Bennett The Brave

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

You might think that having Neal at my side nearly all the time might eventually drive us apart, but that simply wasn't the case for us. I'm fairly certain that if Neal hadn't moved with his Mom from West Hartford, to live with us on the lake, we would have drifted apart eventually. But that's not what happened. Neal and I fell into that easy comradery that comes from being best friends, going through life shoulder to shoulder.

Pretty much everybody that knew us, knew we were a couple, paddling through life like a pair of mallards. If anything, our closeness strengthened our connection to one another. Nothing was ever said about it. I'm not sure if it was because of the Peter Gilbert incidents, or, as I hope to think, we just became so much a part of the normal landscape, that nobody gave a damn.

The year of the national bicentennial celebrations, we both turned 16. Garrett had purchased himself a newer truck, and gifted me his old crasher. By that time, it wasn't good for much, but it was still mine, which meant that it belonged to both Neal and I. As soon as I got my license, that truck took us fishing, brought us to the foot of the mountain for hikes to our favorite cave (you know the one), and helped us to get our first jobs.

Neal and I were both hired as bus-boys/dishwashers at a local restaurant on the lake. It was a very nice place, the sort of establishment that was a bit too pricey for our families to go on a regular basis. The owner liked us both, and hired us on the spot when we came in to apply. It worked out very well, Neal and I traded duties, he'd clear tables one day, while I washed, and vice versa.

I actually enjoyed the work, while Neal, not so much. He did cut a dashing figure in the black bus-boy uniform, and we both quickly moved into backing up the servers when it got busy. Very naturally, we both graduated into server roles, and we soon came to understand the relationship between good service and good tips. The owner, Phillip Cress, and his wife Ethel, came to view us as almost better than their own sons, neither of which had any interest in the family business.

One evening, during the mid-summer rush, I was polishing glasses at the bar, and there was a particularly noisy man there. He had come in with a woman, but she seemed to have left without him. The bar was busy, and this fellow was loudly asking for another drink. Being underage, I wasn't allowed to serve him alcohol, but I offered to get him a soda until the bartender could make his way back.

"Okay, fine," he grumbled, "Two-cents plain then."

I filled a tumbler with ice and some seltzer, dropped a cocktail napkin under it and served it to him. He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and nodded his thanks. Turning back to my task, I saw Neal arriving with two more racks of bar glasses, still steaming, fresh from the sanitizer. I made a big show of rolling my eyes and groaning.

"Thanks Buddy!" I said, "More glasses for me to polish?"

"You're welcome, Sport!" he rejoined brightly. We were always busting on each other like that, all in good fun. Neal placed the two trays on end of the bar, winked, turned on his heel, and went back to the kitchen with a bounce and a wave.

This of course, earned us a "harrumph" sound from our rheumy-eyed friend at the bar. I ignored him, and continued polishing and putting away the glasses. Eventually, the bartender worked his way back to him.

"What can I getcha?" I heard the barkeep say.

"Bourbon, neat, make it a double."

"Coming right up." There was clinking of ice in a rocks glass.

"Hey, I ordered that neat. No ice," the man grumbled.

"Not for you," the bartender said, "I'm making more than one order at the same time, your glass is right here."