The highlight of each week was Saturday night at Brennen's Restaurant and Pub. The food was served cafeteria style; get in line with your tray and pick out potato salad or jello. Then a little old guy with a cook's hat would cut slices from a steaming turkey for an open-faced sandwich smothered in gravy. Of course, we didn't do much eating there.
In the center of Brennen's was a giant bar that sold pitchers for cheap. The tables were big and monotonous, laid out in rows, not clusters. We would meet there around eight or so, get a buzz going and then sometimes head to a party or club, but just as often, hang there till they kicked us out around 1:30.
The place had a warm feel to it, a lot of space, friendly, rarely any fights. We would sit around a few tables, eight or ten guys, sometimes a few girlfriends, and enjoy the beer and mixed drinks. We were a few years past the drama of high school: puking, drug deals, brawls. We were grown men with jobs. We enjoyed each other and spent several nights a week together with beer and boasting and brotherhood. It was family to me.
I got the news on Sunday evening. Rex had run a stoplight at 2am that morning and hit a man walking his dog. The guy had two kids and he was dead.
Rex had been my buddy since seventh grade and I was in shock over what had happened. I talked to a few guys on the phone, Robbie and Mikey J., but that was it. I poked my head into Brennen's on Thursday and saw a few guys, looked like they were my buddies, but it was some other dudes, maybe UC Berkeley students.
That Saturday only three of us showed up. Robbie kept saying we needed to make a collection to bail Rex out since his parents couldn't, but Sean said he didn't think he wanted to help someone who killed an innocent person. I couldn't believe he would say that. Robbie was furious. "How could you say that about Rex? He'd bail you out in a second!"
"I'm just saying, he messed up, why should I give him my money?"
"It was an accident," said Robbie.
Sean wouldn't budge. Finally Robbie stood up, yelled, "Fuck you, traitor!" and left.
We never did get a collection going.
Within the next few months Sean transferred from community college to state and moved to Sacramento. I got a job in L.A. and left town too.
I didn't know many people out there except at work, but they were mostly older and married. One guy I got friendly with lived way the hell out in San Pedro, practically an hour away, so we only hung out twice.
I didn't know what to do, so I'd hit bars by myself. Sit and drink four or five beers, just watching the people, talking to myself in my head. If it was quiet I'd get friendly with the bartender. But then I'd be embarrassed to go back another night because I wouldn't want him to think I was some pathetic guy who sat at bars alone.
Sometimes I thought I saw Sean or Robbie or Mikey J. in the bars. I'd catch a glimpse of a guy who looked like he owned the world and think in my head it was one of them, but of course it wasn't. Sometimes I'd see a cluster of guys and watch them, the big grins, how easy it was for them to strike up conversations with women, or be happy just hanging and laughing and yelling and drinking.
Once I met some woman from Baltimore who was by herself on business and she took me to her hotel, but that was it. She was only in town for two days and wasn't even that cute.
After a year or so I couldn't take L.A. anymore. I was too lonely away from friends and family, always in an isolated box: my apartment, my car, my cubicle at work, even the bars were like boxes. I came home, moved back in with Pops and started looking for a new job.
I called Robbie and we met at Brennen's. It was just us. He kept calling the other guys on his cell phone to try to get them to come out. Erik had moved in with some woman out in Martinez and didn't want to make the drive. Mikey J. was at work. Everyone else was gone. Rex had a least another year to do in prison. Sean was still away at college. Eddie had moved to New Mexico. No one had heard from Mike Brown in a while. Nelson was in AA.
We sat there, me and Robbie, and reminisced about the old days, the crazy times. I was talking loud and laughing loud, but felt dull inside. Every time the door opened I would sit up and see if it was Erik or Mikey J. or one of the other fellas.
Once this group of ruckus guys came in and sat a few tables from us. They seemed familiar, maybe a few years younger, but I couldn't place any of their faces. After a while me and Robbie just got quiet and sat, a half pitcher on the table between us, kind of glancing at the young guys now and then.
In the center of Brennen's was a giant bar that sold pitchers for cheap. The tables were big and monotonous, laid out in rows, not clusters. We would meet there around eight or so, get a buzz going and then sometimes head to a party or club, but just as often, hang there till they kicked us out around 1:30.
The place had a warm feel to it, a lot of space, friendly, rarely any fights. We would sit around a few tables, eight or ten guys, sometimes a few girlfriends, and enjoy the beer and mixed drinks. We were a few years past the drama of high school: puking, drug deals, brawls. We were grown men with jobs. We enjoyed each other and spent several nights a week together with beer and boasting and brotherhood. It was family to me.
I got the news on Sunday evening. Rex had run a stoplight at 2am that morning and hit a man walking his dog. The guy had two kids and he was dead.
Rex had been my buddy since seventh grade and I was in shock over what had happened. I talked to a few guys on the phone, Robbie and Mikey J., but that was it. I poked my head into Brennen's on Thursday and saw a few guys, looked like they were my buddies, but it was some other dudes, maybe UC Berkeley students.
That Saturday only three of us showed up. Robbie kept saying we needed to make a collection to bail Rex out since his parents couldn't, but Sean said he didn't think he wanted to help someone who killed an innocent person. I couldn't believe he would say that. Robbie was furious. "How could you say that about Rex? He'd bail you out in a second!"
"I'm just saying, he messed up, why should I give him my money?"
"It was an accident," said Robbie.
Sean wouldn't budge. Finally Robbie stood up, yelled, "Fuck you, traitor!" and left.
We never did get a collection going.
Within the next few months Sean transferred from community college to state and moved to Sacramento. I got a job in L.A. and left town too.
I didn't know many people out there except at work, but they were mostly older and married. One guy I got friendly with lived way the hell out in San Pedro, practically an hour away, so we only hung out twice.
I didn't know what to do, so I'd hit bars by myself. Sit and drink four or five beers, just watching the people, talking to myself in my head. If it was quiet I'd get friendly with the bartender. But then I'd be embarrassed to go back another night because I wouldn't want him to think I was some pathetic guy who sat at bars alone.
Sometimes I thought I saw Sean or Robbie or Mikey J. in the bars. I'd catch a glimpse of a guy who looked like he owned the world and think in my head it was one of them, but of course it wasn't. Sometimes I'd see a cluster of guys and watch them, the big grins, how easy it was for them to strike up conversations with women, or be happy just hanging and laughing and yelling and drinking.
Once I met some woman from Baltimore who was by herself on business and she took me to her hotel, but that was it. She was only in town for two days and wasn't even that cute.
After a year or so I couldn't take L.A. anymore. I was too lonely away from friends and family, always in an isolated box: my apartment, my car, my cubicle at work, even the bars were like boxes. I came home, moved back in with Pops and started looking for a new job.
I called Robbie and we met at Brennen's. It was just us. He kept calling the other guys on his cell phone to try to get them to come out. Erik had moved in with some woman out in Martinez and didn't want to make the drive. Mikey J. was at work. Everyone else was gone. Rex had a least another year to do in prison. Sean was still away at college. Eddie had moved to New Mexico. No one had heard from Mike Brown in a while. Nelson was in AA.
We sat there, me and Robbie, and reminisced about the old days, the crazy times. I was talking loud and laughing loud, but felt dull inside. Every time the door opened I would sit up and see if it was Erik or Mikey J. or one of the other fellas.
Once this group of ruckus guys came in and sat a few tables from us. They seemed familiar, maybe a few years younger, but I couldn't place any of their faces. After a while me and Robbie just got quiet and sat, a half pitcher on the table between us, kind of glancing at the young guys now and then.
