Mr. Whitfield- By: Riley Rivers

Chapter X

Jesse walked out into the street with tears running down his face. He wiped them off angrily and continued to walk until he met a man leaned up against a brick wall trying to light a cigarette.
"You wanna pack? You look like you could use a smoke?" The man said in a scruffy tone.
"No, thanks. I'm good really."
The man approached him. "Ah, I see you have a wedding ring. Who is he?"
"It's a she and she's my wife. I don't wanna talk about it, so I suggest you get out of my way fatty or else."
"Hey, who you calling fat?" The man pushed his chest."
"You know who!" Jesse spat in his face.
He wiped the spit off disgustedly and snarled. "Agh! I'll kill you, you asshole!"
"Oh sh*t!" Mr. Whitfield gasped as the man punched him in the eye.
"Got a nice shiner there pretty boy, you want to have something even more painful?"
"Like what?" Jesse gulped.
"I don't know. Maybe a nosebleed or a **** punch!"
"What the ****?! You're crazy as sh*t!"
"Yeah, and what you gonna do about it?"
"I'll, I'll-"
"You'll what?"
Jesse stepped on his foot and the man wailed in pain. "Ha! Who's laughing now?"
"Ergh! Alright, you think you're such a wise guy come here and fight like a man!" The thug threatened.
"Okay." Mr. Whitfield punched the man in the face and the man punched him in the nose.
"You're pathetic." The thug grinned as Jesse sat there holding his bleeding nose.
"Umph!" He tried to kick him and missed.
"Ha! You missed jackass. Here." The ruffian kicked Jesse in the balls.
"Oh ****! God damn it!" Mr. Whitfield sat there bawling in pain at his hurt crotch.
"How does that feel, idiot? Hope I broke your nose!" The thug left and Jesse sat there sobbing in pain all over.
"Nicole? Where are you? I'll die out here with these rough gangs!" He cried and rocked back and forth holding his thumb like a baby. He fell asleep on the cold concrete and shivered at the fierce wind. A man tapped on him and he groaned.
"Sir? Sir?!" The man said and it startled him.
"Sh*t! I'll kill you fatty!" Jesse yelled with a beer bottle in his hand he found lying beside him.
"Woah, easy. I'm not a thug." The man put his hands up and stepped back.
"Then who are you? Some guy wanting my credit cards? Here take 'em." Mr. Whitfield threw out his credit cards and the man gave them back to him.
"I don't want your money or your credit cards. I'm here to help you. I heard you moaning over here and so I figured I'd help you get back on your feet."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." The man helped him up.
"Ooo! Ah!" Jesse hissed in pain.
"I think you need to see a doctor."
"No, I'm fine really."
"Here." The man wiped his bloody nose.
"Ah! Easy, my nose is sore."
"Your nose might be broken."
"It's fine, just minor damage."
"Let me see." The man took out a flashlight similar to what the doctor's used. "Oh my, you have a class two nasal breakage."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm Dr. Gusienheim. Ich habe meinen Abschluss an einer deutschen medizinischen Fakultät gemacht. I got my degree at a German medical school."
"I thought you sounded kind of German."
"Ja, I'm very German. I'm from Berlin, you should visit sometime."
"I'll have to ask my wife."
"Oh, you're married?"
"Been happily married for two years to a history teacher."
"Ah... How did you two meet?"
"Well, I'm a science teacher and she's a history teacher at the same school I teach at and we sort of just bumped into each other then-well that's a story for another time."
"Nein, bitte sag es. No, please tell."
"Well, we sort of hooked up on my desk."
"Verdammt! Damn!"
"I know. It was a little unsettling to her father, who is also the principal."
"Scheisse! Sie haben die Tochter eines Schulleiters geschlagen? Sh*t! You banged a principal's daughter?"
"Yes. Is that ja?"
"Ja."
"Heh, German sounds a lot like French."
The doctor gasped and slapped him across the face. "Wie kannst du es wagen, Deutsch mit Französisch zu vergleichen! How dare you compare German to French!"
"Sorry, uh es tut uns leid."
"Es ist in ordnung. It's ok."
"Now I know."
"Ja, French is sh*t compared to German."
"Noted."
"Although my younger brother was adopted from France, the language is still sh*t."
"France sucks!" Jesse put up his fists.
"Nein!"
"The language sucks."
"Ja, ja, ja!"
"Can you speak English, 'cuz I'm still learning your damn language? Um, Deine Mutter ist eine Hure?"
"How dare you! Dummkopf! Idiot!"
"Oh, I just said your mother is a whore. My bad..."
The doctor scoffed and turned away from him. "Dummkopf. Idiot."
"I'm sorry. I told you I'm still learning German."
"Never insult the Germans! It's not our fault you started World War II."
"Actually Nicole told me that it was-"
"Nein, Hitler did nothing but bring us closer in our struggling country!"
"You clearly know nothing about World War II." Jesse sighed.
"Yes, it's true."
"Can you fix me up?"
"Oh, ja. Wie wäre es mit etwas Bier, um Ihren schmerzenden Körper zu beruhigen? How about some beer to soothe your aching body?"
"That's really nice of you." Jesse smiled.
"Nein, Nein. It's my treat really." The doctor assured and took Jesse to a nearby bar.
In the bar, a bartender was wiping down the bar table with a reddish-pink rag.
"Evening gentlemen. Can I get you two a drink?"
"I'm paying, but my friend would like to order first."
"I'll have one of those on the rocks."
The bartender grabbed a bottle and handed it to Jesse. "Here you go."
"Thanks."
"No problem. Ok and you?"
"I'll take some scotch, whiskey, and rum all mixed in one."
"Damn! You're trying to get drunk."
"No. Watch me." The bartender mixed up Dr. Gusienheim's drink and he gulped it down in seconds. "See-" He hiccuped. "Not even drunk."
"Uh-huh, sure." Jesse sipped his beer and watched as Dr. Gusienheim talked bizarrely.
"You-you're a good friend-uh. What did you tell me your-your name was?"
"Uh, Jesse Whitfield."
"Whitfield, buddy. Give your brother a hug."
"Um, I don't even know you that well and my arms are a little-" The doctor squeezed him and he groaned in pain.
"Don't worry, my buddy here will fix you up. Bartender, bartender. A drink of your finest fireballs for my good man here."
"Sure thing."
"Fireballs? What the hell are those?!"
"They tickle your throat but they're-they're so damn good. It's like sex in your mouth."
"That sounds disgusting. I'll take a piña colada please and thank you."
If you like piña coladas, get-getting caught in the rain." The doctor sang.
"Do you still want the fireball?" The bartender asked.
"Give it to that table down there." Jesse pointed to a table closest to the door.
"Can I have a sip of liquor or something?" Dr. Gusienheim burped.
"Ew, that stinks bro. And no you can't have a sip of anything. You're drunk as sh*t!"
"I-I'm not drunk. I can go all night! Anybody wanna drink some booze with me? I'm buying drinks for everyone!" He fell to the floor. "Yay! I found the floor."
"Oh God, I wonder where the hell this guy lives."
"He comes here every night and tells me his address all the time."
"6219 Berkshaw Ave. Los Angeles, California." The doctor snored.
"Berkshaw! My wife and I live in Berkshaw! I-I got to go. Here's $40. I hope it covers the bill."
"That covers way more than the bill." The bartender said.
"Keep the damn change I don't have time. You see my wife is probably wondering where the hell I am."
"I understand sort of. I mean I left my husband for another man years ago. I need money to go see him. That's why I work as a bartender. Kyle, I'm going to come home to you baby!" He cried.
"I had a gay-friend in High School, so I respect your gayness."
"It's more gaypiness than anything."
"Ok, I respect your gaypiness."
"Gaypiness, like happi-"
"Shut up Gusienheim!"
"My name's Leon."
"Whatever, Leon. You got to walk home."
"What?"
"I said-nevermind."
"You coming back? I'll wait for you. I'll see you, Jesse."
"Ergh! Shut up, you damn German!"
"Why you little-"
"Bye, bartender. Thanks for the drinks."
"I don't know why you're thanking me." The bartender chuckled and Jesse left to go home to his wife and new son.