Chapter Eight

300 Tennis Balls didn’t come home yesterday. He had gotten drunk in the past and not come home. Once he said drank a Sprite and began hallucinating. I guess different things make him react differently than they normally would in an average person. Then again, on that particular morning-after I found him passed out next to a few cans of Sprite and an empty bottle of Robitussin.

Returning to yesterday, earlier in the day we went to the convenience store together, but he wasn’t allowed in because he didn’t have on a shirt or shoes. The little Armenian worker pointed at him when he tried to walk in and said, “No Service. Get out.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. 300 Tennis Balls said it was okay and that he would wait outside. He said to get him one of those little microwave burritos. I said I would call our local representative when we got home. “I will call him up and ask them how someone can wear a shirt if they don’t have arms. I will tell him that my friend is a celebrated war hero, but isn’t allowed in the corner store because he doesn’t have on a shirt. I will ask him how that is right. I will finish the conversation by asking if he would turn away Jesus when he walked in after being crucified. I will not be polite on the phone. I will scream and shout and maybe even throw the phone against the wall when I am done for added effect. I will go pick the phone up and put it together afterwards.” This will be a hassle. I have to make sure I throw the phone lightly. I do not want to break it so much that I can’t use it again. I just want to break it enough so it falls apart and is able to be put back together.

Alone, in the convenience store I got the burrito and an ice cream sandwich for myself. It cost $3.27. I paid in all pennies and nickels.

When I went outside 300 Tennis Balls was gone. I called his name and held up his microwave burrito, but he didn’t answer. Only a bum approached.

“I have a note from your friend,” he said, “But you have to give me some change.”

I still had a pocketful of pennies and nickels. I pulled some out and picked out all the silver coinage. I handed over the pile of brown. He gave me the note.

“Oh,” he added, “Can I have that burrito if your friend isn’t coming back?”

I gave it to him.

The note said that 300 Tennis Balls had gotten aids and died. I flipped the note over.

“Just kidding,” it said, “I’ll see you tonight.”