Bobby’s clothes smelled like greasy food. He went out for a burger yesterday and the sour smoke from the grill still lingered. The burger wasn’t great, but good enough. And the beers helped. Bobby wasn’t used to eating alone so squeezed into a corner seat out of the other patrons’ view. His buddy Tim had been pretty sick the past year but was still able to come out once a week for lunch. But he had to quit drinking beer. Doctor’s orders. Then all of a sudden he was on hospice. Bobby brought him his favorite sandwich in a flimsy Styrofoam to-go box, but Tim was off solid food by then, and who wants a cold ham-and-cheese anyway? Then he was gone. Bobby spoke at the funeral. Told some funny stories that didn’t go over very well. The crowd knew him as Dad or Grandpa, not as a drinking buddy. Not as the guy who ran out of gas and tried pouring gin into the carburetor to get a few more miles down the road. Not as the guy who was invited to Tammy Williams’ house to join her for a naked soak in the hot tub, and when he strode onto the patio in his birthday suit, found her father leaning into a water jet to relieve his sciatica. Not as the guy who almost bailed on his own wedding when he saw his bride in her gown and suddenly thought he could do better. Bobby had the good sense not to tell that last story. But he sure didn’t know the guy they were all talking about. Made him sound like a saint. Which wasn’t even close. Nothing against Tim, but c’mon.
Bobby took another sniff of his coat and decided to put it in the wash. How could food on your clothes the day after smell so bad when the food in the restaurant was so good? Or at least good enough. He put the coat in the washer and rooted around the dirty laundry for items of a similar color. He only came up with two other things, but it was enough. He watched the clothes go around for a long time. Probably longer than he should. Was it a good thing to be the sole survivor? All those jokes and fights and broken hearts and kids and divorces would turn to dust when he died. Even less than that. They were just ghosts drifting around in his head. Vapors. Electrons bouncing around in his grey matter. Without any other witnesses, how could he even be sure he remembered it right? Could have been a dream for all he knew.
***
Bobby’s ex-wives were all dead. Even the last one and she was twenty years younger than him. Didn’t see that one coming. He was glad they’d split up before she got sick. He wasn’t the nursemaid type. He married her in part because he figured she could take care of him in his old age. Or at least make sure that if he died, he wouldn’t be discovered a month later because he missed his rent. She barely knew what he was talking about most of the time. Didn’t know the movies or the music, and she didn’t like sports. She was pretty good company though, someone you could take on a walk or out to dinner. And watch TV with in the evening. She was his backstop in case he found himself in this very situation: last man standing. Now he’s alone with one anonymous day after the next.
***
At the reception after the funeral Bobby spoke with Tim’s family and felt like he was from another planet. But some of them had heard of him, so that was something. And a few of their names, mostly from when they’d screwed up somehow. He knew that Tim’s son Frankie had borrowed money to start a coffee shop and in less than a year-and-a-half was bankrupt. He knew his grandson Steven had dented Tim’s car as Tim was trying to teach him how to parallel park. He didn’t know that Tim had three daughters. They must’ve not done anything wrong. Everyone was nice to him but the conversations quickly died. He wound up alone at a table eating a little sandwich of rolled up meats and cheeses. He ate slowly, hoping someone would talk with him, which they didn’t. He left during the video of Tim’s life. He couldn’t take it. Music that Tim would have hated played under snapshots that told the story of a man Bobby didn’t know. And he’d been there since they were both fourteen. Nobody knew Tim better. Hell, any of the guys in the group knew Tim better than even his wife, and they got married a couple of years out of high school. She got pregnant, and they got married. That’s how things were done. Nothing to embarrassed about. They made it work, and plenty of other people wound up getting together the same way.
***
In the restaurant, Bobby tried to flirt with the waitress. She was young, practically a baby, but a woman just the same. Trim little waist, taut arms, and not a wrinkle on her. She glided from table to table like magic. So easy. So weightless. How could he let her know he was still himself despite the wrinkled, weedy husk he lived in? He didn’t want her; he just wanted her to notice him as something other than a cute little old man. Patronizing pricks. Barely out of diapers and they think the sun rises and sets at their command. Which it sort of does. Nobody gave a damn about Bobby, but every eye in the restaurant was on that waitress.
***
After leaving the reception, as he put the key in the ignition, Bobby realized he hadn’t told any of Tim’s kids he was sorry for their loss. That would eat at him. He lit up a smoke and waited for the party to break up, planning to catch a few of them as they left. Nice to be able to smoke in the car again. None of his wives liked it so to keep the peace he mostly quit. What else was he going to do while he was waiting? Stare out the window like an idiot? Besides, he did some of his best thinking as he smoked in the car. Time to himself and able to narrow his mind on a topic and really get down to it. What’s the crime in that? He finished the first cigarette, flicking it out the window. He looked again to see if anyone had trickled out. Nope. He pushed the cigarette lighter, happy to hear the clicking as it heated up. Pretty clever invention, and handy. It popped out, and he lit another. He picked a few stray tobacco bits off his tongue, inspecting them. Halfway through his third cigarette, he wondered what had happened. What was taking them so long? He got out of the car and headed back to the reception, tossing his butt against the curb he let out the last of his smoke and stepped inside. Not a sound. He walked down the hall to the reception room and found it empty. Shit. They’re gone. Just a couple of funeral flunkies cleaning up the aftermath. He thought about asking the funeral director for a name and phone number of one of Tim’s kids but decided against it. What’s the difference anyway? He’s gone, so that’s that.
***
Back in his car Bobby lit up another cigarette and reflected on the funeral and the restaurant. He decided to head over to the Senior Center. Lots of widows hungry for someone to take care of, which was fine by him. It wouldn’t be great, but it would be good enough.