Leave My Boss Alone

01patrick4.doc

“Greg. Come here.”

“… why?”

“I need to speak with you, is why.”

“Then… why can’t you do it from the other side of the table? I can hear you from here, trust me.”

“No. Just… stop moving around so I can get to you. This is important.”

“Not as important as my family jewels are to me – I like them where they are, thanks.”

“I’m not going to lay a hand on your family jewels—”

“What about your feet, huh? Are your feet going to lay a foot on my family jewels?”

“No. I think I’ll just lay my feet on your ass instead… stay in one place, damnit.”

“What? Are you crazy? Like I’m going to allow a cracker like you get to me – hell no. That’d be disrespecting my ghetto heritage.”

“… fuck. You. Ok? Just die already.”

“That’s the thanks I get for trying to get you doing the bedroom cha-cha with Mr. Weston? Well. I’ll remember to never help your white ass again. Hn.”

“Women are threatening me! How the hell is that making my situation any better? If anything, you’ve just made it worse. And where the hell did Mr. Weston and I being secretly engaged come from? I know I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, sure, maybe a crush… maybe even a secret admirer but, fiancé?—”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t send any shit like that. I only e-mailed a message saying there was a secret admirer on the loose, and they were desperate for some Mr. Weston lovin’ – nothing about engagements or whatever the hell you’re talking about.”

I stop. I choke. And then I lunge for Greg from across the dinner table, almost getting him – but I fall on the floor instead, bringing down a glass and saltshaker with me. Maybe even a chair, but that could just be the sound of my elbows breaking.

“Yo, you okay, man?” Greg’s voice is brackish as is his face – everything’s blurry and my head’s spinning. There’s an annoying thudding at the side of my head that just won’t go away. It’s bugging the hell out of me. And my body? It seems fine. Sure, my whole body’s in pain, and sure, I may just have sprained my wrist by the way it stings every time I try to move it slightly. But that’s it. I groan, dumping my head back onto the cold floor, and hard.

Yeah. I hate diners too.

“Just. Shoot me right now, let me out of my misery.” I murmur, closing my eyes halfheartedly, and trying so hard to take no notice of the pain throughout my whole body – but it’s hard. And I mean, really hard – the kind of hard where you simply wish it would go away, but in all reality? It won’t. Not unless a higher deity of some sort wants it gone, and knowing my track record… that’s a big no.

“Come on, get up, man. Don’t embarrass yourself; you’re gay enough as it is.” And it’s Greg’s large hands that grasp onto my own firmly, stoutly picking me up from the ground, and a few grunts afterwards – I just fall on top of him, leaning heavily against his front.

“Yeah, yeah… shut up.”

“That ain’t gonna help you, neither is it gonna bring you any farther into Mr. Weston’s pants.” He remarks, shoving me away, and as my arms begin to pinwheel; he catches me, holding me upright and still with his hands clutching my shoulders. I sigh heavily, looking down, eyes closing briefly; tired and just a little bit annoyed with myself.

And the rest of the world, of course. Can’t forget them.

“So… what are you trying to say? You aren’t helping, Greg.” I mutter all of this, grumbling under my breath and in my head, too. I’m just a really pissed off guy, right now. You can’t blame me, and if you tried? I’d shoot you. Just like that. No doubts or second thoughts about it, it’d make my day, actually… so, do it. Blame me. Give me the chance to shoot someone, because you may be my last and only hope. Know that.

“First off, stop being a bitch. And secondly, where the hell do you get off saying that I ain’t helping you? I should be doing jack shit for you, but instead – what am I doing? I’m giving up my free time where I could be getting laid, and helping you get some Mr. Weston dick. So don’t you dare go on, talking about how I ain’t helping you… fuck. You need to learn some respect, boy, coz you sure as hell don’t deserve it.” My eyes widen, and I almost step back from Greg’s hold, but the almost dirty glare he’s giving me – tells me everything I need to know.

“… you’re a gangster?” I ask, dumbstruck, and just… what the hell?

Greg rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated slice of air, momentarily clenching onto my shoulders, but letting go just as fast. He still as a steadfast hold on me, though, it’s just… less tight, is all.

“I’m black, Patrick, if you hadn’t noticed—”

“No, I know that, it’s just… whoa. For a second there, I thought you were Snoop Dogg, or something.” And then all time seems to pause, right… about… there. Awkward, but it’s a pause.

Greg simply stares at me, and I just stare back. Not saying, or doing anything inconspicuously white of me, it would just feel wrong at this point in time.

And then he laughs. A full out, straight from the gut, kind of laugh. The kind that makes you want to laugh too, but I hold back the urge to, only because… I might have been involuntarily racist, and I don’t want to laugh about things like that. It’s just not funny.

He lets go of me, arms falling away so he can cradle his stomach, having leant forward and hunched over; still laughing.

“O-oh, l-lord… you make me laugh, you know that? God.” As Greg manages this between the laughter and his large intakes of air, I smile sheepishly; avoiding the strange looks now coming from the people in the diner. I guess they just can’t handle a black man laughing in an establishment like this; jumping over a table and attempting to attack said black man, isn’t as bad. I guess that works with me, but I’m not so sure.

“Okay, okay… Greg, man, stop. People are looking… ” I cast shifty peripheral looks to the side, and yes, they’re still looking. And they don’t seem to be looking away, damnit.

“Yeah… so about that secret engagement? What’d you mean by that… ?” Greg finally seems to get a handle on himself, even though he still lets loose a few husky chuckles, wiping at his eyes loosely, smiling broadly. I give him the benefit of the doubt, though, and let that go.

“Exactly what I said, dumbass.” Shaking my head, I turn away from him, walking out of the diner, or at least trying to, anyway.

“You want me to go all thug on your ass?”

“Thug loving… ” I joke, pushing the door open idly, holding it slightly open behind me for Greg; as I turn around, walking backwards now, cheeky grin on my face.

“No. Just… no.” He says this solemnly, shaking his head at me, and pinching his lips together, giving me the face. And you know what face I mean.

“I tried.” I exhale quietly, scrunching my nose, and biting my bottom lip briefly, and irritably.

Greg shoots me a small understanding smile, slinging a broad arm around my shoulders and steering me around, holding me against his side, nicely.

“I know… I know you did.” And I would have felt so good, if he hadn’t chuckled that chuckle.

I made sure to beat him up for it later.