I chuckle. “Rather get my balls wrenched and twisted.”
He laughs and shakes his head. His hair falls out of place and he quickly fixes it.
Tommy grabs his own crotch and laughs, too. “No, thanks. No girls.”
“That’s right, buddy. Girls like her are a kick in the balls,” I tease.
Noel folds his arms and stares out the window. “Whatever. Morgan is an angel on Earth. Wait till you meet her. At church, she even hugged me like she wants me.”
“You actually went to church?” I exclaim, shocked.
“Yeah. She’s even more beautiful in person.”
“Listen. I’ve had plenty of pussy, bro. Trust me. None are worth sitting in church for hours while some pastor tells you to unload your wallet.”
Noel scowls but says nothing more.
Good. Hopefully my words sank in.
The building squats between a closed laundromat and a payday loan shop. Paint peels near the roofline. The sign is faded and hand-painted.
AtCenter for Special Hearts, the place Mom built before she died, clients trickle in. We affectionately call them ‘the crew,’ a mix of adult men and women.
Their round faces and sweet smiles always light up the room. Many give me hugs like we haven’t seen each other in years, even though I saw them yesterday.
We start with arts and crafts, followed by snack time. Then we teach them practical skills, like tying their shoes or counting money.
After, it’s time to cook lunch, which is a shit show of twelve people with Downs learning how to prepare simple and safe meals. Today is applesauce, a sandwich, and chocolate milk.Most overdo the chocolate syrup. Brown streaks drip down plastic cups and pool on the tables.
“Easy, Chance,” I say, stealing the bottle before his glass is half syrup.
Then we eat and go outside for recreation time. The asphalt court radiates heat. The chain-link fence rattles in the breeze. We play basketball and high-five despite them rarely making a basket. I miss on purpose, and Chance pats my shoulder. “Good try!”
“Thanks man,” I play along.
During all this, I wipe their noses countless times, remind them to use the bathroom regularly, and tell Tommy to stop licking things. Typical day.
It’s almost over. One more hour. What’s next...
Ah, shit. Noel’s new prayer-thing. For me, that means break time.
I head to the front desk, kick up my Converse on the wobbly desk, and sip coffee while I scroll on my phone. I browse race cars for sale, even though it’s just a pipe dream.
“One day,” I lie to myself. It keeps me optimistic.
The door opens, and a woman walks in holding a white and pink Bible with gilded edges.
Here we go. This must be the girl who lives in my brother’s head rent free.
She steps my way with a phone clutched in her hand and two people following her. One holds a phone. The other carries lighting equipment. Apparently, she needs an entourage to pray with special needs people.
She’s pretty, though. I’ll give Noel that much credit. Big dumb hazel eyes, thick brown hair perfectly styled into waves, flawless skin, petite nose, full lips, and a body that won’t quit. Her tits are huge, too. The boys are gonna love her.
She speaks with a Southern drawl that might be as fake as her painted face.
“Hello there, hon. I’m Morgan Leigh Montgomery, here for Bible study.”
I smirk, shoes still resting on the desk. Her eyes pass over me once. Then again. The second look is quicker, less controlled, before she meets my gaze like nothing happened.
