"Cross!" yelled Michael.
Kieran booted the soccer ball from the right line of the field to Michael who was on far post of the goal. Michael headed the ball and it swished into the net before the goalie had a chance to react. They all heard the three long blasts of the whistle that signaled the end of the game. Michael's goal, with Kieran's assist, had pulled their team ahead. With a whoop of joy Kieran charged Michael, grabbed him around the legs and spun him around until they collapsed in a dizzy, slightly woozy heap. Their other teammates jumped in on the celebratory, game-ending dog pile.
In the months that Michael had been home he and Kieran had renewed their friendship and found themselves spending most of their time together. Michael had joined Kieran's weekend soccer league and Kieran found himself heading across the bridge to Michael's house instead of through the tunnel once or twice a week, with Michael spending most weekends hanging out at Kieran's with Petunia. They barbequed most weekends and gathered a crowd of friends around them.
* * * *
"So where are we hitting up tonight?" Kieran was kicked back on Michael's couch. His therapy groups had only run until three today so he had headed over to Michael's before the traffic hit too bad on the Bay Bridge. Michael had come in the door not too long ago and gone for a quick shower and to change clothes.
"I thought maybe we'd try Suppenkuche. It's in the Hayes Valley. Have you been?"
"No, but I think I saw it on 'Check, Please!' once," said Kieran, referring to the local t.v. show that would have three diners each go to each others' favorite restaurants and then come back and review them. "You know that show actually won a James Beard award? Cool, right? But, yeah, restaurant, German food, right? Lots of beers?"
"Yup. Can even get it in a glass boot."
Kieran raised an eyebrow. "And get so plastered in the process that we can't even stand up enough to call a cab?"
"Pssht... You're no fun."
"Right, I'm no fun because I think standing up is a good thing. Aren't you supposed to be the stodgy accountant?"
"You didn't tell me the seating was communal!" Kieran had to practically yell in Michael's ear to be heard.
"Forgot!" Michael yelled back.
"If you'll follow me a couple of seats have opened up over here," the hostess said. At least that's what Kieran thought she said. It was more of a reading of lips and gesturing kind of thing.
They were led to a long table; most of it was taken up by a group of tourists. At the opposite end sat one man. It was to that end of the table that the hostess led them to. The man seemed to be engrossed in his menu, but when the Kieran and Michael approached, he glanced up at them and gave them a friendly smile.
"Here, I'll move over so you can sit next to your partner," he said to Kieran who happened to be closest to him.
"Thanks for letting us sit together, but we're not partners; just friends," Kieran said laughing. Now that they were away from the door it was a bit quieter & they didn't quite have to yell to be able to hear each other.
"Great," the man said. "Now I get to hit on both of you. Ethan," he said, extending his hand.
"Kieran," Kieran returned. "Well, at least you get to hit on him." Michael slid into his seat, then extended his hand to Ethan, "Michael."
"Now," Michael turned to Kieran, "about Das Boot."
"Michael, we are not drinking two liters of beer between the just the two of us. That's like a bottle of soda, complete with uncomfortable carbonation."
Ethan had been listening in. It was hard not to in the close, cramped quarters. "What about between three people?"
"Yeah, what about three people?" Michael said, eagerly willing to side with any ally.
"I'm on the end of a loosing battle aren't I?" Kieran said.
"Do
your
BALLS hang
low,
do
they
wobble to and
fro
! Can you tie 'EM in a
knot
, can you tie 'EM in a
bow
! Can you throw 'EM
o'r
your shoulder like a Continental
soldier
! Do
your
BALLS hang
low
!
