Pop: Chapter Two

    Don't get me wrong, I like driving.  However, nothing will get me to drive into downtown New York during morning rush.  No, not any more.  Once, a few weeks after I moved her, I had to take Sam into the city for a meeting with some attorneys.  I thought that an hour would have been plenty of time to make the meeting.  I had already driven into the city a few times, and I thought that I wouldn't have a problem this time either.  Huge mistake.  I wound up being over fifteen minutes late.  At least I called ahead about the delay.  Since then, I never drive myself downtown whenever I have an important appointment.  Hence, Cheri is the one driving this morning, and not me.

    I still drive everywhere else though, even into the city when time isn't an issue.  I mostly keep to the suburb around the house though.  I get lost fairly easily if I'm not careful.  I wandered into Connecticut quite a bit those first few months here.  I didn't realize just how close to the border we were.  At least I discovered a few great shops and dining spots.  Once, I tried to find a special antique book store again, only to wind up a mile or two from the Massachusetts border.  On the New York side.  Still not sure how I got that mixed up.  

    Things got easier once I stopped using my old car.  It was pretty much a goner by that first fall.  I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did.  I was able to get a brand new one, with a great deal and all of the features.  I keep it in Lexington though.  At the other house.  I try to make it back at least once or twice a month.  Mostly on weekends and school breaks.  Or when there is a must-see UK game.  Hard to pass some of those up, especially when I can get one of the gang back together to go with me.  

    Once, for this really pathetic basketball game against Tennessee,  I managed to get the t...

    "Mr. Burton, toll ahead," Cheri breaks me out of my woolgathering.

    "Sorry.  Wasn't paying attention."

    I pull out my phone and open the toll app.  A quick swipe, and we can rush on ahead.  Sure, I could opt for the pass, but it is so rare that I take this way into town that going by the trip is just easier.

    "You would think that these highways would be paid off by now, but no.  New York just finds ways of taking money from commuters any way they can for as long as they can."

    "Sound practice, there.  NYC makes a lot of dough from these fares, whatever Albany doesn't get for themselves.  We just do what we gotta do." Cheri comments as she pulls into the next exit lane.

    Cheri is a native New Yorker, one of the reasons why she is so good at getting into downtown so quickly.  Not all of the service's drivers are.  Many are transplants like me, still learning the traffic flows and nuances needed to get around.  I'm lucky she's my driver today.  This is actually her side hustle, as she is a full-time college student earning her business degree.  A week or two earlier, and she would be in class and someone else would be trying to get me to my interview.

    If I had been driving in today, I would be using one of the family's other cars, instead of my own, being out-of-state and all. Using, it would be my dad's Barretta.  Not the same model year as my mother's, older in fact, but maybe a little bit cooler because of it.  Even though it is old, it has been kept in pristine shape, upgraded with every modern convenience possible.  Yes, even a navigator.  I obviously don't use it.  Enough, use it enough.  I just wish it wasn't so bright red.

    Sam doesn't touch it, though.  He prefers the electric "thing" instead.  All but insisted on learning to drive on it.  Don't see why.  It was going to be for our sister for her twenty-first birthday, before she dropped out of college and run off.  Sam was the clear choice to take it over, once he got old enough.  He'll be taking to college with him.  Good riddance.

    Don't get me wrong.  I am actually quite environmentally conscious.  I just think that the internal combustion engine is just better than the blocky electric monstrosities that are being shoved down consumer's throats.  Any benefits to the earth are all but negated by their horrid design mistakes.  Why Sam's mother even chose something like this for her daughter is beyond me?  I'll have to ask . . .

     "Chris.  Toll!"  Cheri breaks into my thought again.

Pop: Chapter 1a

     "It better be soon.  The city pool is always too crowded, and the gym has all the best times already booked." Sam tries to get closer to the window to look out, but stops a few steps away. 

    "It'll get fixed.  Just remember to be back in time for the meeting this afternoon.  And to dress appropriately."

    "What?  You think I wouldn't.  I wouldn't dream of it."

    "Well, you did wear those torn jeans the last time," I am forced to remind him.

    "I said I was sorry.  It was only that one time."  Sam turns and heads to the door.  "I better get going to get at least a little practice in this morning."

    "And don't forget to put on a shirt before you leave." I hate having to say it, but he needs to wear one.

    "Yeah, whatever, Old Man," he retorts as he heads back to his room.

    "Thirty-one isn't old," I reply as I close the door after him so I can finish getting ready.

    It isn't old at all, really.  At least I'm not twice his age.  Now, that would be old.

    I start with the belt, black leather with a silver buckle.  Don't forget a single loop.  Next, the shoes.  Two-tone Oxfords, black and navy.  Probably won't be seen, but will still make an impression. I put on my wristwatch, white gold, analog.  No digital, smart-watch here.  I need to look traditional, classic, even when I might not be.  This is followed by the jacket from the dressing rack so it wouldn't get wrinkles.  Yes, a dressing rack.  Hopefully, it won't be too warm for it, but the air-conditioning could be on, so I best look prepared. A white pocket square will light blue trim already in place.

    I grab my wallet and put it into the left inside pocket.  Switch it to the right.  I grab my iPhone from the charger, latest model of course, and put it on the left instead.  Feels more balanced that way. Then, one final spritz of cologne, to highlight what I already put on after my shower.  Slightly different scent than my aftershave, but same company.  I like it when a combine scents like that.  Makes me seem more interesting.

    Last, I grab my tote with my laptop and notes, and other supplies.  I'm hoping to get some extra work done on the ride, or if I have some free time.  I wish I could have found one with blue trim instead of red, but the tote was on such a great discount that I had to get it.  Still, I think briefcases look more professional.  Too bad that totes like these have become the standard.

    I enter the hall for the long walk down to the kitchen.  This house is just too damn big.  If I were in sneakers, I might make it there in a minute, or so.  Dress shoes, even by taking the shortest route?  Almost double that.  I check on Sam as I pass his room on the way to the upper landing and stairs, but Sam has already left.  I hope he is wearing a shirt.

    The upper landing is almost big enough to be a room by itself.  It even has a small couch along the front wall, just below the window.  I take the sharp left to take the upper stairs.  They are fairly long and steep, but slightly narrow.  I don't see how anyone got some of the bigger pieces of furniture up here.  I grab onto the handrail, not bannister as that's what holds the rail up,  and slowly descend to the lower landing.  It is almost as large as the other one, but no couch, only some display cabinets.  I decide to take the door to the back staircase.  When I first got here, Sam's mother had hid the stairs, as Sam had a habit of using them as a shortcut.  She thought having family use the "servant's stairs" was low-class and blocked them off.  They didn't even have any live-in servants at the time.  We still don't. Sam and I prefer efficiency over decorum.  

    There's a short descent to a landing with only a chair and a small table with a black-and-white photograph of my sister over it.  My Dad took it her senior year of high school.  It was the only family photo that he hadn't placed in his room when he was sick.  I guess everyone had forgotten about it once the stairs were blocked.  It was what started me to figure out the secrets Sam was keeping from me.  I wish I had met her.  

    I reach the rear hall, right in front of the exercise room, once a "servant's quarter."  Dad used the other as a bedroom while he was dealing with cancer. I walk on by.

    "Hey, I've been waiting on you.  I'm leaving now.  Be back by this afternoon.  Bye."  Sam waves at me from the mudroom as he races to leave.  He's wearing a shirt, but it is a little short and tight on him.  I can't tell if it's from before his last growth spurt, or a new one that he is outgrowing.  It's distressed, but I can't remember if it came that way.  He better not be growing again.

    "Lock the door on your way out," I shout at him.  I don't know if he hears me.  By the time I get there, he has already left.  I think I see someone darting in front of him.  Short blond hair, save for a lone rattail down the back.  Chas.  I wonder if he came to meet Sam, or if he spent the night, again.  It is rather easy to sneak someone in, if you know how.  This house is just too damn big.

    I walk through the pantry into the kitchen.  Dirty dishes on the dinette table.  Sam rarely cleans up after himself.  I check on the oatmeal I started earlier, barely touched.  Oh, to have the metabolism of an eighteen-year-old again and be able to eat anything for breakfast.  Still, I don't see how professional bodybuilders and athletes eat this stuff day after day.  Just so it is palatable, I have to mix in a quarter scoop of strawberry-flavored protein powder and an almost full scoop of banana-flavor, and drizzle of honey on top.  Although I keep pushing him, Sam rarely touches any of my supplements.  He's going to start falling behind his peers if his doesn't start trying to improve himself.  At least that means I get to keep the banana flavor all to myself.  It's hard to find, even in NYC, and I hate ordering online. 

    I wash it all down with some coffeed-down water, as I don't want the extra caffeine today.  I put all of the dishes in the fridge, as the dishwasher has broken down again.  Leak in the main line, for the second time this year.  I wash them by hand tonight.

    I leave the kitchen to stop off in the pantry.  I bend down to grab a blueberry meal-replacement bar hidden behind some canned vegetables, one of the good ones, and stick it in my tote.  When you live with someone as tall as my brother, you have to hide things low and not high.  I check the back door, locked, and the laundry room, not enough yet, on my way back out to the hall and the connector to the front of the house.

    The connector has the downstairs bathroom, a full one as the original owners couldn't have the servants use the same facilities as the family after all.  At least it can come in handy.  The wall outside the bathroom used to have a disturbing collage of children in a nightmarish garden, one of my father's side-projects.  I replaced it with a painting he did of my mom's Baretta, from when they first met.  It's much more appropriate.  Forty-two seconds, a few shakes, a flush, and I'm ready to wash my hands.  I give my hair one last look and run my fingers through it to tussle it just enough.  I really need my hair cut.  I turn the lights off, but I leave the seat up, because I can.  Why lower it until I need to?

    I exit the connector by the lower stairs.  While the upper flight is kind of narrow, these are too wide, well over seven feet.  Even Sam has trouble reaching the handrails at times.  I avoid them whenever I can. I rush over to the door, almost forgetting to eXamine mY Zipper. I forgot once, and Sam had to point it out just before some guest came over. I set the security system up, synching it with my phone as I go through the door and lock it behind my.

    My ride is pulling up to the stoop, and a young, African American woman steps out.  Cheri, one of the service's best drivers.

    "Here I thought I was going to be early, but you always surprise me.  Are we ready to go?"

    "Yes, Cheri," I say as I walk over and get into the back seat, "Take us downtown."

Pop: Chapter One

    Man, I look great.

    I'm standing in front of the full mirror in my room, wearing nothing but my boxer briefs and some black-and-blue argyle socks.  I can't help but flex my muscles at a time like this.  Almost thirty pounds in just over three years.  Oh yeah, this looks great on me.  I never considered myself a jock before, or even athletic in the least, but after buying a foreclosed house with a home gym, and then moving into my family's manor (still have a hard time getting over that) with an exercise room of its own, I couldn't help but start a regimen.  Still, I can't help but look at myself whenever I get the chance.  Just look at that little vein pop on my biceps.  Not much, but it makes so much a difference that...

    "Chris, are you ready yet?"

    "Wait a moment."  Sam, my half brother, was knocking at the bedroom door.  I quickly grab my slacks off the bed and start putting them on.  Fortunately, one "muscle" hadn't started to flex yet, or else I would be having a "hard" time pulling my pants up.  Both my brother and I have caught each other in various states of undress over the past few years, but that doesn't mean I want to be caught.  I zip them on and rush to the door to unlock it.

    "Sorry, I'm a having a little bit of difficulty this morning."

    Sam makes a show of having to duck under the door frame, even though he has two inches of clearance.  Well, at least an inch.  I find it hard to believe that he turned eighteen just last month, and that he graduated high school this past weekend.  The past four years have just flown by.

    "Doesn't the shirt go on first, before the pants?" Sam asks.

    "Shouldn't you be wearing a shirt?"  I counter while grabbing my dress shirt off the bed.  It is just a shade lighter than University of Kentucky blue, a great match to the light grey pants.  Sam was just in his deep red thigh length swim trunks and flip-flops, and nothing else but a teal towel around his neck and shoulders.

    "Whatever." 

    When I first met my half brother, it was easy to tell that we were related.  Four years later, not so much. The most obvious difference were our heights.  Sam had topped out just over six foot four-and-a-half inches, although his swim coach always listed it as 6' 5" for the "intimidation factor." Seven inches towering over me.  Most of that occurred the summer before his freshmen year, with the final inch spurt hitting his junior year.  I have a shadow of a doubt that he might not be done growing.  When I was in high school, almost every one of my classmates, including myself, started to get their chest hair just after they stopped growing, but Sam hasn't even got a whisker there yet, and I'm pretty sure that that is one area where he doesn't shave for swimming.  I don't want to bring it up, or he would be bragging that he'll be hitting seven feet tall. Either that or worrying he'll be too big for the world, just like when he was fourteen and having his main growth spurt.  He was so much taller than his friends back then, and he was worried al the time about fitting in.  He's "grown" into it my now, but I still look out for him.

    I finish buttoning up my shirt and turn around to undo the top of my pants so I can tuck my shirt into them.

    "Modest much," Sam quips as I finish up.

    Unfortunately for me, not all of those thirty pounds were muscle.  Still, my shirt is hanging looser around my belly and tighter around my chest and shoulders.  Even with it being tailored to my measurements exactly, I doubt I can button the top button.  My neck is just a little wider than when I got the shirt.  I'll leave the top one undone and hide it with the tie.

    Even with Sam being a top swimmer, he doesn't really have to much muscle.  His coach and I keep telling him to bulk up, but it never helps.  While the top of his trunks hug his hips, they are very baggy at the bottom, emphasizing his skinny lower legs.  At least he has a six-pack, but it looks out of place next to his thin arms and featureless chest.

    "I thought you were supposed to be ready by now."  He makes a show to duck down in front of the mirror to check his hair.  He got it cut for graduation, against his own wishes.  The spiky do had blond touches to it.  I wasn't sure if it came from swimming in chlorinated pools or if he had it bleached.  And to think it was once a straight and brunette as mine.

    I get my tie, a lighter blue one with a white and yellow windowpane design, a duck down in front of the mirror to tie it, even though I don't need to.

    "I've got plenty of time.  The ride won't be here for at least another thirty minutes."  

    "Hey, you got rid of the scruff.  You never shave it off."  This coming from someone who has so little peach fuzz that he doesn't have to shave more than once, maybe twice, a week.

    "Interview, remember.  I need to look my best."

    I normally have a two-day scruffy beard, just a shade darker than my hair.  Some grey has started to creep in to both, more in the beard than my hair.  I look younger without the beard, even if it makes my face look rounder.  At least there's still more blond highlights than grey in my hair to balance out my looks.

    "You need to cut your hair, Chris.  Just like you made me cut mine."

    "I admit, my hair is longer than I normally have it, but I need to wait until the right time to have it cut. Big day coming up, after all.  Don't need to mess it up. Why are you here, besides complicating my getting ready?"

    "I'm going over the Mark's to swim."

    "This early?  You don't even need to start practice for college until fall."  Sam had gotten an athletic scholarship to UK.  While he might never be Olympic caliber, he certainly has it in him to be a collegiate champion.  He would have liked to have gone to dad's old school, but it didn't have a competitive men's swim team.  And other issues.

    "Besides," I continue, "it is not ever sixty yet, and I doubt it will hit much over seventy-five by the afternoon."

    "Mark's pool in indoors and heated. Even if it is smaller than ours, I need to keep training."  He leans over to try to look out the far window, but not even someone his height can see the backyard from here.

"And I wouldn't have to if our pool were fixed."

    We were planning on having a combined Memorial Day Weekend/graduation party this past weekend, but the pool had developed a crack over the winter.  We still had the party, as we had the largest yard, but the festivities were somewhat lamer because of it.

    "It will be fixed Sam.  Don't you worry."

    Probably.  It will probably be fixed.  Just not by me.