The last can of tuna he made last for three meals, basically just mayonnaise soup with pathetic little tendrils of fish.
Barry walked to get out of the house, to not smell his disintegrating life anymore. He wore a dress shirt, which was clean because he had nowhere to wear a dress shirt, no jobs, no interviews. Everything else was filthy because laundry detergent was out of the budget.
Down an alley, only blocks from home, he heard some music coming from a party and laughs from friends he didn’t have. The sounds made him smile when they could have easily made him sad.
A guy stumbled into the alley, setting a plastic plate of food on top of a closed garbage can and jumping into a waiting ride.
As Barry approached, he saw a heap of potato salad on the plate and an open gate. Everyone inside the gate looked drunk and happy.
He took the plate, wiped the guy’s fork with his forearm, and took a bite of potato salad.
Barry was not a party crasher nor particularly an opportunist. But he was hungry and desperate and he knew that a good rule of life was that no matter where you are, act like you belong.
He was holding the same plate and potato salad that belonged to the partygoers.
The squared chunks of potato in the mustard-based goo acted as his ticket.
He walked into the party as though he had been there all afternoon, headed for a table loaded with white wine in ice buckets.
The crowd looked friendly and harmless. He hoped he did as well.
He smiled at a woman holding a wine glass with more lipstick than her lips could have possibly held, quickly took a clean glass from the table and poured himself a sip.
“Oh, sugar!” The woman blurted “ Are you driving? Michael’s so proud of that vintage he’ll be a wreck if we don’t go through a few cases.”
She stepped over to Barry, freckly cleavage making little faces at Barry as she walked.
Abruptly, she snatched the plate of potato salad out of his hand and tossed it onto an overflowing garbage can.
Barry clenched his stomach muscles and hoped he didn’t gasp.
The woman leaned in. “That’s Barbara’s barely doctored store-bought crap. My beef tips are inside next to Ernie’s chicken chili.Come.”
The wine glass woman took Barry by the sleeve, the sleeve he had wiped the man’s fork with, the sleeve that was one of two clean ones in his whole apartment. He smiled at his new friend and followed her inside the home for beef tips.
She soon found another friend, talking at them while Barry put a dent in Ernie’s chicken chili, whoever Ernie was, then he walked back outside.
The potato salad and the plastic plate were still on top of the pile. Barry fetched it, grabbed a fresh fork, a bottle of Michael’s prized wine, and walked back out into the alley toward home.
***
Photo by Kelsey Chance on Unsplash