The Night Roger and I Started Talking Again.

It had been over a week. Over a week since Roger had endangered the lived of dozens of people, almost go himself killed, and scared me nearly to death with his carelessness. Of all the thoughtless, idiotic, just plain ignorant things to do!

I was still a tad angry.

I was also mad because I found myself thinking "if only he had remembered his umbrella" instead of "if only Roger wasn't a loony." You have to remember that this was early on. This was before I became Mini-Might. This was before the judo lessons. This was before Betsy. This was even before Roger got his first costume. Roger and I had discussed his 'power' in depth of course, but aside for the times he deliberately changed, I hadn't witnessed an accidental growth until that day a week before.

To say I was shaken would be putting it mildly. The last thing I had wanted to do was talk about it with Roger. I didn't want to tell him how upset I was, how disappointed, how scared. It didn't occur to me at the time that by not talking to him, I was telling him just that.

The night Roger and I started talking again, I was sitting in our favorite bar, belly up. The Moon Duck was all warmth and wood, soft yellow lighting and small enclosed booths. You could be in the middle of the room at a table and still feel isolated if you wanted to. On the other hand, I've never been in a bar that made me feel so welcome. The people were a mix of the day drinkers, the students, and the professionals. The only band that played there was all blues sung by a front man that knew he had what it takes to make it in our small city, but was too afraid to go any bigger.

Joplin was playing on the jukebox, beers were a buck a piece that night, and I was sitting on the left hand straight up of the U shaped bar spinning my cell phone on the shiny surface. I was trying to call Roger. I didn't like not talking to him. I figured a casual approach would be best. I'd call him and say, "Hiya Rog. The Gorgeous Blues are playing later tonight. Why don't you come out to the Moon later?" It even sounded forced in my head. For one thing I don't say Hiya. And I rarely call him Rog. Rog. It sounds like I'm horking up phlegm. On the other hand, no matter how forced it would come out, Roger would know that I was trying to make up, and he would show. Good guy that he is.

He hadn't tried to call me the whole week either. I think he was giving me my space. Letting me digest all that had occurred and decide on my own if I wanted to continue being associated with him. How stuffy did that sound? What it was really, he was letting me decide if I still wanted to be his friend. Either that or I said something really stupid that I don't remember during the drive home the other night, and he was avoiding me. I shuddered at the thought.

It had continued to rain throughout the week. Would Roger even come out if I called him. Would he chance it? He's had to have gone to work. Someone from the office would have called me, I'm his emergency contact. I could see him in my mind's eye: two umbrellas, triple layer ponchos, fisherman's galoshes up to his thighs, perhaps even those clear bonnets with little visors that old women wear. Doing everything he could to stay dry as he trudged to work. I smiled to myself. That was it. I picked up my phone and called Roger.

It went to voicemail. Of course it did.

"Hey Roger. It's Sam. I'm up at The Moon Duck. Thought you could join me for a beer or two. Well, talk to you later. Bye." I quickly pressed the button. There, it was done. I made contact. It was off me.

I knew the door opened behind me, I could feel the cool breeze against my back. I don't know why I looked back, it couldn't have been Roger yet, but I did anyway. It was like someone reached inside my chest and squeezed all the air from my lungs. My stomach jumped into my mouth. My insides were definitely betraying me.

How did he find me this time? The last time, it was my car in my last apartment's parking lot. The time before it was through the grapevine, he found out where I was living. Hadn't he put me through enough? Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe someone slipped something in my beer when I wasn't looking. It's just someone that looks like my ex standing in the entrance of my favorite bar.