BBQ Bangers

ISSUE #56

You did it. After a year of slogging away in Jacksonville Beach, you finally saved enough to move to Denver. You got a big-girl job as a Digital Content Administrator for Great Divide Brewing Co., and your move came just in time for a housewarming party on Memorial Day weekend. It's no penthouse, but you can see the Rockies, and there's a pool. Happiness, after years of dormancy, has awakened at last.

You're in the kitchen for now, giving the sun on your skin a break with a nice air-conditioned polish. You watch through the window above the sink as Dan does a cannonball, washing out a mimosa glass so you can switch to the sangria that's sitting on the table outside. The new BBQ playlist floats through the screen door, and when you get outside, Molly walks up, bobbing her head. You clink your glasses.

"Hey, who's the guy doing the grilling?"

That's a surprise. "What? We don't have a grill." You squint through the sunlight, searching.

"Then what do you call that thing?" she says, pointing near the golden currant by the fence.

Well, that's definitely a grill. And the man standing next to it... my god. Hawaiian shirt. Sailor's cap. Hook hand. Those piercing, yellow eyes. Shit.

It's me again. I see you, flip a bratwurst end-over-end, and spear it with my hook. I wave with my human hand, the one holding $300 cash. Most of the party surrounds me, of course, enthralled. Unfortunately, the crowd is trapping me in, so I can't pry myself away to say hello.

"He's... an old friend. I guess."

"Does he not have a wallet he can put that in?"

You shake your head, distracted, and walk in a daze toward the grill. What the hell do I want this time? You can hear me chatting up your new friends, asking them if they've seen Booksmart yet, acting real casual. Finally, you reach me. I grin, take a bite out of a half-cooked slab of salmon.

"Hey, loser."

"How did you find me?"

"LinkedIn."

"Did you buy this grill? Actually, I don't care." It's a tough spot we're in; you don't want me scaring away your new friends. "I think you should leave."

"No can do, Jimmy Choo. Somebody's gotta feed the masses." I spread my arms and the salmon fillet undergoes mitosis. There are now thirty salmon fillets. I hook them, one at a time, and pass them around.

"Chill man, he can stay," Dan says. He passes you a fillet and smiles.

Grumpily, you take a bite. You glare, but I have you. You can't fire the caterer. So the party goes on, and you try to put it out of your mind. You jump in the pool, play a game of cornhole. Still, you can't help but stew a little more when you catch glimpses of me in the corner, pulling back Coronas, and laughing.

Later, when the sun is gone and everybody is inside watching Moonlight, you approach me again.

"Let me show you something," I say, before you can stop me. I close the grill's lid and climb on top of it. I put the cash in my breast pocket, and hold out my hand, Aladdin when he's perched on the carpet. "Hop on."

"I can't," you say, eyes cast downward.

"Come on. Like old times."

You raise your head to look me in my yellow eyes. "No. Not this time. Those days are gone."

Annoyance crosses my face, briefly, like the look you'd give a spider crawling out from under the counter. Do I swat it, or put it outside?

"So be it." I look to the moon, and wait. A shiver rises in the air, anticipation vibrating the very wind. The ground shakes, and the grill starts to rise, hovering just above eye-level.

You step back, shielding your eyes. Fire erupts from each leg of the grill as it rockets skyward. The heat is incredible, and yet I remain, mounted, focused, a ghost rider, ushered forth by the breezes of hell, shrinking into the blackness of space. Soon, there's no sign I was ever there at all.

Alone, you turn, and walk back through the yard. The playlist is singing still as your fingers break the surface of the pool.