, but
hate
that! You know, you’re talking, talking, talking, and in the middle, you forget what you wanted to say, but you don’t want people to know that you forgot what you wanted to say. You keep talking, talking, talking, and you feel like your brain is about to burst, because you are searching for words, and then you pray that some famous guy will suddenly land right beside you, and everyone will look at him instead of you. But obviously, just when you need famous people they are never there to help you, because they are incredibly selfish. There you are, sweating so hard that you are swimming inside your I ♥ NY T-shirt, that only cost you two dollars, which is so cheap that you bought ten of them to give to your friends, but they had also each bought ten because they are just as cheap as you are (or just as broke), and then you try to distract everyone by pointing to something like the nose of the girl who is seated at your left, and you seize the chance to run in the opposite direction. And you keep running until you become this tiny black spot on the horizon, and that’swhy they smash you, because they think you are a fly–and then you realize how ridiculous it is to say “He’s so kind, he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” because everyone has smashed a fly at least once in their life, including you.
See how my mind works? I’m twisted. No wonder Jul was sticking her hand into David’s bag of popcorn and leaning against his arm. She leaned into his shoulder and whispered something without turning her head. Because of the time she spent in France, she speaks French with a Parisian accent. It would probably get on my nerves in the very near future, but for now I was willing to handle it. If only I got the chance.
After the movie, everybody went off for pizza, but I’d had enough of The Jul and David Lovefest. Besides, my face ached from two hours of enforced hilarity courtesy of Melanie. Instead I went to Deli Delight. The place was empty. By way of greeting, Mr. Deli said, “Fries?” When he brought them he sat down across from me with a loud grunt.
“Your girlfriend didn’t come with you?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Sorry.” Mr. Deli passed me the ketchup bottle and mayonnaise. “Tell me, young man, what do you want to become in life?”
The I’m-Talking-to-a-Kid-and-I-Can’t-Think-of-a-Thing-to-Say Question that adults ask.
“I don’t know.” I did know. I wanted to go to university to study music and then teach people to play. I alsoknew that it was never going to happen. There was no money. Mr. Deli studied my face. He seemed to have read my mind.
“You’re a strong kid. You could take a job to earn some money for your studies. I need some help here. You know, I’m becoming a little bit old. Just a little bit. My eyes are not as good as they were before. Sometimes, I mix up salt and sugar.”
“I don’t know how to make bagels.”
“You can learn. Everything has to be learned in life. Even poker. Your father understood that, you know.”
“Did you play with him?”
“Not for a long time. Before I got the deli I had quite a problem with cards. When I had enough money to buy this place, I left the boats and stopped playing. Your father stayed on. You know, your father had a sickness, but he fought it like a gladiator. He was a brave man.”
“If he was so brave, why did he abandon my mother, my brother, and me? That’s not brave.”
“Don’t say that. We can’t judge others like that.”
“Is it your religion that forbids it?” I wasn’t asking him for a theology lesson. I was being sarcastic. He didn’t notice. Mr. Deli chose his words carefully.
“It is not my religion. It is me. It’s something I really believe. You know, in life there are things that we can answer, but
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