Read The Unconventional (A Short Story) for Free Online

Death visited me in the summer of 2002
on a dusty street somewhere in the middle of Afghanistan. I don’t
remember the explosion or the pain or the loss of my two comrades.
I don’t remember any of that. All I remember is the ringing. That’s
what gets to me. The goddamn ringing.
    That was the first time Death came to
see me. I was young and invincible when I looked him in the eyes
and defied him. But it was the second time I wasn’t prepared for.
It was the second time that this story is about. It’s about the
time Death made me choose.
    ***
    My name is Archie Briggs. The date is
January 26, 2007. I don’t know it yet, but today is my reckoning
day.
    I slide onto the stool at Flanagan’s
Bar and study the bartender’s smooth face. There’s no mistaking
Brad’s my brother. We both have blue eyes, goatees, dark hair,
tight jawlines, and don’t look a day over thirty. He’s already
getting my whiskey sour ready like he does every night.
    Had I known what I know now, I would
have had my whiskey sour with some of the good shit. Crown Royal
instead of Kessler’s. But that’s the thing about life. You don’t
know when your number’s going to be called so you do the same shit
that you do every day. Put on the same clothes, go to the same job,
order the same drink, and say the same goddamn thing you say every
night in the same bar.
    “ Light on the sour,” I say,
even though Brad’s already got the drink made and is setting the
glass down in front of me. I take a swig of the amber-colored
liquid, letting it slide down my throat.
    “ How was business today?”
Brad presses his hands against the counter.
    “ Smooth as usual.” It’s a
script I follow well. “Hank’s still got a stick up his ass.” We
both smile when we think about the time when we got busted for
stealing a pack of baseball cards from Hank’s grocery store. Brad
was twelve; I was ten. Hank peeled out of the store with a baseball
bat, but he couldn’t catch us on our bikes. Hank’s now the best
customer at my illegal gambling table I run in the back of my
pizzeria, Archie’s Pizza.
    I take another swig and expect the
conversation to move effortlessly through the usual stuff. It was
cold as hell today. Sarah and the kids are doing fine. The crowd
will pick up later tonight because it’s payday. But Brad does
something entirely unexpected. Something entirely
different.
    He slips a piece of paper in
front of me without saying a word. I set my glass down, eyeing him
with suspicion before I pick up the paper: United Methodist Church. 7:30 p.m. Open session.
    “ What’s this?” I ask,
holding the paper in front of my face.
    “ You know what it is,” Brad
says as he pulls the towel off his shoulder and wipes down the
counter to avoid eye contact.
    “ Brad, I – ”
    “ I’m doing this as a
brother, Archie, and a friend,” he says, finally stopping the
towel. “Sarah said it was about time I grow some balls. Tell you to
get some help. It’s a support group kind of thing.”
    “ A friend?” I slide the
piece of paper back toward him across the bar. “No way am I going
there. I don’t need any help. I don’t have a goddamn drinking
problem.”
    “ It’s not the drinking I’m
worried about,” Brad says, lowering his voice.
    “ Then what is it? The
gambling? You know I don’t gamble on any of those tables.
Everything I do is fair and honest. Some win, some lose. Everyone
gets what they deserve, and they’re all satisfied
customers.”
    “ It’s not that,” Brad
replies with a sigh.
    “ Then what is it?” I ask,
tipping my glass to gulp down the rest of the drink. I slide the
empty glass back to him and repeat, “I don’t have a drinking
problem.”
    “ It’s everything else,” he
says, looking at me with disappointment. He knows I’m going to blow
this off. He leans across the counter and says it quietly like it’s
a goddamn disease that’s going to spread. “You know, everything
that happened five years ago. It’s