Miss You, Zackobingo

My first short story.

—

“Hey, ever seen an actual Round Robin? I haven’t.”

Zach bumps me in the elbow as he rounds the bar-size pool table at Famous Sam’s. Eight-ball only, quarters. Smoky yet palatable. Cold drinks and decent burgers. Also: walkable—an amble over from the apartment in Vans and shorts and ball caps. The regulars look up and smile but don’t comment as we move to an empty table.

At least the cold beer glasses take the edge off the June heat. Zach drinks cider out of a beer glass. Proudly. Like he squeezed the apples himself.

“Why’d you say that? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

My jokes are about as bad as this bar. Haha.

I wince and squint, hitting the next ball in. Chunk.

“Smooth.”

“Smood. ‘Smood as glass.’“

The dull clink of the cue strike always makes me cringe. These billiards cues in Sam’s were not born yesterday. Who even checks these. Don’t even bother rolling ’em on the table ahead of time. The table’s warped, too. Which one is the straight one? Save some quarters for laundry, you lame-o.

“3 in the side.”

Pointing. Zach nods back, defiant. The three-ball lands with a solid clunk.

“You are so lame! Lame-o. How’d you do that.”

You have to call it. Except for bar rules. Which this isn’t. Zach is winning this game.

“Haha!”

But sounding more like a threat. Ending on a down note.

Zach’s laugh can light up the room. Which is an improvement on this place with its downtrodden 3pm-on-a-Wednesday vibe. But he’d gotten off work early, I was available, and who would even come in here during the day? Must be a college thing. Less smoky now than later.

Two guys enjoying some banter and healthy competition. Zach found out I was putting in extra pool practice down at the University Rec Center. Between classes, though he’s out of school now and on the job, and we can’t play as much.

“Take off, eh? You hoser.”

Zach breaks the next eight-ball set. We could play unlimited (hourly) nine-ball if we’d go down and play at the Rec Center. Straight cues, beautiful tables. Nine-ball. That’d leave more quarters for the pinball machines. I can beat Zach at billiards, but not at pinball.

“Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!”

Like the time the nine-ball went straight into a corner pocket on a first break. Tottered in, but made it. Practiced that move on the Windows laptop billiards game called “Real Pool 3D” for a leg up. (Also on Windows, “3D Pinball Space Cadet.”) Need to beat Zach, at anything. Damn good guitar player who sounds like Wilco. Or, Bruce Cockburn’s “Blueberry Hill” with that lingering twang.

The computer pool game gives you these angled “cheat” lines on the screen. You move the lines around on the virtual table, rotating, until you find the exact spot. What does it take to sink a nine-ball from the break? Just end the game right there? No massé at all. It’s where you hit it at the front. Even with a bent cue, it’s something in your eye. And commitment.

Zach has to be up at 3 o’clock again tomorrow, so we head back.

“Laters.”