Bo's Café Read Free

name?”
    He ignores my question. “They want to tell you, you know.”
    “Who does?”
    He taps the bar with his fingertips. “Your friends. Your family. Those you work with. Truth is, some of them have actually
     tried. They want to help. But you don’t believe they can help. Sound familiar, Steven?”
    I sit up straight on my stool and nearly knock over my glass of water. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t
     know you. Now stop the game, pal, and tell me how you know
me
.”
    No response.
    I pick up my water glass and lean closer to him. “You want me to call the manager? Or do you want me to pour this glass of
     ice all over you before I throw you out in the street?”
    His voice is quieter now. “Yeah, I guess you could do that. Then you could drive home and pretend this didn’t happen. You
     could go back to what you’ve been doing. Pretend it’s just a bad week, a couple bad breaks. But you’ll be back. If not here
     then somewhere else.”
    He pauses.
    “And until you let someone shine a light into your room, nothing’s gonna change. Life’s gonna get more painful, more confusing,
     and darker. Pour ice on me if you want. Heck, throw me out if it makes you feel better.”
    The man tips up his glass and shakes a couple of ice cubes into his mouth.
    “Oh, by the way, you might wanna take that name tag off your shirt if you don’t want strangers calling you by name, Steven…
     . Just a thought.”
    I look down and see the name tag—the little sticker with my name on it that I’ve worn all day since that meeting outside the
     office.
What an idiot!
Might as well have been wearing a sign around my neck saying, “Please talk to me, I’m lonely!” I rip the sticker off my shirt.
    We’re both quiet, except for his obnoxious crunching.
    “Look,” I say. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m… I’m not in a very good place. And some stranger starts spouting stuff
     about me and I don’t know what to do. Maybe this is all a joke someone put you up to, but I need it to stop. What do you say
     we start over? Tell me your name and how you know me.”
    He shakes his head. “Oh no you don’t. I’ll call the manager out here and see why a perfect stranger wants to know my name.”
    I chuckle. “I deserved that, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, you did.
    “Steven,” he says, “would it help if you knew that I’m from this neighborhood? I grew up here too. I remember when this place
     was Petrazello’s. Gracious Sister of Monrovia, they had great pizza! The sauce… It had this sweetness to it. Remember? Nobody
     was sure if it was cinnamon or what.”
    “I’d forgotten that.”
    “You can’t find that sauce anymore. It died with old man Petrazello.”
    Then he smiles warmly, searching my eyes. “Maybe it would help if I told you that I know your dad.”
    “You do? Why didn’t you say that at the start?”
    “I’ve seen you before this,” he says. “You were sitting in the parking lot.”
    “How did you know it was me?”
    “Your dad told me about the car. Steven, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t a lot of late-model SL-Class Mercedes
     in this neighborhood.”
    “So you know my dad, huh?”
    He nods. “We were pretty good friends when you were a little kid. Hung out here a lot. Then I got on the fast track, and we
     sort of lost touch until a few years ago. Anyway, he brags about you, you know. So I’ve kind of kept a watch for you and followed
     your life the last couple years. That’s how I was sure it was you today when you walked into Fenton’s. I was walking out of
     Radio Shack next door and thought,
How cool is this? I know this kid, but he doesn’t know me. Let’s have some fun.
”
    “So that’s how you knew about Manhattan Beach?”
    “Yep.”
    “So, you’re not a mind reader, after all?”
    “Not really. But I kind of was there for a while, wasn’t I?”
    “Yes, you were.”
    “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about