The Ongoing Diary of Casey Neal

He Looked Good

(April 2020)

He was standing in the dark by DK’s door when we got home.

DK hesitated a moment, as if he was worried we might have a burglar or a hoodlum or some other doer of foul deeds upon the head of a slightly drunken metal worker. But I kept going.

“Who is it?” he said as he followed me.

It was Don-o, of course.  He seemed bigger up close than I remembered him, which I suppose he was.  Last time I really saw him he still had his 23-year-old’s waistline, and I figure we’ve both been expanding a bit since.  But he was wearing a big orange Hawaiian shirt that bulged at the fronts and sides and made him look a little like a pumpkin.  He looked good though, still.  Bigger, and broader, and with maybe a bit of premature gray in the wild strands of his long hair. But good.

“Hello, Casey,” he said.

“Don-o.”

I didn’t know what else to say.

“What’s shakin’?”

I shrugged.  “You know. The usual.”

“Yeah, I know.”

DK stood there.

“This Don-o? Famous Don-o?”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, it is.  DK, meet Don-o, Don-o, DK.”

The two shook hands, and we stood there in the dark for a little longer than was comfortable.

“I know it’s late and all,” Don-o said.  “But you wanna go get a beer?”

#

One thing you can pretty much guarantee is that if you are in Japan, there will be a bar open with 100 meters of you.  The culture of drinking here is ubiquitous.  Tonight it is past 1 AM, and there is an office party still going on in this bar, with men and women drinking and laughing. The expectation is that the manager will lead the drinking, and that all others will keep up. To not follow is to show weakness, and weakness gets one shelved in a corporate ladder than cannot be climbed.

They will, of course, still race to see which person will be the first one into the office to put in another 14 hour day.

And some say I’m the crazy one.

#

DK passed.

I think he would have come, but he felt the thing going on.  He knew that Don-o’s open invitation included him, but that it was best we did this one alone.

“How long have you been in Japan?” I ask him as we settle in.

“Awhile,” he says with a smile.

We order a Japanese beer, and Don-o begins to peel the label.

I smile.

Some things never change.

“Did you come straight here?”

“I couldn’t stay, Casey.  I’m sorry.  I can’t do that parade thing they were doing with us.  It ain’t me.”

“I get it, man.”

I remember back after Don-o and I, and his brother Ken had worked to take down Percy Nor and his attempt to shanghai the PEBA (and yes, I used that word in my brain, and I did it on purpose. I remember an article written back then that read that way, and I remember then how harsh that word felt. I used it today for its irony.  I used it to remind myself to stop looking at things the way I seem ’em and start looking at them like everyone else does).  Everything blew up then. No surprise I got blown away by everything.  Book tours, and talk shows and all the attention.

“Fact,” I said, “it probably woulda been better if I joined ya.”

He smiled, and his beard grew darker over places where his cheeks wrinkled up.

“Mezzy and I did a thing together for awhile,” I said.  “Then she got tired of my big-headed ass and threw me out.”

“Smartest thing she ever did, probably,” Don-o said.

“Yeah.”

Sometimes the truth hurts, but right now I suppose Don-o still knew me well enough to know I was at the point with Mezzy where the truth was just the truth and it was time to move on.

“Whatever happened to Annie?” I asked, drinking beer. “She was a good car.”

Don-o drained his bottle and waved for another.  The barman brought over two, so I put a charge into mine and let him take the dead soldier.

“Ah still got her,” he said, sipping.  “She’s tucked away somewhere safe.”

We talked for another round, this shooting the stuff, you know? I told him about my books, and he said he read ’em all.  I told him about Mezzy and how she wanted to run a ballclub someday, and I told him about the mistake I made with another girl during a book tour.

“That was dumb as dirt, man,” Don-o said.

“Yeah. I know.”

It felt good, though.

Simple.

Like the old days, but better.  No one but Don-o woulda had the guts to tell me I was dumb as dirt about Mezzy, and no one coulda put it in such a tone as I would take it.  I’ve moved on, but accepting it doesn’t mean I want it thrown up in my face.

Don-o had been in Japan all along, I guess, though he’s a bit vague on where he had been staying.

“They play ball here everywhere,” he said toward the end of the day.  “School ball, independent ball, semi-pro.  You can find a game about any day of the week and about any time of the year if you’re looking hard enough.”

“Sounds like your kinda place.”

“Yeah,” Don-o says, smiling.

I’m getting to the end of my third, and I know I’ve got to call it a night.

“I think Ichihara would like to talk to you,” I said.

“Figured as much when I read the article.”

“Do you mind?”

He swiggs.  “No. I don’t mind.”

We agree to meet up at 10:00 at a breakfast place down three blocks from DK’s place.

#

As we leave, the office party is still going on.

Music is blaring, and three of the crew are up doing some kind of pantomime, or maybe it’s supposed to be the Robot.  I don’t know.

One man is in the corner, a beer glass half full.

He is typing on a datapad.

Working.

#

“I’ve got one question more,” I say just as we’re about to part.

“Shoot,” Don-o replies.

“What’s with the Hawaiian shirts?”

His grin splits as wide as only a Don-o grin can split, and he raises his arms up in a bit of a Jesus Christ-like pose.

“You saying I ain’t pulling it off?”

I shake my head.

“No, Don-o. Ain’t no one said you can’t pull off whatever you wanna pull off.”

Then we’re done, and I make it back to DKs for a night of sleep that will not be enough, but will be three times more than the office party we leave behind.