I told him that working at the movies seemed like an interesting job, especially since you could see movies for free, and Max said, “Going to the movies? Fuck that! You have to sit with fucking asshole strangers and you never know which one has a fucking cold or what fuck is going to bring a fucking crying baby. And working at the fucking movies fucking sucks. You end up watching parts of every fucking movie and then never seeing the rest. Fifteen minutes of this fucking film, fifteen minutes of that fucker. All the fucking parts get mixed up and make a never-fucking-ending Frankenstein film. You never get to see the whole thing start to fucking finish. Not fucking once. And you know what’s the worst fucking part?”
What?” I said.
No cats allowed. What the fuck, hey? Alice loved movies! Why can’t you bring your cat? What the fuck? That’s why I always preferred watching fucking movies at home.”
Do you enjoy Richard Gere movies?” I asked.
Richard Gere? Richard fucking Gere?” Max said. “Fuck Richard Gere! What the fuck, hey?”
He’s actually my favorite actor,” I said, sticking up for you, even though you technically were one of Mom’s favorite actors. “And a brave humanitarian.”
Oh, I like Richard Gere,” said Arnie, who had been listening to Max and me talk with a satisfied look on his face. “He was great in Chicago.”
Fuck Richard Gere,” Max said once more. “Fuck going to the fucking movies. I miss Alice. I really fucking miss Alice. Fuck!”
There was a long silence here.
Max looked like he was melting.
You were compassionate, you, Richard Gere, whispered into my ear. You let go of the self.
Arnie looked at his watch, and then he said, “I’m afraid our time is almost up, gentlemen. Bartholomew, you’ll be given more time to speak next week.”
I nodded.
Max, thanks for sharing all that you did tonight.”
What the fuck, hey?” he said and then shrugged, like sharing was no big deal.
Can I ask a question?” I said.
Certainly,” Arnie said.
Why is everything yellow in here?”
Psychological research proves that the color yellow—bright yellow, that is—can make people feel more confident and optimistic. This, of course, helps with the grieving process. Ironically, pale yellow can have the opposite effect. So I go with bright yellow. It’s all rather scientific. I am a doctor, you know,” Arnie said and then winked at me.
Oh,” I said.
Same time next week?”
Max blew air through his teeth, adjusted his big glasses, and then jumped up into a standing position. I stood, and Arnie walked us to the door. “It was a very good session, boys. I feel like we made great progress tonight. Be kind to yourselves this week. Grieve bravely and openly. Embrace the process. Good night.”
Max and I walked down the steps and into the alley. I followed him to Walnut Street.
Max?” I said.
What the fuck, hey?”
Do you say that to everyone—all the time?”
What?”
‘What the fuck, hey’?”
He nodded. “Except when I’m fucking working. They’d fire me. I just keep my fucking mouth shut and rip tickets at work.”
Could your cat really speak with her mind?”
Fuck, yeah, she could! Arnie doesn’t know. Arnie doesn’t understand. He doesn’t fucking believe me, but it’s true. We used to talk all the fucking time—Alice and me.”
I believe you.”
You do?”
Yes.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pink circle of plastic. “This was her fucking collar.” Max held it out to me. I took it.
There was a silver heart-shaped tag.
ALICE
It’s a very nice tag,” I said.
Max took the collar back, wiped his eyes, and mumbled, “What the fuck, hey?”
We stood there looking at our shoelaces for a few minutes.
Then Max said, “Do you want to have a fucking beer somewhere?”
Like—at a bar?”
Fuck bars! Bars are where douche bags try to fuck each other. At a pub. A fucking beer at a proper fucking pub.”
I thought about my goal of having a beer at a bar with an age-appropriate friend and decided a pub was even better, because I really didn’t want to be near douche bags trying to copulate.
How old are you?” I asked Max.
I’m thirty-fucking-nine. Do you want a fucking beer or what?”
I am also thirty-nine, as you already know, Richard Gere.
Jung’s synchronicity.
Unus mundus.
Unus mundus!
Yes, I would very much like to have a beer at a pub with you.”
Okay, then. Fucking follow me.”
Max walked very quickly and I trailed for maybe six or seven blocks before we entered a dark pub with railings around the bar and pictures of Ireland all over the walls.
We sat on stools and put our feet on brass rungs, just like on TV.
It was amazing.
The bartender was a frowning fat man. “What’ll it be?”
Two fucking beers,” Max said.
The bartender tilted his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed. “What fucking kind?”
What the fuck kind of beer do you like?” Max asked me.
I don’t know,” I said, because I didn’t often drink beer.
Two fucking Guinness,” Max said.
O-fucking-kay,” the bartender said and tossed two small cardboard circles onto the bar in front of us.
A TV hung over the shelved bottles of alcohol, and on it was some show where people had to run through an obstacle course. A foot-wide path separated a pool from a huge wall, out of which boxing gloves would pop and knock people into the water below if they weren’t careful. We watched a few people try to cross and they were all knocked in. Every time someone fell, there were cartoon noises that sounded like springs being plucked or high-pitched whistles being blown. Then a giant of a woman shimmied across with her arms and legs spread wide like a spider and everyone in the bar cheered.
Twelve-fucking-fifty,” the bartender said when he placed the dark beers in front of us on the little cardboard circles.
You owe him seven dollars,” Max said. “This ain’t a fucking date, hey.”
I pulled out my wallet and gave the man seven dollars.
Max and I clinked our glasses, sipped our creamy beers, and watched men and women try to run across twelve or so balls that were floating on water—the goal being to end up on a platform of sorts. Every time someone fell into the lake, there were more cartoon noises, everyone in the pub would cheer and groan, and Max would snicker, raise his beer in the air, and yell, “What the fuck, hey?”
We didn’t talk at all, which was okay with me. I was happy just to check off one of my life goals.
When he finished his beer, he said, “Bottoms fucking up. I have to go home and make sure my sister’s okay.”
I finished my beer and said, “Is there something wrong with your sister?”
Nah,” Max said. “Except she fucking doesn’t miss Alice as much as I do. She’s sort of fucking weird, but she’s family.”