You Can't Save the World (Short Story)

Charlie hated running into old friends. He drank a lot more than he used to drink, and thought bars were a good place to reminisce with people from the past. He was twenty-eight. He worked the evening shift at the warehouse in his hometown Ontario, and he took classes in the morning at the satellite university downtown. He studied English, and he wanted to be a teacher and a writer. Or, rather, a teacher who wrote on his spare time. Charlie looked at himself in the mirror behind the bartender and realized that he was drunk. His eyes were blood shot red, and he didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or the joint he smoked with the guitar player in the parking lot an hour ago. He was fat, but he could move his head to an angle where he felt satisfied with his looks. His hair was long and blonde. It went way passed his shoulders, and he parted it in the middle like an eighties metal head. His beard was long as well and unkept, but he liked how it made him look his age. He had a young face, and he did not like being told how young he looked. He was wearing faded jeans, a black t-shirt, and cheap sneakers. He bought most of his clothes from the thrift store. The bartender walked towards Charlie, and asked, “Can I get you anything else, hun?” He was distracted by her large breasts which warped the gold logo on her already tight shirt. “Yeah, give me one more,” he said looking from her breasts to her eyes then back into the mirror. The bartender grabbed a mug from the freezer, filled it up from the tap, and replaced the old glass with the full chilled one. His tab was at its limit, he calculated in his head. He quickly paid the bartender, tipping her about ten percent of the bill. He took a gulp from the ice-cold glass, and the carbonated beer burned his throat as it went down. He scanned the bar from the long mirror behind the bartender, and was bored with what he saw. There was an old man with gray hair sitting alone. The old man looked like he was in his late fifties and seemed to be incognito with a hat right above his eyes and a long coat that didn’t match the California summer climate. The big breasted bartender laughed loudly, touching the man’s hand after every drink, and the old man continued stacking dollar bills under an empty mug. An odd couple sat one booth over. A woman in her mid-twenties sang along with the bar band’s version of Tupac’s “Thugz Mansion” as she hung on the shoulders of an older man fidgeting with his wedding ring. He looked at his cellphone and realized it was almost time for last call. He decided to go sit in front of the band. They played the bar hits during the last thirty minutes, he thought. The bar was small. There were two couples playing pool on the single pool table in the middle of the bar, and the green felt table always made him feel sea sick. He found it amusing how they tried to maneuver for a shot around the small crowd that had formed between the pool table and the stage. The band’s groupies and family members, all singing along with the band lyric for lyric, were huddled in front of the stage. He almost tripped on the carpet underneath the pool table as he walked towards on of the tall, black pub tables lining the back wall. He sat down, took another gulp from his mug, and heard a voice say, “Charlie!?” behind him. Charlie quickly turned around, and immediately recognized the face, “Jose! What’s up, fool. How’ve you been?” “Coo’. Working. Saving up money. What’s new with you, foo’?” “Shit, man. Working, going to school. Trying to figure it all out, you know what I’m saying, “ Charlie said excitedly. “That’s right,” Jose replied. “It’s almost two. What are you getting into after this?” asked Jose. I’m probably gonna get some food. Then call an Uber,” Charlie said. “Are you here by yourself?” Jose asked scanning the bar. “Yep. I know a few people playing tonight, but I’m here by myself,” Charlie answered. “Me, too, bro. My cousin left the club with some hyna, and I told him I’d catch a cab back. I heard the music, and decided to see what was up. This place is dead,” Jose said. Charlie finished off the last of his beer and decided it was time for street tacos. Anyways, the bar was closing. Jose followed Charlie outside, and they both began walking towards the taco stand on the corner. The bar was in the downtown area, and the sidewalks, store fronts, and parking lots came to life at two. Crowds of people rushed out of the Fox Theater screaming drunk gibberish and brandishing plastic noise makers that lit up red, blue, green yellow, and purple when they would hit someone with them. The sounds of engines invaded the quiet streets, and police sirens wailed the more drunk ones straight. “SIR, PLEASE USE THE SIDEWALK!” a raspy voiced police officer said over the loudspeaker. The mixture of tobacco smoke, marijuana, and sizzling street meat from the taco stands made Charlie’s alcohol poisoned stomach spin. The taco stand wasn’t busy yet, but it would be soon. Charlie and Jose walked up to the towering steel taco stand, and were blinded by the fog lights behind the aproned cooks. The blinding lights reminded Charlie of a scene from the Bible. One where heaven opens, and the light guides the prophet to safety. Charlie didn’t believe in God, but he knew that the aproned cooks did. There was a piece of paper taped to the front of the taco stand that read: Tacos $2. Below was a list of meats and ingredients for the tacos. Charlie reached into his wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill, looked at the aproned couple, and said, ”Dos tacos de asada con todo, por favor.” “When did you learn Spanish, foo’,” Jose said. “I'm not fluent like you, but it’s California. You have to know how to order tacos," Charlie said proudly. “I'll have the same thing, “Jose said in English. “Okay, together?” one of the aproned men asked. “Yeah,” Jose said, and handed the man a twenty. “You sure, bro?” Charlie asked looking at the cook. “Yeah, I got it. Don’t trip,” Jose replied. “Thanks,” Charlie said putting his money back into his wallet. Two white paper plates laid on the ribbed park bench next to Charlie and Jose. Charlie saw how much older Jose looked. He first noticed the tattoos covering Jose’s upper arms and part of his lower right arm, and it looked like prison ink. Jose dressed the same way he did in high school. He had on baggy, creased khakis, a t-shirt two sizes too big, a pair of Jordan’s, and a black fitted cap with the Dodger’s logo embroidered on the front. He was about an inch taller than Charlie, and walked like a prison inmate on the yard, or like a stocky Pitbull with his head up and chest out. He had thick, black eyebrows, a thin goatee, and dark black eyes. Jose reminded Charlie of his childhood and his early adult years. He saw something that was also inside of himself. Something he’d tried to get away from for years. Something he had left behind, but something was still there. He never planned on running away. Charlie had nothing to run away from. Charlie created a new life for himself. He educated himself, and connected with people who were moving forward. But, he never forgot where he came from. He wanted to teach, to help kids like himself avoid the mistakes he could never take back. If they had read Whitman when they were younger things could have been different. If only Emerson had revealed what it meant to be a scholar or a poet, they would have set different goals for their lives. If he had read Nineteen Eighty-Four when he was eighteen, he could have understood the world , and had been more prepared for the boot. He found something beautiful, and he wanted to share it with the world. “Yeah, bro, I have a daughter now. I’m not with my baby’s mom anymore. I’m working and trying to build something for my kid,” Jose said holding back tears. “I have a strong head on my shoulders. We were kids back then, you know. Now, I’m raising one,” Jose said. “That’s right, bro. I couldn’t imagine having a child in my life right now. I can barely support myself,” Charlie said. “I was staying with my cousin for a while, but things haven’t been working out. He wants more than I can afford every month. I’m looking for another place to stay for a while. At least a month or two to get back on my feet,” Jose said. Charlie lit up a cigarette, took a hit, and said, “I have a spare couch in my apartment. I don’t' need much money. Maybe a few hundred per month. If you’re interested let me know. You can move in this week if you want,” Charlie said. “Fa’ reals? You my boy, Charlie. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Jose said. In the backseat of the Uber driver’s Toyota Prius, Charlie remembered the nights Jose and him would stay up at Jose’s parents' house and smoke weed and play video games all night. He remembered the time he was knocked out by Melvin, the overgrown black kid with the adult strength, and how Jose drove him home trying to convince him that the black eye was not that bad and how Melvin’s shoe print would disappear in the morning. Charlie’s eye swelled shut, and the shoe print was on his face for about a week. There was the time Jose’s mother died, and Charlie hugged Jose trying to comfort him. Charlie told Jose that his family was Jose’s family, and how Jose cried until he went to sleep. We should be there for each other, Charlie thought. “We’re the same,” Charlie whispered to himself, and then dozed off into a ten-year old dream. Ya' can‘t go back, Ya’ can’t go back, You gotta keep groovin’, Movin’, ‘Round the sun. A black woman’s voice sang from the 1990’s Radio Shack alarm clock on Charlie’s desk. Charlie got up, turned the alarm clock off, and went into the shower. After the shower, Charlie turned on the coffee maker, and the early morning haziness began to slowly go away. His one-bedroom apartment was unusually undisturbed, and it had been that way since the beginning of autumn. Charlie found this strange because Jose had been staying on the couch for the past month. He only saw Jose at night, and there was something mysterious about him. He liked to talk in vague sentences, and Charlie thought that Jose never made a point. He never asked for anything directly. Instead, Jose made vague hints if he wanted something or needed something. It was as if Jose expected Charlie to read his mind and offer him things whether Charlie knew he wanted them or not. Like the time Jose was apparently having money trouble, which became a recurring theme later in Jose’s stay. He went through a list of names from whom he had attempted to borrow money. Jose told Charlie how he had lost his bank card, and how he was expecting a new one in the mail the following week. Charlie let him borrow the money, but later he realized Jose could have asked for a temporary card from his bank. Charlie never brought it up. Jose disappeared on the weekends, and Charlie attributed his end-of-the-week disappearances to his daughter who he said he visited with on weekends. Until one Sunday morning. Charlie awoke to Jose partying in the living room with two girls who looked like college freshman. He told Charlie that he could have one, like they were his to give away. Jose knew Charlie had a girlfriend, and Charlie warned Jose to keep it down or leave. He did not hear from Jose until Tuesday night. Charlie’s cellphone rang. he saw Maribel’s name on the screen, and swiped to answer, “Good morning, baby.” “Do you want me to pick up anything for this weekend?” Maribel asked. “No, I think we’re good,” Charlie said. “Is Jose still there?” Maribel asked. “No, he’s gone," Charlie said. “Oh, what a relief,” Maribel said. “He still lives here. I think he went to work or something,” Charlie said. “You can‘t save the whole world, Charlie. You’ve done more than enough to help him,” Maribel said. “He was my best friend, Mar. I just wanted to help him save a little money and become more independent, but I think you’re right. He acts strange. I don’t trust him anymore. He’s not the person I once knew, or maybe I’m the one who’s changed. I’ll tell him that he has a week,” Charlie said. That night Charlie asked Jose to meet him on the patio for a beer. Jose’s eyes were two black mirrors surrounded by rivers of blood, and Charlie’s face reflected from Jose’s pupils. Jose could not stop moving. His body jerked at the slightest noise. His thick eyebrows formed a “V” in the middle of his face, and this was the first time that Charlie felt afraid of Jose. It was cold outside. The apartment complex was quiet except for two boys skateboarding in front of the community laundry. A light above the boys flickered on and off, and it made a low buzzing noise. Jose rubbed at his pocket as if trying to keep himself warm. Charlie cracked open a beer, handed it to Jose, opened another for himself, and said, “I should’ve bought some tequila.” Jose did not reply, and continued rubbing his leg. “Maribel and I are beginning to plan our future. I’ll probably marry here one day, bro. I love her. I want to ask her to move in with me. Anyways, I need to find another place,” Charlie said. The light began flickering like a strobe light at a haunted house, and the low buzzing turned into loud clicks as the electrical current connected and disconnected. “I fucking hate that bitch!” Jose stood up and reached into his pocket. “I’m gonna’ fucking kill myself, foo’. My baby mom don’t want to let me see my kid. She tells my daughter I’m a drug addict. I can’t do this shit no more. I don’t have anyone. My record trapped me in this bullshit job. Twelve dollars an hour to work my ass off. It’s not worth it. This life is going nowhere,” Jose screamed. The skateboarders below the apartment light were gone, and Charlie felt a sense of relief and deep sadness. The light became brighter, then, turned completely dark. “Things get better, Jose. I swear to God,” Charlie said not knowing whether this was true. The gunshot lit up the patio, and Jose fell hard onto the wood two-by-fours. Charlie sat out front of Maribel’s parents’ house in Maribel’s arms, and she held him close to her breast. Charlie looked out to the front yard and saw a porcelain angel in the grass. The angel‘s head was pointed downwards as if it were looking at Earth from heaven, and God so loved the world . . . was engraved below its feet. Charlie looked up at Maribel and said, “Angels don’t have any genitals. That's why they're so angry all the time."