“Brossels?” Mason calls back.
“You know,” Chris says, “like the country in Belgium.”
“I think your brother might be an idiot,” I murmur to Mason.
Mason smiles and laughs, saying, “I know it for a fact.”
Chris finally gets to the car and gives Mason a hug. “Thanks for coming to pick me up, man.”
“I’ve had some time to forget about all the crap you’ve pulled over the years,” Mason says, playfully shoving his brother. “Give it an hour and I’ll probably be trying to get you back in here.”
“Let’s not do that,” Chris says. “Hello there, gorgeous,” he says, turning to me. “I see you’re sticking with the less impressive Ellis, huh?”
“Chris, I’m sure we’d have a lot of fun, but we’re just different people,” I tell him. “I like a good cry-movie and you’re more into selling people bridges in Arizona.”
“You’re right,” Chris says, giving me a hug. “It would never work out, would it?”
“You still staying with us for a while?” Mason asks.
“Us?” Chris says and turns to me with high eyebrows, wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “Oh my dear lord, you’re pregnant!” he exclaims and he’s now—what is he doing? He’s putting his ear against my belly button.
“You’re a weird guy, Chris,” I tell him. “I thought Mason told you we’re living together now?”
“That’s right,” Chris says, though he doesn’t move.
“Chris?” I ask.
“Yeah?” he answers, still listening to my abdomen—for what, exactly, I haven’t the slightest.
“Could you maybe get off of me now?” I ask.
“Sure thing,” he says, getting to his feet. “Hey, would you two mind if we stop by the gas station for a minute? I could use a cigarette like you wouldn’t even believe, bro.”
“Got any money on you?” Mason asks.
“I had a couple bucks in my wallet when they took me in,” Chris says. “I always carry enough for a pack of freedom smokes. You never know when you’re going to need them except right now, so could we…?”
“Fine,” Mason says, patting his brother on the shoulder.
It’s only about half a mile to the gas station, but the distance seems much further than that as Chris recounts us with the various horrors of long-term jail life; not a single one of which I feel comfortable repeating or even processing.
Suffice it to say, the guy saw some things.
We pull into the parking lot of the gas station and Chris jumps out of the car before we’re anywhere close to being stopped.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m having a nici-fit like you wouldn’t believe.”
Chris shuts the door and runs in while Mason finds a spot to park.
“Should we go in there with him?” I ask.
“Nah, let the man have a minute and a half of freedom,” Mason says.
“How are you—” I start, but Mason interrupts.
“Really, I’m fine,” he says. “I’ve come a long way this past year.”
Time simultaneously changes everything and nothing. So much can happen in a year, but once that year has passed, you still feel like you. At least, that’s the goal, I think.
After Mason gave up fighting, we started spending a lot more time together. It’s been nice not having to compete with the gym and, you know, the violence involved in MMA, but I actually find myself missing it sometimes. Those are the times Mason and I head to the nearest abandoned building and hope for a show.
After a few months of me sleeping at his place every night, I finally told Jana and her mom (who is still living there, by the way,) that it was time for me to move out.
“So, where do you think we should…” I start, but in the next moment, I’m frantically patting Mason’s chest with one hand and pointing out the side window with the other. I try to explain what I’m seeing, but the only word I can manage is, “Chris.”
Mason looks where I’m pointing and he’s out of the car. I get out and stand in Mason’s path. “We’ll find out soon,” I tell Mason. “Just let it go for now.”
What has me trying to talk Mason down is the sight of Chris being led out of the gas station by a plain-clothes policeman with a badge hanging from his belt.
“Chris, what the hell?” Mason shouts.
“Stay back!” the officer says, pulling out his pepper spray with the hand he’s not using to hold the chain between Chris’s cuffs.
“What happened?” Mason shouts again.
Chris turns his head and there’s a big smile on his face. “Just counting change, bro!” Chris yells back. “I’ll see you in a year or so!”
“Counting change?” I ask. “What does that mean?”
“You give a cashier a hundred and then keep feeding them small amounts of cash while they’re trying to make change. If you do it right and you can end up with a lot more than you walked in with,” Mason says with an inscrutable look on his face that slowly dissolves into an awkward smile. “Did that really just happen?”
The man with the badge gets Chris in the back of the undercover police car and then gets in himself, turning on his lights before he’s even got the engine going.
“Whatever happened, I think he pissed that cop right off,” I say as the car peels out in reverse and then screams out of the parking lot with the siren now blaring. “You don’t think he just—” I start.
“I think he did,” Mason says. “No way was that a real cop.”
With that, we’re left standing here in this parking lot, staring at the last spot either of us could see the car speeding away.
“But why would he—” I start again.
“I have no idea,” Mason says. “You wanna get out of here and grab something to eat?”
“Yeah,” I tell him and we get back in the car.
The more settled this life becomes, the less frequently I have any idea what to expect. Mason and I have our problems, but when it really matters, we’re there for each other.
We drive back into town, and Mason’s telling me about his physics class again. I don’t know what it is about the subject he finds so fascinating, but the way he’s been prattling on about it lately, I’m starting to miss the days when he wouldn’t shut up about MMA.
As we get back into town, I notice a strangely familiar car parked at the cross street of the first intersection. Mason’s going on about quarks or something, and I can’t help noticing that the man behind the driver’s seat of that car is Chris, though he’s now wearing a red baseball cap while his “cop” buddy sits in the passenger’s seat, drinking from a brown beer bottle.
It’s not the simple life. Even with the wildcard that is Mason’s brother maybe out of the way for a little while longer, there’s still a lot to contend with. What’s helped us get this far is that we’ve learned how to let things go when there’s nothing we can do to change them.
I can see Chris following us a few cars back, but I don’t know if Mason’s spotted him yet. It’s obviously a joke, otherwise I’d feel a little better about not telling him that Chris is 100% not in any trouble (yet—I mean, let’s be realistic here.)