I’m on the verge of being a big shot, I guess. Anyway I haven’t thought about Bobby in ages. Then, out of the blue, he asks to be my friend on Facebook. Turns out we live one neighborhood apart. I’m in this wanna-be poshy neighborhood where the young, hip, rich and gorgeous live. Trouble is I’m too old to be “young,” I’ve never been hip, I’ve got too goddamn much student debt to be rich and I’ve never been considered gorgeous. So I don’t exactly fit in, but I found a house I really liked and I bought it. Bobby lived about a half-mile from me, but it was like crossing the border. The hip, young, and pretty gave way to old, tired and downtrodden. Where there was a new coffee shop going up on every corner in my district, in this one some old Korean guy owned the local grocery. The place usually got by through the alcohol sales – legal and illicit. But Bobby was happy. That’s what he told me when he invited me over to meet his family. And it was a good, even great, reunion. His wife. Stop it, perv. He shook his head to clear that thought from his head- waiting on this line with a hard-on would make it even less enjoyable then it already was. It was only when he caught a glimpse of her nametag by the water fountain before rehearsal did he begin to suspect. He had only seen the name ‘SAMANTHA’ on it, not for lack of trying. He had tried, in vain, to read her last name, but before he could do so she quickly ran off into the rehearsal room. For a moment, Steven cursed himself that he was a bass, and not a tenor, so he could have been seated closer to his mystery girl. ************************************** For Sam though, there was no mystery. At the water fountain, she had almost choked on her water in shock to see a much, much older version of Stevie stepping into line. It seemed she was right when she saw his name in the newspaper… his nametag, the same shade of fluorescent green as she, said ‘STEVEN Cohen.’ No matter how much time had passed, he was still.
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