Elbow Taps
The News. Early July, 1985.
Door opens, bell rings.
Late stumbled into the store on a blast of summer air, moving with urgency. “Buddy, I’m sorry I’m late!” It was the summer his legs seemed too long for the rest of him—between sophomore and junior year.
“Late, you’re right on time.” Jerk didn’t look up from his comic and flicked his fingers at Tiny. “Pay up.” Tiny sighed and reached for his wallet.
“Late honey, have you eaten anything?” Norma yelled from somewhere behind the deli counter.
“No, Norma.” Jerk knew Late would have been later if he had.
“Let me make you a sandwich.”
“This isn’t going to work, Late.” Jerk paced the great room, staring at the three-inch gap of skin between the top of Late’s socks and the hem of Jerk’s borrowed uniform pants. “Top fits, but these stilts you’re calling legs… she’s gonna know right away.”
“It’s visitation,” Late said, adjusting the cadet ribbons on the borrowed jacket in the standing full-length mirror. “She’ll be on a phone behind glass. Just has to work up close.” He squinted at his reflection, then brushed crumbs off the lapel.
Jerk collapsed into an old Queen Ann armchair—the only other piece of furniture left in the penthouse great room besides the mirror and his boxes of comics and books. “Practice the voice again.”
“Why hello, Sarah. It’s nice to meet you face to face, finally.” Late dropped his tone a half octave, mugging for the mirror. “Think that’ll make her… what did her letter say the picture of me in your uniform did?”
“‘Your new favorite word. ’Squishy.’” Late had become fixated on that line.
“You said that’s good, right?” He turned around. He almost looked the part, if you ignored the fact his face was still smooth as a kid’s.
Jerk pushed up his glasses. “‘Squishy’? Oh yeah.” Jerk checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. “We need to move. Your mom thinks you’re with me?”
“Where else would I be? She’ll go to the bar after work, take a Black and White cab home since I’ll be busy.” Late pulled a key ring from his pocket, twirling it around his finger. “You told Tiny and Norma you’re heading back to my place?”
“They’d be suspicious if I said I was going anywhere else.” Jerk stood, stretched. “OK, going through this one more time.”
“Uniform. Check.” Jerk moved down his mental list. He scanned the room twice looking for his backpack before he found it right next to the chair. He picked it up and rifled through it. “Snacks and cokes. Check.” He’d made sure to pack multiple bags of Late’s favorite salt & vinegar chips.
“Where’s the road atlas?” Late toyed with the medals on his chest nervously. Jerk batted away his hand.
“Here. Check.” Jerk tapped his temple. “Fake ID?”
Late fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a bright green nylon wallet, the Velcro making a tearing noise as he opened it. He fished out the fake ID and held it up. “Check! Here!”
Jerk grabbed it and gave it a fresh look for the first time since they’d picked up in the backroom of a hardware store that never sold very many hammers. Jerk had found them in Tiny’s Rolodex, with the note ‘Document Services.’ Tiny knew a guy for everything, and those guys all knew who Tiny’s son was.
The work was impeccable, it looked authentic. He held it up, comparing the photo to Late’s face. “Late, I don’t care what year your ID says, I wouldn’t sell you cigarettes.” He handed it back.
“I don’t want cigarettes! I want to see my gir–” Jerk glared and Late cut himself off. “I’ll tell them I was a late bloomer!”
“We’re going to prison,” Jerk muttered under his breath before addressing Late. “It better just be you. Let’s go, Private.”
“We gotta do the thing!” Late raised up his elbows, the uniform shirt underneath coming untucked. “Tap elbows! For good luck!” He kept them up, face expectant.
“We’re not eleven anymore,” Jerk said with a resigned sigh. He lifted his elbows and twisted in sync with Late. Left, then right, then left.
Late grinned as they finished. “We’re still best friends.”