Dylan Stafford

CHAPTER ONE

“You know why doesn’t Texas slide off the map, right into the Gulf of Mexico?” Jeff asked across the booth to his best friend Brady.

“Because Oklahoma sucks! That’s why!”

“Man that’s an old joke,” Brady said.

“Old, but appropriate. Look at ‘em over there. I mean really, those family trees ain’t got no forks in ‘em. Just brothers and sisters makin’ babies as far back as the eye can see,” Jeff continued, looking at the Oklahomans who’d crossed the border for a Saturday night in Texas.

Jeff was compact and muscled, with dark hair and an angular face. Brady was tall and lanky, well over six feet with sandy blond hair, broad shoulders and a gentle face.

“Why you’ve never gotten beat-to-hell still amazes me,” Brady said.

“The truth will set you free, my brother, right after it pisses you off,” said Jeff. “I piss people off… but they’re better for it. It’s a karma thing.”

“You’re a goof. You wouldn’t know karma if it sat on your head,” Brady smiled. “Thanks for coming up here.”

“My pleasure man. Gotta come back to our roots. Get back with our people.”

“To our people,” Brady laughed as they toasted with their long-neck beers, the clink lost in the din of Saturday night in Speedy Jax. Denison’s biggest juke-joint, Speedy Jax lacked polish, sophistication and basic hygiene, but it was the place to be if you didn’t have anywhere better to go. Brady and Jeff hadn’t been here in a while.

“Oh hell yeah! That’s right. Ok-la-ho-ma Su-ucks,” Jeff howled, raising his head to the dirty ceiling. After high school, Jeff had gone to the University of Texas, while Brady went to Texas A&M. Those schools were bitter in-state rivals, but in north Texas, everyone agreed on hating Oklahoma.

“Hey fuck you!” A man was passing by Jeff and Brady’s booth, bringing beers to his friends. Speedy Jax was at high tide and the mood was still good. Fights wouldn’t start until later.

Brady caught the big man’s eyes, “Sorry man. He’s just drunk. Ignore him.”

“Yeah I’m just drunk,” Jeff smiled a fake apology. The man scowled, but disappeared into the crowd.

Jeff winked at Brady, “Yeah tonight I’m drunk, but tomorrow I’ll be sober. And Oklahoma will still su-uck!”

“Shut up fool or you are gonna get us in trouble,” Brady grinned.

“Ok, Ok. I’m just fuckin’ around. Nobody here is going to do nothin’.”

Denison borders the Red River, 75 miles north of Dallas, and is an old railroad town. Jeff and Brady were friends since kindergarten. They didn’t go to the same church, but they’d been in school together from fifth grade through high school.

“So, what’s your big news? Why’d you make me cancel a Dallas Saturday night and drive all the way up here?” asked Jeff.

“Well check this out. Read this.” Brady handed Jeff a white envelope.

The return address said The University of Chicago. Jeff pulled out the letter and his eyes widened as he read the first line,

It is with great pleasure that the faculty of the University of Chicago, Master of Business Administration Program offer you admission…

Brady’s grandmother was from Illinois. She had gotten a Master’s degree in Library Science from the University of Chicago and Brady grew up hearing her tell about the wonders of the institution. He’d applied to Chicago, even though he thought he couldn’t get in, partially in honor of her memory.

“No shit?” said Jeff. “No shit? Your girlfriend’s dumped you. You’re on leave from your job and doing fake rehab. You’ve basically moved back in with your mom and dad, and now you get admitted to Chicago? You’re a dumb, lucky bastard.”

“Crazy, right?” Brady replied. “It came Thursday, forwarded in the mail and mixed up with all my mom’s hundred clothes catalogues.”

“And? Are you going to go?” Jeff looked at Brady, serious now. This was news.

“Absolutely maybe,” Brady swirled his beer in a tight little circle. “I don’t know.”

Brady’s life had gone from perfect to shaky, fast. Two months ago, Brady had been getting ready to buy an engagement ring, for Michelle. They’d been living together almost a year and a half in his apartment in Dallas. She was student-teaching, establishing her credentials to be a high school science teacher.

But Brady got drunk one Saturday night and crashed his Jeep. He’d been driving alone and walked away basically unharmed but his Jeep had needed a month of repairs. Scared, Michelle put a brake on things, moving back to her parents’ home at the end of her teaching semester. The crash confirmed a pattern that she’d been seeing in Brady, but trying to ignore, that he was making bad choices when alcohol was involved. If she’d suspected Brady was getting ready to propose, she had set that to the side as she moved home.

Brady and Michelle started dating in high school, when he was a senior and she was a sophomore, and continued long-distance while he was at Texas A&M, and later, when Michelle went to SMU in Dallas.

After Texas A&M, Brady got a great job working as a consultant for Deloitte, first in Austin, but soon transferring to Dallas. He was there while Michelle completed her and senior year, and then began her student teaching.

Brady’s accident required him to go to court and it could have cost him his job, but his father hired a good attorney and a plea bargain was arranged. Brady was on probation for a year, had to attend 90 meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, and do 120 hours of community service.

At the time of his Jeep crash, Brady’s team at work was between engagements and so it hadn’t been a big deal for Brady to take leave of absence. He split time between Dallas and Denison. He attended AA meetings in both places. At each meeting, he collected one signature on his court card en route to the 90 required. He did his community service hours on the weekends, and helped his dad out part-time. He was also licking his wounds from Michelle breaking up with him. It was a busy summer.

“Here’s the deal,” Brady said to Jeff. “I called you up here to see the letter, sure. I mean, it’s frickin’ great—I never thought they’d accept me. But there’s something else,” Brady paused. “Michelle called me yesterday.”

“What? That is too much. After everything? What’d she say?”

“She said she wants to see me; she said she wants to talk. And, her dad’s gotten worse. His cancer treatments are wearing him out. She asked if I could come hang out with them on Sunday,” Brady said.

“Man that’s messed up, after you two… broke up,” Jeff took a slow draw off his longneck. “Did you tell her about Chicago?”

“That’s the funny thing. I’ve been waiting so long for that letter, hoping maybe they’d let me in off the waitlist. You know, I thought maybe that would change her mind, show her I’m not a total screw-up.”

He continued, “But she caught me off guard, calling me. Then we started talking about her dad and then she asked me to come out to see him. I hung up the phone and a few minutes later realized I hadn’t told her I got admitted.”

“No problemo amigo,” said Jeff. “You can tell her tomorrow. Or not.”

Jeff had seen every episode of the Brady-and-Michelle show, all the way back to a sixth grade playground fight when Brady defended her honor against a much bigger seventh grade bully who was teasing her. Jeff witnessed Brady’s senior year, when the two finally got their act together and became boyfriend and girlfriend. And he’d seen the last two years, where Michelle and Brady played house in Dallas, getting close to getting engaged. And then he saw Brady’s big accident, drinking and driving and wrecking his Jeep, and Michelle having second thoughts and dumping him.

Neither said anything. The bar was loud in the background, but it was quiet between the old friends. After a while they started talking again. They took the rest of the night talking and drinking.