Square G

The best anyone ever said about him was that he never reneged on anybody. A stand up guy, everyone’s best friend, you can always count on him, a straight shooter, square G. Look into those eyes- how could you not trust a guy like that?

He was back from school, back in town, no real motivation or direction, just cruising along. He wanted to get up to Austin somehow, but he needed money. Nashville had taken it out of him, but he had held on until there was nothing left but a pile of credit card bills. Then he walked out his front door one morning to find the windshield of his car smashed. No intent, the stereo was still inside, just some jerk wanted to make his morning extra miserable.
His girl left him. They hadn’t been together long, but damn, had he fallen for her. Was it that she was a waitress in one of those white uniforms like waitresses in the 50’s used to wear? Long blonde hair, that perky Tennessee accent and a smile that’d launch a thousand ships? Beverly, and she liked him, too, but she needed someone a bit more, a touch more experienced, as so often happens. And there he was.
He quit his job at the comic book and used LP store down on 2nd Avenue. His boss Lloyd wasn’t too happy about that, but what are you going to do. Part of him relished the act of leaving a really good friend, never to see again. Oh, sure, here’s my forwarding address, you have my number, give me a call next time you’re in town, you hear? But you know that that was it. Those who could just drop the act were free to enjoy the parting; shake hands, look him square in the eye, say some really fine, last words. An electricity in the connection, as if the camera had pulled in, the steam was rising off the river, the lights had turned low. Study the face. This is what life is all about. That’s what makes the sun come up and the stars shine.
He went back to Texas. Driving fast through Memphis late at night, an iron wheelbarrow fell off a truck onto the freeway in front of him, sparks flying. He barely swerved to miss it, causing the car tailing him to slam straight into it, its grill a sudden mess of chipped paint and crinkled fiberglass, lighting up the darkness behind him.
He missed his turnoff and went over the river.