Bad Games - By Jeff Menapace Page 0,2
one-pack, but the bulk on his wide frame was still there, and modestly maintained by the occasional weight session in their furnished basement back home.
“No, no, I played in high school,” he said. “I could have never made the roster at Penn State.”
“I see,” Arty replied. “Well at least you’re honest. No Al Bundy delusions of grandeur for you, yeah? Wondering what could have been if you weren’t Married with Children?”
Patrick got the joke (a fan of the show, he actually found it amusing) and fed the man’s wit. “Oh no—my wife makes an excellent Peg Bundy. Keeps me nice and humble.”
Arty laughed loud then asked, “So…what’s your damage?”
Patrick hesitated.
“Gas,” Arty said, pointing at Patrick’s pump. “What’s your damage?”
“Oh...” He read the meter. “A hell of a lot. In a million years I never thought I’d own one of these things. But it’s pretty convenient when you’ve got kids, and—”
“Well I’ll tell you what, Patrick,” Arty interrupted, “any alumnus of Penn State is a friend of mine. This round’s on me.” He pulled a wad of bills from his front pocket and began heading towards the cashier in the glass booth.
“No,” Patrick said, “I can’t let you do that. Arty, please.”
But the man was already en route. He simply waved a hand behind him as though shooing away a dog.
Arty returned a few minutes later, shaking his head and pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “That guy was a winner,” he said. “Could smell him through the glass.”
Patrick dug for the right words. “Hey, man, that was really generous of you. I don’t know what to…thank you very much.”
Arty smiled. “Please, don’t give it a second thought. I like to think that if we show kindness to others often enough it’ll become contagious.” He folded his arms. “Some people say environment makes us who we are. So, I guess it’s up to us to change that environment, make our world a friendlier place to live in.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow; he couldn’t help it.
Arty broke out laughing. “I sound like a goddamn politician, don’t I?”
Patrick shook his head. “No, no, it just took me off guard, that’s all. I uh…I was just…yeah, you did kinda sound like a politician.”
Arty laughed again.
Patrick smiled. “But it’s nice to have someone be generous just for the sake of it.”
“Well it was my pleasure.” Arty reached out and patted Patrick twice on his upper arm, squeezing its girth hard on the final pat. It was an odd gesture that almost had Patrick yanking his arm free. The move seemed primitive—like he was being sized up.
As if reading Patrick’s mind, Arty placed both hands behind his back and started rocking on his heels. His aura had hardly dipped though; it was brighter even. He just grinned and said, “Have fun at Crater Lake.”
“Crescent Lake,” Patrick said, rubbing his arm, claiming it back.
“Right, Crescent Lake,” Arty said. “Hope it’s relaxing for ya.”
“Same to you.”
Patrick watched the man get into his Pontiac, then lean over his driver’s seat to check his kids. When Arty faced front again he spotted Patrick watching him through his windshield. He waved before backing up.
Patrick waved back, nodded and smiled a goodbye.
Amy spoke the second Patrick was back in the Highlander. “Who was that?”
“Some guy named Arty. He went to Penn State.”
“You knew him?”
“No. But he saw our license plate and we just started talking. He was an okay guy. A little odd. Believe it or not he bought our gas.”
“What?”
“I know, can you believe it?”
“Why did you let him do that?”
Patrick started the engine. “He didn’t really give me a chance to argue. He was halfway towards the attendant before I could object.”
“That’s bizarre. I wonder what he wanted.”
“That was my first impression too. I thought he was a salesmen or something— buttering us up before giving us his big pitch.” He put on his seatbelt. “But the guy had his kids in the car with him, and they were heading west to meet his wife and family so…”
“Weird.”
“Yeah,” he paused, trying to figure it all out himself. “I guess he’s just one of those guys who’s desperate to be liked. You know, started buying people’s affection as a last resort?”
“He was weird.”
Patrick shrugged. “Okay fine, he was weird. But at the end of the day he did save us some money.”
Free gas, even for a guzzler like theirs, did not seem to deter Amy’s pessimism. “That’s strange, Patrick. People don’t just do that.”
He sighed, exasperated. “I know Amy, but it’s already