It was exactly what I had hoped would happen, to be
socially stranded at some bar while my friends made off with their friends and
be forced into the realms of the awkward. Brooklyn had been stand-off’ish, but
nice up to this point. I had come to the Brooklyn Whiskey with Lucia to meet
her Teach For America buddies, a circle of broughams from separate corners of
the country all brought together for two things: to teach a
low-income/neglected student base, and say “yes, I lived in New York for a time
or two, let me tell you…” They were a
brotherhood of sorts, and as time passed on (20mins) the riotous pack of Teach
For America fellows became enthralled with Lucia. It seemed as if they’d been
denied something for the past, oh, year or so.
“What time do you guys usually have to be up in the
morning?” I insisted to the tallest of the Teach For America fraternity pack.
“Usually 5am, but not tonight. Tomorrow’s a government holiday.” He replied
from the side of his mouth while scouring the scene of Sunday late-nighters and
mid-Autumn skirts. I glance back to my go-to, the New Orleans Saints game on
one of the dozen television sets hanging from the ceiling.
“I can’t wait to be the fuck up outta there though” the
frat pack For America leader murmured from the side of his mouth again.
“Really? How often you think about just up and leaving the Teach For America
job?” I asked. “Every God Damn day” he replied still scouring the floor. “So
why don’t you ?” I retorted. The Teach For America frat leader turned from his
skirt scour and looked me in the eye from the half a foot he stood above me.
“Because I made a promise. I gave them my word that I’d complete two years with
the program. After that, never again” He grimly replied. The amount of
integrity just emitted was beyond my limitations for the night, radioactive
perhaps. I had not anticipated words to
be delivered with the contrition I had received them from this man.
“Shit, sucks to-“ Shit,
Drew Brees just made a play and it’s under review. This could be the God Damn
game. I broke from the conversation while pack leader corralled a circle of
women. My gaze widening into the television set with hopes the Saints would
break their two-game losing slump.
The referee trots to the center of the field, opens his
mouth to give the verdict- BOOM! A hand slaps right in between my shoulder
blades. My arms flail back for a split-second from the impact of the blow. This
can’t be an accident. No one bumps into somebody this hard unintentionally.
There was a purpose to this strike- a message I was being sent. Before I could
gather my balance, the same hand that struck me pulled me in tightly by the
right shoulder. I could feel each callus from the hand forcing me closer to the
perpetrator- each callus a pillow, but the hand almost touching from the top of
my shoulder to my elbow- is this person wearing a fucking catcher’s mit?!?!
“Are you fuckin’ Dino’s brother!?” a baritone voice
bellows to my left. “Ah- wha-what?” I respond in
all respects, the bar so loud, this gentlemen speaking in a pitch that matched
the DJ’s bass, I couldn’t make out a single syllable he was saying. “Dino’s
brother?!?!?” He bellows again. This man is on a mission. I still couldn’t make
out what he was saying, but turning into him was like turning towards your
father for the first time as a toddler. The man was a giant. Short in stature,
but his features absolutely huge in relation to everyone else in the bar. He
would have no problem managing an NFL running back to the ground, he would give
a pro-wrestler and career ending injury, he could quite break my arm right off
with his drunken choosing. This man is a reckoning. Anyone choosing to physically oppose him would put himself in discreet jeopardy of losing his life or having to suffer multiple broken bones in the process of eeking out an unlikely victory.
I've seen how these things work out- I've watched the treachery of drunken bar brawls end in skulls slamming against the sidewalk, internal bleeding, ambulance speed racing through the night to rescue some unnecessary violence spilled onto the streets outside some bar in some town over some bullshit.There would be no fashion or finesse in this situation if I didn't look this man in the eye.
I turn toward face of the inaudible voice. Breath wreaking of dark booze, a bomb-shell
cougar to his side, and a few other friends staring me down at the bar, I had
to think of something quick. “Ahhh, no” I said. I had no clue what I was
speaking to, but I figure to deny whatever this gargantuan gentlemen might be
accusing.
“Really, you don’t know Dino!?!?!” he laughed. I could
hear him now. “Ha.. no, no clue” I timidly smiled back. “Hey, you
Dominican?!?!?!” he asked. “Uhhh, no. I have an
uncle in the Bahamas though” I shouted over the bar speakers. “Alright!
Alright! I thought you were this motha fucka, Dino’s brother!!! I was gonna
punch you right in the fuckin’ mouth y’know!” he confessed with a celebratory
smile, almost relieved he wouldn’t have to deal out a mandatory ass whooping to
the guy he thought I was. “Oh… Ha… Nope, not me. I’m in town from Minnesota.
Couldn’t be me.” Still holding a nervous smile.
Our conversation continued onto complex subjects such as
the ominous state of the Vikings and the potential bright future of the New York
Giants. After bidding adieu, I returned to the Teach for America crew still corralled
around Lucia, and exhaled a sigh of reluctance at the topic of discussion being
once again Teach for America. It is memorable to stand toe-to-toe with
another human being that admits they were going to punch you in the face at
first sight of you, rather than to discuss how much you hate your job. Later that night
in a taxi cab en route to the Fat Cat, the driver asks me if I'm related to
ex-Major League Baseball player, Moises
Alou… again, Dominican. Alas, I am not. We chat in Spanish for the rest of
the car ride, the least I can do for the deflated excitement he faced thinking I was related to baseball greatness. Whilst avoiding getting
pummeled by the biggest hands I ever did see, the amount of reintroduction
required to be racially ambiguous in New York City is enjoyable… when visiting.
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