When it came to not paying, Hank was one of the worst. He owed Mrs. G I don’t know how much. He was smooth. Oh, Mrs. G, can you give me a burrito just this once? I haven’t eaten all day. I promise I’ll pay my bill tomorrow, and she’d give him this look like she knew it was a lie, but she’d give it to him. Hank had it going on with her because he could make her laugh. She was married, her husband worked with her sometimes, but he had his own little lawn business and wasn’t around much. Hank didn’t care. He flirted with her, husband or no husband, and some of the things he’d say would make her blush red as a tomato. You know Mrs. G, he told her one afternoon, it ain’t the size of the spoon but how you stir the batter, and he faced her and swiveled his hips in front of everyone in there and then he stepped around the counter and into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. I swear she was like a teenager, she got so flustered.
His charm didn’t linger once he left. Mrs. G would complain to me about him and I’d tell her I was so sorry he was doing her like he was, but she had to quit being so nice to him. Then I’d get on him about his bill. You gotta pay the woman, I told him. I’m tired of apologizing for you. Don’t worry about it, Katie, he’d say. I’ll handle it. But he never did. He shouldn’t have even been here. He’d left Fresh Start for a job at Walmart but he didn’t last long and Tom hired him back. He said he hadn’t fit in at Walmart. His coworkers would invite him to a bar after work and he’d have to explain that he didn’t drink. They’d ask him where he had worked before, and he’d tell them about Fresh Start and how it was the only steady job he’d had in years, because he had been homeless for so long. He said it was like telling people he had cancer. No one knew what to say to him.
Hank continued to charm Mrs. G out of food until the day he started drinking again. I hadn’t seen his slip coming. He didn’t show up for his shift one morning, but I thought he was just late. Then he called me, sounding all out of breath, almost like he was frightened. He asked me to meet him at Leavenworth and O’Farrell streets. I didn’t know what to think, so I rushed up there. On my way, I saw Mrs. G unlocking the door to her restaurant and I raised a hand but she didn’t see me. Then I saw Walter, sitting on a milk crate outside a convenience store with a bottle, and he asked me to put him in detox. You know where to go, I told him. How about a dollar, Katie? I shook my head. I thought of that painting at Mrs. G’s and how I’d like to take a trip one day just to be in a place where no one knew me.
I found Hank standing by a bus shelter across from a liquor store. I didn’t remember it from my drinking days and that bothered me. So much of my memory is shot, my life lost to so many blackouts that I can’t even remember a liquor store I’m sure I used. That’s saying something. But maybe I never did buy booze at this store.
Katie, Hank said.
Hi, Hank.
There was none of his usual shuck and jive. He gave me this look that said, I fucked up, but I knew that right off, look or no look. The neck of a pint bottle of whiskey stuck out of his jacket pocket. He wore blue jeans and white sneakers. His shirt looked crooked, like he had buttoned it wrong. I noticed dried mud on one side of his face and a cut on his left ear.
I don’t know why I called you. I’m just so mad, Katie. I’m just so mad.
About what? What happened?
He spit on the sidewalk.
What happened, Hank? I asked again.
He looked at me, his bloodshot eyes carrying a kind of hurt that I’d not seen in him before but felt within myself more than a few times back in the day, all sorts of torments I wouldn’t speak of and would use as excuses to drink.
I just get so frustrated sometimes, Katie.
He wrung his hands. He sat down in the shelter, dropped his head and stared, then started crying.
It’s OK, Hank, I tell him. We’ll talk about this later. For now, let’s go to detox.
It was me who put you in detox.
I know. This is payback.
He gave me a half smile, wiped his eyes.
That’s a good one, Katie. Remember when I said if I ever started drinking again, I’d never go to Fresh Start to detox, because it would be too embarrassing?
Yeah, and I said that kind of thinking is a good way to keep on drinking.
Yeah. When was that?
I don’t know, Hank. A while.
He stood and wiped his eyes again.
I’m going to go. I’ll be all right, Katie, he said.
No, you won’t. Not like this.
I better go.
He gave me a sloppy hug, stumbling, grinding his crotch against me as I tried to keep my balance.
Stop it! I said and slapped his shoulder.
He laughed.
Thank you, Katie.
Come with me to detox.
No, I’d better just go.
Hank.
He put a finger to his lips and shook his head.
Call me, I told him.
He walked off stiff-legged. I hoped he might turn around but he didn’t. I watched him until I couldn’t see him anymore and then I walked back to work, past Walter, again nodding out. Mrs. G stood in the door of La Taqueria and waved me over, asked me if I’d seen Hank.
I’m sorry, Mrs. G, I said. I don’t know where he is.
Tom helped Mrs. G collect most of what the staff owed her. He even paid off Hank’s bill. In return, he made her promise to stop extending credit. I continued having my taco plate twice a week. Then without notice she shut down. One day she was open, the next day a For Rent sign hung in the window. I don’t know where she went. It hurt that she had said nothing to me about closing. We weren’t friends exactly, but we had an understanding, at least I thought we did. I hope she landed on her feet. I hope she opened a new restaurant in a neighborhood where normal people eat. I haven’t seen Hank. He might have gone south to San Jose and gotten into an alcohol program down there. I hope so.
Sometimes, I think of that painting in La Taqueria. When I do, I can almost smell the food and Mrs. G’s warm touch on my shoulder. I hope a new restaurant opens. I don’t need to know the owner. I just want a place I can go, eat, and leave without drama. I’m sorry for enough things in my own life. I don’t need to apologize for what other people do.
Walter
