I thought of William telling me how his ribbons didn’t mean a thing to him except a lot of bad memories, and how he tried to forget the past and not think much about the future. He just lived day to day.
I retrieved the free beers, and on my way back to the booth, I stuffed the dollars in the glass jar. I handed Mif and Cap their beers and told them of my conversation with the bartender. “He’s trying to get his brother back on his feet and said the good memories help.”
“He’s probably gay and likes you,” Cap said.
I shook my head. “Seriously, he had a record deal before he got drafted.”
“That sucks,” Mif said.
“Do you guys realize we’re the first generation this century that hasn’t had a war hanging over our heads?” I asked.
Cap glanced at me like I’d lost my mind. “What the hell are you talking about, Vinny B.?”
“You’re right,” Mif said. “I hadn’t thought of that. We don’t have a war to worry about.”
Cap grabbed his beer. “You guys are killing my buzz.” He slid from the booth and walked back to the piano.
“Is the piano man messed up?” Mif asked.
“The bartender didn’t really say.” I took a sip and contemplated William, the shake in his hands and the quiver in his voice I had noticed whenever he spoke about Vietnam. “Did I tell you about the guy I work with . . . about him riding out of the jungle on a tank covered with dead American soldiers?”
“No. Really?” Mif said.
I shared William’s story with Mif and told him of the shake. Then I said, “I don’t know, but it seems like he’s getting worse.”
“How so?” Mif asked.
“Every morning, he looks tired, and hungover. And I think he’s losing weight.” I sipped my beer and played with the label. “He wasn’t much older than us when he went over there.”
“Shit, are you guys still talking about war?” Cap slid onto his seat, carrying just one beer.
“Thanks for the beer,” Mif said, chuckling.
“I got the last round,” Cap said.
I didn’t care. I’d had enough. “If this was ten years ago, Ed and Mickey would be at the draft board instead of working for their fathers. It would be our friends getting killed.”
“What are you worrying about? You’re smart as shit,” Cap said.
We finished our beers, thanked the piano man on the way out the door, and promised to be back. A different problem now presented itself. Cap lived in San Mateo. Mif lived thirty minutes in the opposite direction. I was a five-minute drive up the hill, but Cap had to get home, and no way he’d pay for a taxi. None of us would have.
“Shit,” Mif said, knowing this would add an hour to his drive.
We drove the El Camino Real into San Mateo and dropped off Cap. We were nearly to the 280 freeway when Mif again swore. “The gas light came on. We’re on empty.”
I leaned over to gauge the needle. I worked on cars with my dad and fancied that I knew more about them than my friends. But E was E, and the needle was on it.
We found a gas station near the freeway entrance. Mif swore again. The gas cap was locked. The gas crisis that had followed the Iranian revolution had caused people to siphon gas tanks, which led to locked tanks.
“Where’s the key?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mif said.
We checked the key ring but didn’t find it. We then tore apart the glove box. No key. It wasn’t there. We had no way to get ahold of Mif’s sister. After fifteen minutes, we did the only thing we could. We set out for home. I told Mif he could sleep at my house and we’d get gas in the morning.
Mif jumped on the freeway. As we neared Black Mountain Road, Mif put on his blinker. “No,” I said. “Go to the Trousdale exit. If we run out of gas, we can coast down the hill and get closer to my house.”
It was a good plan. In theory.
The VW bug bucked as we neared the uphill grade to the exit, then it died. Mif pulled to the side of the freeway.
“We can push it,” I said.
Hell, Mif had a chest like an inflatable raft. I stood at the driver’s door steering and pushing. Mif went to the back, bent to the bumper, and pushed like he was hitting a football blocking sled. The bug picked up speed. As we neared the top of the grade, we gave it another push and I jumped in behind the wheel.
“Get in,” I yelled, but before I knew it, I was flying down the exit. “I’ll get my car and come back and get you,” I shouted out the window, seeing Mif getting smaller in the bug’s side mirror.