Rainy Night in Hamtown

Fiction

The gutter was busted, and the rain poured off it in sheet, almost like a waterfall in front of the open door.

The downtown lights danced and waved from a few miles south, through the cloak of water.

Roosevelt himself had been at the ribbon cutting of the old stadium when they could still prop him up.

The splatters and visuals were like a free hallucinogen trip, and Scottie Jones wondered if all the medications Roosevelt was on made him hallucinate. A US President, tripping. He started to laugh when out of nowhere, Burnsie leaned over and kissed his neck.

They were both sitting on stacks of three cases of unsold tallboy cans, still on hand trucks, and Scottie almost fell off his.

They both knew the other had confetti in their hair without realizing they did themselves.

Burnsie kissed Scottie a second time. He kept his balance and composure and kept staring through the backlit wall of water.

“Thank you,” Gail Burns said. “When I took this job I hated sports, had lost touch with my friends, felt adrift. Like seriously getting pulled downstream, and probably under.”

Scottie turned, looked at Burnsie, curl of a dragon tail wrapping under the sleeve of her rain-wet shirt.

“Yeah?”

Burnsie opened her eyes wider.

“Yeah, and you introduced me to everyone and--”

“Dimbroux asked me to,” Scottie said, “because I’m good with names and I’ve been here the longest.”

Burnsie paused.

Scottie looked down at her legs. They were tan, unblemished, the only marking a Rebel Alliance logo that Scottie could tell was done by a good shop somewhere before she showed up in town. 

“However it went down, I’m grateful. And you answered my soccer questions without mansplaining and--”

“Plenty of male jocks don’t really know shit about soccer, there was no reason to ridicule you about it.”

Burnsie twisted on the cases of beer, stared up at the crumbling mortar of the bowels of the stadium.

“Are you gonna follow the team to the new stadium, work for ArenaEats or whatever?” Scottie asked her. He could still feel the kisses on his neck, whether that was an emotional hallucination or not.

“I swear on Trent Reznor I was just gonna ask you that,” Burnsie said, her eyes locked on Scottie.

“Ok, are you gonna?” Scottie asked. 

Burnsie felt the inflection hit her in the face. Scottie wasn’t asking her, he was accusing her, daring her to say yes.

“I thought about it. Seriously. You don’t sound like you are.”

“Fuck no,” Scottie said, then repeated it more softly. “Fuck no.”

The second one was sad.

He turned away. Gail Burns went to kiss Scottie on the neck again, and he turned back toward her. Her kiss landed in the middle of his jaw, on his three-day stubble growing through a sand sculpture of acne scars.

Scottie reached behind her head and pulled it lower, kissing her on the forehead at her hairline. 

“I’m gonna miss you. Glad you found a new tribe here. I think Shaunessy and Hausen will probably go work for the corporate wonderboys, play the uniform and background check game.”

He stood and lifted the top case of beer, sliding it two-handed into the walk-in. He repeated the process for the next case.

Burnsie didn’t move.

“Miss me? The stadium’s like five flippin’ minutes up the free-”

“We only ever saw each other at work.”

Burnsie hopped off her stack.

“The kisses were meant to convey that I’d like to see you outside of work.”

“The kisses were lovely. You’re lovely. But--”

Burnsie cut Scottie off with a very insistent kiss. Scottie let it happen, then reciprocated. Championship confetti fell from Burnsie’s short auburn hair while Marlboro breath and cherry gum aroma tangled around each around in their mouths.

Scottie pulled back first.

Burnsie reluctantly let him.

“You’re like...fuck it. I’m not even gonna start.” Scottie couldn’t make eye contact with her.

“I need your energy in my life, Scottie. No way you can just live off the band and the bike shop, I know it.”

Scottie’s temperature dropped 30 degrees. 

“Wait, what? It’s bad enough you’re gonna go work for the bigwigs. Now you’re gonna pitch me to join you? Wow.”

Scottie walked out into the rain and doubled back toward the north gate, realizing after he was already soaked that he could have gone through the guts of the old place.

About 100 yards away he realized he had expected Burnsie to chase him, at least call after him. About 200 and he realized he left his hoodie on top of the ice machine and had an excuse to go back.

Scottie couldn’t. It was almost a dance between his head and his legs.

He didn’t see the kiss coming. He probably hadn’t processed it yet, not all of it. But he wasn’t going back. 

Ducking underneath a loose sponsor’s banner on the fence, he texted Gail Burns.

I’d never pass the piss test. Thanks for the concern, and the kisses. It was nice to know you.

The wind rustled the banner and Scottie fell to one knee, thumbs working his phone like starving pigeons plucking seed.

He blocked Burnsie on every possible social.

Walking out the north gate, he wondered if Burnsie really was in love with him, and he was certain that Hausen would do a good job of explaining that Scottie had done her a favor. 

***

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Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash