What Makes A Human

Royce Otto, my granddad, wasn’t shy. He could walk right up a girl and tell her exactly what he thought of her, why, and in explicit detail. Hell, there was never a girl who told him no. Royce was just the type of asshole every girl couldn’t get enough of and at the time, America couldn’t neither. The Otto Men had a lifestyle that was ravished with shiny cars and hour-glassed figured women, illegal goodies at their tiled driveway every Monday morning. They were the dangerous side of America's dream; the Rebels Without Causes. In the very center of it all, Royce Otto was the man with no consequences and no wages to lose…or so it seemed.

The over head lights flickered in Morse Code above my head, dimly blinking yellow then black and repeating the circuit over again. I have watched this light for over 20 minutes and have counted exactly 23 yellow and 22 black…or was it 23 black and 22 yellow? It doesn’t matter I guess. At the end of the night, my life isn’t hanging in the balance of whether the discreet message above my head is known or not. It’s probably saying Royce, you sad sack of shit, why the fuck are you lounging around at the neatest Juice Joint in town? and I would diligently reply because Sir Jack Daniels is getting rather lonesome without my fan-fucking-tastic personality. Yes, that’s the reason. I’m not drinking to hide my own loneliness without alcohol, but to keep the alcohol from getting lonely without me.

“Otto, we got to go. You’ve already been cut off.”

I didn't know the bar stools could talk.

“Get your little drugstore cowboy outta here before I kick him out myself,” The bartender grumbled, flashing a menacing sneer at me. I wouldn’t, couldn’t blame him though. In my drunken stupor, I’m surprised I haven’t sexually harassed least 5 more of these dumb doras.

“Yes sir. Thank you for the beverages...sir.” An firm grip encased my upper arm. My whole body began to throb harmoniously. Ho ho, who do we have here?

“Halt, young squire! Who hath caress thou’s appendage?” Or at least that's what I was suppose to say.

“Royce, pipe down already. I can‘t make out a word those drunken lips are flapping .” I stared at my captor for a long moment, trying to see through the boozing haze. And although, as completely inebriated as I was, I caught on to who it was quickly.

“Mario! My liege, hath thy life treat thee well?” I tried to force a smile at my dear friend. I'm sure I looked more like a retarded seal. We walked ( more of a stumbled) out of the bar, dirt kicking up behind me. The sun had already gone down, camouflaging the world in a blanket of onyx. That was the good thing about being in the dark though; some time or another, light was bound to leak through..and there was never a way for you to miss it. My fingers prodded weakly at the determined grip on my shoulders, numb from the burn of ol' liquid courage. Mario was settled into a stony silence as he lowered me to the ground and swung open the car door. The dirt jutted lightly into my skin, giving me a prickly sensation down my spine. It was my favorite feeling in the whole world- one that I could only achieve through the sensations of naughty alcohol. Or anything else I was doing that I knew could result in death. Call it masochistic, but I loved the adrenaline of the moment. The feeling that everything has suddenly slowed down and for once in my life that I am in control. That sense of oblivion and timelessness that is so fleeting, yet so poignant when it is present-

"Don't think so hard Otto, you'll only worsen your hangover."

His words hardly reached me. They were a breath alongside a powerful wind. Timelessness...to have that feeling of leisure, that moment of peace- I craved for it. It wasn't the fact that I thought I could control Time- it was the idea that in that drunken moment, out of pity, Time stopped for me. It waited for me, patiently, while I gathered up my strength to become something I would never be:

Happy.

I gasped when the sky started closing in. So…black. So much black, so little light. Twinkle twinkle little star…how I wonder where you are…I gradually extended out my hand, fingers spread wide before me. The minuscule specks of white decorated the spaces in between my long digits, making me think that if I want to, I could steal them away and put them in my pocket.

“Hey Royce, I’m going to buckle you in now, okay?”

I blinked rapidly and gazed fondly at the friend, the man beside me. Mario waited patiently, his eyes still and I suddenly realized he was the only person who had come to get me. Every time.

“…Okay.”

My head swirled as I dragged myself into the passenger seat, my entire core the consistency of pudding. The black-haired foreigner slid quietly into the driver’s side, his chapped hands gripping plastic. A heady silence filled the air as we drove down the road, the speakeasy fading into the distance. Once or twice I caught Mario give a sideways glance to me, his mouth in a minor frown. I didn’t mind though- I already knew what he was going to say, what he was thinking.

“Royce, you know…if you ever need a place to stay…”

“I’m fine, Mario.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, grinding his teeth together. I hated it when he did that. It was always so loud-

"I just want to remind you that the offer still stands," Mario sighed.

I took note that the tips of his thumbs were bruised from hard labor, with shrunken nails and a tired look. I wonder what it felt like, to work for something and be swollen with pride when you finally achieved it.

“I know,” I grunted, gazing off into the black background. Mario let out an angry curse under his breath.

“You and me are brothers right? So you should trust me when I say I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself. Just because-”

“Just because I’m the son of a Mafia leader does not mean I have to use all the benefits,” I turned to look at him, but Mario refused to meet my eyes, “I remember.”

“I just want to make sure,” he muttered as the car slowed to a stop. The iron gates were dull against the light of the car and I slipped out of the car much more gracefully than I thought. Although I hated that Mario never left me alone about my excessive partying, I appreciated the fact that he still cared enough to be on the level. But until he led my life, a life of deceit, death, and paranoia- he’d never understand.

I jammed the key into the iron lock and waved as Mario peeled out, smirking. In a life like mine, all I could ever rely on was the mafia. Only the Mafia…no matter how much I wished otherwise.

I laughed bitterly at the thought before saying, “Alas my dead soldier, I bid you farewell. You will always be in my heart…and damaging my liver” and entered the estate.