Call
The pair of them were bathed in the blue light of their phones as the bar tvs blared the game. All around them people were going about their drinking moving on or forgetting their lives. That didn’t really register with them. For Chuck and Dale, this was quality time.
“He’s going to make the next shot,” Dale said.
“No he won’t,” Chuck answered.
They both entered their corresponding bets, five dollars each. Neither looked up from their phones, they would get their answers soon enough.
Chuck winced.
“Told ya,” Dale said.
“So what, he give up a basket after getting one. Every time.”
They entered their bets and waited. On the bar top, two beers slowly approached room temperature, forgotten in the blue light of the phones.
As one, their phones dinged.
“See.”
“Guess he should work on that,” Dale said.
“Man, he’s going to get cut in the off season.”
They both checked their phones, but that wasn’t something they could bet on.
“I’ll take that action,” Dale said.
“Standard fair?”
“Yup.”
“You’ll remember?”
“Of course. When have I ever forgotten?”
Chuck smiled. “When you lose.”
“Uncalled for. You always get this way. Defensive and shit. You’d rather sit in a relationship you hate cause it’s easy.” There was a beat. “Sorry.”
“Is it true?”
“I mean, yeah, kinda.”
“I’ll break up with her right now and start again.”
“No you won’t.”
“Bet?”
“Yeah.”
Chuck closed the app and called Miranda. “Hey. This isn’t working out. We’re done… Because I’m not happy and I don’t see a way to be happy. We’re done, it’s done.”
He ended the call and reopened the app. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. He’s going to make the next shot.”
“No he won’t.”
Michael Frutig 