The Friday

It was Friday, eight years after the attacks on Pentagon and WTC center, and, presumably, on the white house in which the hijacked plane was shot down over the Pennsylvania state on en route. Today was the day to buy some clothes on recession sale. So I went to a town some forty minutes south of Washington D.C., or so, to a marketplace. Originally, I wanted to get a nice pair of boots. My mind kept me pulling back to the shirts, uniforms, and pants section. And so I bought the most fancy stuff of day: a 70 dollars uniform shirt on the sale for ten dollars.

Upon arriving home, I quickly decorated it with red patches and couple of badges. I wore a business pant, professional shoes, and military-style uniform with red patch on each side not far from shoulders (I removed badges, because I thought they were too Soviet/Post-Soviet like).

Not long after, my mom got home with Chinese food as usual on Fridays. Upon her sight, she was surprised.

“You have a look of Russian,” she commented.

“No kidding?”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Store.”

“Well, food’s here,” she gave a chuckle.

A hour later, I went back downstairs to get a drink. When I got the bottom of downstairs, my brother was looking straight at me. I walked forward. “You look like a soldier.”

And so, an uninterested individual texted me on phone. We haven’t talked in weeks. “My sister and mother haven’t seen you in a long time,” he said. “Why don’t you come over?”

“Ok.” And so I got over to his house. We caught up little. I mostly talked with his sister as well as mother. Briefly, I noticed a move behind my back. “Dad thought that you were a cop, or something, he was scared,” mother said.

And so I stayed for their Ramadan meal.

Later, we went out to bar anyway. He departed on way to pick John up, so I arrived at bar by myself. The usual bartender, as soon as I was sat, gave a funny “what the heck” look.  I gave a look that anyone wouldn’t want to see: a murderous look.

So the scene was interesting. Everyone, drinkers and pool players included, pretended that I didn’t exist there. Nor did they come and sit close. After two drinks, John and interloper arrived. John laughed at the sight, presumably under influence. “You’re late,” I said.