We sat at a table and had the same seating arrangements as we had in the car. We each ordered a cheeseburger and french fries.
The owner’s son brought us our food and drinks, giving us a friendly “hello”. His name was Dennis O’Leary. He went to the same high school as Bill and I, but he was a year ahead of us. Dennis was a draftee who had already returned from Vietnam before I even went over there. He had been a grunt in the 25th Infantry Division. While on a search and destroy mission the guy walking in front of him set off an anti-personnel mine, and Dennis was hit in the chest and face. I remember he was a good looking guy in high school, with a great personality. Everybody liked Dennis. The war seemed only to change his looks. His face wasn’t scarred too bad; his cheeks looked as if he had slept on his fists and the marks wouldn’t go away. He was given a nickname by his friends when he got back from Nam. It was a nickname I wouldn’t like being called myself, and I would most likely want to kill anyone who said it. Everybody called Dennis “Ugly”.
Ugly O’Leary was a letter carrier for the North Orange Post Office by day, and at night he worked at his family’s bar and grill. He always had a smile and a friendly greeting for everyone. That’s all I’ve known him to be—friendly. I suppose he felt lucky to have survived Vietnam, and he was able to carry over his demeanor from his pre-Army days.
In the few times that I’ve seen him since I’ve been home he’s never mentioned the war. He joked a lot about his face and his nickname, and always ended by saying, “Ain’t no big thing.”
At our table, Susan did most of the talking. I could tell she really liked Bill. She kept touching his hair and leaning into him when she laughed. I had a feeling I was about to lose another friend.
Nancy didn’t talk too much about herself. She asked me a lot of questions about my school days with Bill, and about my lousy job. She didn’t ask me anything about Vietnam, and I suspect Bill had warned her ahead of time not to. Even if she had asked me I couldn’t tell her the truth.
I felt it was my duty to say something to Nancy so I asked her what her college major was.
“History,” she replied.
“History?” I said. “Are you going to teach history when you graduate?”
“No, probably not.”
“Then what good is a degree in history if you’re not going to use it?”
Nancy looked a little uncomfortable then, and Susan sensing that, interjected. “So, Mac, you’ve known Bill longer than I have, what can you tell me about him that I might not know?”
I thought for a couple of seconds, then I said, “Well, he’s extremely tight with money, he likes cold pizza for breakfast, and he thinks dust bunnies are an endangered species.”
Everybody laughed. Nancy had a nice sounding laugh. Her fingers draped over my arm and I felt the hairs stick out on the back of my neck. It was difficult to tell exactly how clear her complexion was in the halo of the overhead light, but she seemed pretty enough, and her brown hair and brown eyes shone through the dimness. Her smile was perfect, too.
I had made a good joke. It wasn’t very often I could make people laugh at one of my jokes. But I had just made three college students laugh and I wanted to keep doing it.
“So, Susan, I told you something about Bill. But there’s something I always wanted to know about him and I think only you can tell me.”
“Oh?” Susan said. “What’s that?”
“What’s he like in the sack?”
Susan’s face reddened. Nancy’s was redder still. Nancy even pulled back from me slightly. Bill leaned forward and spoke to me in an admonishing tone.
“You really know how to impress a girl, don’t you?”
I didn’t think I had said anything so terrible, but for the rest of the evening the mood had gone from jocular to terse.
At eleven thirty the girls said they had to go home. I walked them to Bill’s car.
“Don’t you want a ride home?” Nancy asked.
“Nah, I can walk home. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
“Well,” Nancy said, “it was nice meeting you, Mackenzie. I had fun. Maybe we could do this again some time.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to work a lot. I don’t have much time off.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
I closed the car door and gave the obligatory wave. Before Bill got in the car he looked at me and shook his head.
I went back into O’Leary’s and sat at the bar. Ugly brought me a beer. I must have had a sorrowful look on my face because Ugly asked me what was wrong.
I shrugged. “My life is crap. I have a crummy job. I don’t have a car. My friends don’t have much time for me anymore.”
“You work for Charlie, don’t you? I hate to say it, but you could do better. Have you ever thought about working at the Post Office?”
“Me? At the Post Office? I don’t think so.”
“It’s a pretty decent job. Good benefits. Good pension.”
That was something I hadn’t thought of before. Pension. What kind of pension would I get after thirty or forty years at the gas station? I knew what Charlie would give me: enough money for a weekly ration of gas and beer, and a hearty, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
Ugly continued. “You’re a veteran right? You have to take the civil service test for the Post Office, but no matter what score you get, they add five points just for being a vet. Ten points if you’re a disabled vet. Are you disabled?”
“No. Not unless you consider a fear of typewriters a disability.”
Ugly winked and waved a finger at me. “I’m going to tell the Superintendent of Mails you’re interested in employment. Stop in and pick up an application. You won’t be sorry.”
“Thanks, Ug…I mean, Dennis. I’ll think about it.”
“Hey, call me Ugly. Everybody else does. Ain’t no big thing.”
The following Friday night I was working at the gas station. I hadn’t seen John in a week; not at Henry’s, not at Shop-Rite. But he did call to say he would be at Henry’s that night.
“Alone?” I asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Just wondering. You know, I haven’t met Birdie yet.”
“I know. I’m preparing her.”
Bill had already gone back to Rutgers, but I did speak to him before he left. He mentioned that Nancy sometimes goes home on weekends, and that maybe I should give her a call sometime.
“What for?” I said.
“You’re hopeless,” Bill said.
At around eight o’clock I was showing a lady customer her dry dipstick, informing her she needed two quarts of oil. Actually, I had learned to wipe the dipstick clean with a rag and show the dipstick to the customer. I sold a lot of oil that way.
The phone rang. It was Charlie. He told me the weekend guy had cut his thumb carving a ham and wouldn’t be able to work for a while. Charlie said I would have to work Saturday morning.
I was pissed! I didn’t like working Saturday. I especially didn’t like working in the morning. Most days, I never got out of bed until noon. But Charlie said I only had to work until one o’clock, so that wasn’t so bad.
I was