"Yes. Very nice." Barrett was impressed. It could just as easily have been done by a builder. "Very nice indeed."           Darrell motioned to his long time deputy, Sam Ingles, who was putting a cue stick back on the rack. "Hey, Sam. Gimme a hand in the kitchen for a second."
          Sam, also in uniform, was quite a contrast to the sheriff. Although they both stood five feet nine, Darrell was stocky with a ruddy complexion and thick black hair. Sam was slim and pale and his sandy hair was very thin.
          "Hello, Sam." said Barrett passively. Sam only nodded.
          "Ready for the big game?" Barrett continued to make small talk.
          "Yep." Sam looked past Barrett when he spoke.
          "Hey, Ingles. Don't you ever look at someone when you talk to them?" Barrett knew he did it with everyone. But nonetheless, he still took offense at it.

14

          "Why should I?"
          "Because it's polite.           That's why!"
          "Who says so?" Sam smirked.
          "Who --- "
          "Who says so?" Ingles put his thumbs in his belt and stuck out his chin.
          "I do!" Jesus Christ!
          "Is this like a --- big deal to you, Jessop?" Sam Ingles continued to look away.
          Barrett took a step toward Sam. "I just think it's damn rude not to look at someone when you're talking to them!"
          "Is that a fact?"
"YES! That's a fact!" Barrett suddenly wondered why he was having this meaningless debate.
          "Well --- maybe that rule don't apply to me!" Sam took a step toward Jessop. They were two feet apart.
          "What kind of a dumbass answer is that, for Christ's sake?"
          "Don't you fucking pop off to me, Jessop! See this badge?"
          "I am really scared, Ingles. So arrest me!" Both men were talking louder now. But so far no one had heard them --- except Darrell Saltz.
          "Hey!" interrupted the sheriff lightheartedly. "Is this a private argument, or what?" After a brief pause, he added, "Come on Sam. I need you in the kitchen." As Sam was heading for the kitchen, Darrell turned to Barrett and said quietly, "Look. I know that as a person he is an absolute zero.
          But the man does his job." The sheriff then shrugged and followed his deputy.

15

          "Hello, Doc." Halberd Bruiser was shooting pool with his younger brother under a large green chandelier near the bar. Halberd and Harman Bruiser owned and operated the hardware store they started twenty-five years ago. It was located in downtown Patton between the bank and the post office. Except for the fact that Halberd was slightly bald and Harman had dark curly hair, it was difficult to tell them apart. Harman, concentrating on his next shot, never looked up as he loudly shushed his older brother. He obviously took the game of pool much more seriously than Halberd did.
          Barrett then noticed two young men seated at a card table at the far end of the room sipping Seven-up and carrying on a quiet and private conversation. They both had long ugly necks. One had large brown freckles all over it reminding Barrett of a giraffe. The other's neck was wrinkled and had an unusually large Adam's apple reminding Barrett of an ostrich. Barrett had no idea who they were and was not interested enough to find out.
          Dale Stemen, a long time acquaintance of Barrett's, was standing in front of an inexpensively paneled wall covered with posters, pictures, and newspaper clippings of what could have been every man that ever wore a Cleveland Browns uniform. Dale was retiring from General Motors after forty years and moving with his wife to Florida.
          "Holy shit! Look at this!" said Dale. "And I thought I was a Browns fan."
          "Very interesting." answered Barrett.
          As they were admiring the huge display, Joe Calvin walked up to them closely followed by Darrell. Joe had been the local attorney for thirty-one years.
          "Can I get you fellas something to drink?" asked Darrell.

16

          "Beer is fine." said Dale. Joe and Barrett both nodded affirmatively, and the three men chatted until their host brought over the beers. Then the attorney walked over to the TV while Dale quietly took Barrett aside. "Tell me," said Dale, "are things between you and Janet any better?" Dale and Lysle Richardson were the only two people Barrett discussed his personal problems with.
          "No. And getting worse each day."
          "Hell, why don't you just --- leave? You got no kids." Both men took a sip of beer.
          "I --- I can't, Dale."
          "Why not?"
          "You probably won't believe me."
          "Try me."
          Barrett paused a moment, studying his glass. "Because I still love her."
          This time Dale paused, only able to say a subdued "Oh."
          "I know she treats me like shit, but --- " Barrett shrugged.
          "I see." Dale nodded slowly.
          "Some joke, huh?"
          "Yeah, Barrett. Some joke."
          "Now don't get me wrong." Barrett ran his finger along the top of the glass. "There are times I hate her so damn much, I would seriously like to --- to fucking kill her!"
          Dale started to drink his beer, but stopped suddenly to stare at his friend.
          "You can't relate to any of this, Dale."


17

          Dale Stemen pondered the statement as he looked into his beer. "You're right, Barrett. I can't relate to it. Jean and I have a great marriage." He put his face closer to Barrett's. "But if we didn't, I'm telling you that I would leave. And I got three kids." Dale took a quick sip of beer. "You and Janet should sit down and discuss it. Maybe get some help."
          "She isn't interested." Barrett stated flatly. "She says she's satisfied. For her the marriage works."
          "So my next question is --- " Dale took another quick sip. " --- why do you still love her?"
          Barrett thought for a moment before he responded. "I don't know. I guess I can only see our marriage as it once was --- when things were --- decent."
          "So you're just holding on to the past."
          "By a thread." Barrett took a swallow of his beer, then added, "And beneath all the crap, I think she loves me too."
          Dale's eyebrows shot up. "Really!"
There was a long silence as both men again looked into their glasses. Then Dale looked up and said unexpectedly, "It sounds to me like you have a low opinion of yourself."
          Barrett considered his friends theory. Then he too looked up, meeting Dale's gaze. "That's a good observation. It could very well be true."
          "It makes sense. You love someone that treats you like shit. Then you say that this someone, deep down and in spite of everything, loves you too. It's like --- well it's like you want to be treated like shit. You act like you deserve it."

18

          He hit Barrett playfully on the arm. "That's a sign of low self-esteem, ole buddy."
          This time Barrett didn't respond. Both men paused briefly to look around the room. The Brewsters were still shooting pool. The ostrich and the giraffe were still locked in a quiet private conversation. Joe Calvin was still fiddling with the TV. Darrell and Sam were apparently still in the kitchen.
          "You know," Barrett went on, "Janet had that miscarriage a few years ago."
"I remember. You told me the doctor said she couldn't have kids anymore."
          "I know that had a serious effect on our marriage."
          "I'm sure it did."
"I'll tell you. Sometimes I feel sorry for her."
          Dale stared at Barrett silently for a second. "Why for Christ's sake?"
          "Well --- she's had to deal with it all these years, and --- "           "So have you."
          "But at least I talk about it."
          "And Janet keeps it all bottled inside, right?"
          "She avoids the subject completely."
          "And you still feel sorry for her? I sure as hell wouldn't."
          "I'm sorry, Dale, I do. I can't help it."
          "You love her. You hate her. You feel sorry for her." Dale smiled widely. "Barrett. You're a fucking mess!"
          Barrett didn't return the smile. There was a long silence as both men drained their beers.


19

          "What you need is a strange piece of ass!" Dale forced another smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
          "No way." Barrett answered quickly. And besides, Janet would be a strange piece of ass!
          "You put too many Goddamn restrictions on your life, Barrett."
          "What about the money, Dale?" asked Barrett agitatedly. "What about the damn money?"
          Dale shrugged. "What about the money?'
          "If we split, what happens to it?"
          "Hey! I never said anything about splitting!"
          "Do we divide it fifty-fifty --- sixty-forty --- what?"
          "Look, Barrett. I never mentioned splitting."
          "I said --- if!"
"Well --- that could be a valid point. But if you can't deal with the marriage, then fuck the money!"
          "I worked too hard for it --- well, most of it. I can't just piss it away."
          "Barrett, what good is your money? You don't spend any of it. You don't go anywhere. You don't --- "
          "That is retirement money. Right now I want to save as much as I can. Then when I retire I can live like a king. On Maui --- or Aruba."
          "How long have you been saying all this, Barrett?"
          Barrett thought for a moment. "Well --- "


20

          "I thought so. Spend it now --- not later! I hear too many horror stories about people who save a fortune and then some unforeseen catastrophe strikes and they never get to spend that first cent.
          "I guarantee you that will never happen to me." As Barrett spoke, a strange and eerie feeling suddenly came over him and began to creep up and down his back. He became cold and frightened. His whole insides began to shake. The sensation lasted no more than ten seconds.
          "Barrett --- " Dale gently put his hand on his friend's arm. " --- are you okay?"
          "Yes. I --- I'm fine." Barrett's answer was unconvincing.
          Dale saw the radical change on Barrett's face. It looked like fear --- almost panic. But that was absurd! More than likely it was fatigue. Dale decided to just let it pass. "Come on, Barrett. It's almost game time. Let's join the others."
          Barrett took Dale aside and whispered, "If we split, how will she manage? I don't need that on my conscience."
          "Barrett, forget it. I am sorry I ever brought it up." He patted his friend on the back. "Now let's go in there and watch the Browns kick some Steeler ass!"
          Dale and Barrett left the apperceptive world of philosophy and entered one more mundane --- taking the form of the NBC game of the week.
          As soon as the game started, it was obvious to Barrett Jessop that he was the only mere spectator in the room. Everyone else was a fanatic Browns fan, glued to the set and hanging on every play!
          With the game scoreless half way through the first quarter, Bernie Kosar threw a fifty-six yard touchdown pass to Webster Slaughter. Darrell and Sam stood up, jumping and screaming.

21

          The Brewsters were waving their arms wildly. The ostrich and the giraffe were yelling at the top of their lungs. Even Dale and Joe were clapping loudly.
          "Great pass!" "Kosar is the best!" "Kosar is fantastic!"
          Barrett did his best to try and get involved. But the spirit seemed to elude him. And with all of the excitement, no one noticed. If he would have been near the door he would have left. And Barrett would be certain that he would not be missed.
          The seconds ticked away with everyone still hanging on each play, assuming the role of 'armchair quarterback'. Everyone except Barrett! Then early in the second quarter, Kosar fumbled and Pittsburgh's Clark picked up the loose ball and ran it back sixty-five yards for a Steelers score. The once electric and jubilant atmosphere suddenly became somber and hostile. The mood change that Barrett saw was incredible. All of the great accolades heaped upon Kosar became words of contempt. er. He obviously took the game of pool much more seriously than Halberd did.
          "Kosar, you stupid sack of shit!" "Kosar, you suck!" "The Browns suck!"
          Barrett did not have to watch the football game. The facial expressions of the men around him told him exactly what was happening.
          But in spite of what Barrett saw as outrageous antics and pure lunacy, he nonetheless began to feel very envious of these men. Even Sam with his evasive eyes and the giraffe and ostrich with their long ugly necks. They were all able to get themselves totally absorbed by something as simple as a football game, and then use it as a vehicle to drive them away from their daily cares. their personal problems became unimportant and almost nonexistent. It was a marvelous and electrifying transition, even though it lasted only two or three hours. ously than Halberd did.

22

Barrett's escape was nature, or music, or daydreaming. But that was only a slight peaceful distraction. This was total escape --- both physical and emotional.
          It was an intense and penetrating stimulation --- almost orgasmic.
          In a way, Barrett wished he were a football fanatic. When your team lost, you became angry and despondent, hovering on the brink of violence and insanity. When your team won, you became euphoric, floating on a cloud of ecstasy or riding a wave of an emotional high. Barrett had no such release. Barrett Jessop, in fact, had no team to root for. And now he realized how important that could be.
          Barrett decided that if he tried real hard, he could maybe get involved. And then he, too, could escape into the materialistic world of football. He pulled up his chair and got closer to the 'action' with every intent of becoming an instant Cleveland Browns fan. And even if he was unsuccessful, perhaps he could simply 'fake it' and hope that something magical might happen. Barrett knew it was a long shot, but if the spirit did consume him, then the end would justify the means.
          Barrett's attempt at becoming 'involved' was short lived, as he made a major faux pas by asking what the score was. He realized at once what an inappropriate and untimely question that was. Because a true Cleveland Browns fan --- even an immediate one --- would always know what the score was!
          The Brewsters, the ostrich and the giraffe all spun their heads at Barrett. He could almost see the words, 'You are stupid' painted on their faces.

23

          Dale Stemen and Joe Calvin glanced only briefly at the frustrated optometrist. Sam Ingles and Darrel Saltz remained focused on the TV.
          Barrett only wanted a shovel so he could dig a hole and escape.
          "Hey, Jessop. Ain't you paying attention?" Sam Ingles smirked.
          "Come on, Doc. Get with it for Christ's sake!" Halberd Brewster's comment was needlessly sarcastic.
          Barrett Jessop could feel his anger mount and his body temperature soar --- hotter and hotter! He knew his face was beet red.
          "Jesus! How can you sit there and not know what the hell is going on?" asked Harman.
          "Screw you, Bruiser!" Barrett had had enough.
          "Shhh --- " Sam Ingles had his finger to his lips. His eyes never left the TV.
          "Watch the game, Doc. Watch the damn game!" yelled Halberd.
          "Maybe I don't feel like watching the --- damn game!"
          "Then what in the hell are you doing here?" asked Harman.
          "I was invited here, you shithead!" roared Barrett.
          Harman Bruiser stood up and pointed his finger at Barrett. "You listen, Goddamn it --- "
          "Everyone shut up!" Darrell's voice was louder than anyone's. Then he turned to Barrett. "The score will flash on the screen in a second." He said it softly and condescendingly, as if speaking to a small child.
          Fuck you too, Darrell!

24

          The ostrich and the giraffe looked at each other and laughed as they both nodded in Barrett's direction.
          Assholes!
          Only Dale Stemen and Joe Calvin gave Barrett sympathetic smiles.
          Then the score flashed on the screen: Pittsburgh 21 Cleveland 7. Barrett now understood the solemnity, the hostility, and the total lack of enthusiasm.
          Barrett also saw the time flash on the screen: 8:47. He did not know what quarter it referred to and there was no way he was going to ask.
          He finally had to succumb to his deepest, innermost feelings and accept the fact that he was only a spectator. No more, no less! Barrett knew he was not a fan and would never be one --- no matter how hard he tried. And he was willing to accept his fate. But if those around him could not, then fuck 'em! Who needs 'em! Barrett, after all, saw himself as an intelligent and well-bred professional. If he wanted to watch a game purely as a spectator and not take sides, then he would do just that! , even though it lasted only two or three hours. ously than Halberd did.
          He now realized he should never have come to Darrell's in the first place. He simply did not belong here. But he continued to sit where he was, amongst the fanatics, watching the TV but thinking about the clock. He made up his mind to stay to the bitter end, vowing never to put himself in this senseless predicament ever again.
          The game finally ended. Thank God! Final score: Pittsburgh 21 Cleveland 7. At the final gun, Barrett felt he could have heard a dust particle land.

25

          The men filed out one by one --- slowly and quietly, each one sorrowfully shaking the hand of their host.
          There were no goodbyes.