The Intrusion

Eleven

[Jordan]

After three beers each, Andy and I order a pizza to share. The pizza here isn't like the pizza you get in New York City or Long Island. It comes on this weird rectangular piece of flat bread. It's pretty good if you forget the fact that it is supposed to be pizza. It isn't pizza. But, I'm going to cut myself off before my New-York-Pizza-Rant gets out of hand.

"Where are you from originally?" Andy asks me, (oddly right after I was thinking about New York, but I'm sure it must just be a coincidence). He's finally taken his jacket off. He seems to be a bit more comfortable with me now, but I'm guessing it's got at least a little to do with the alcohol. I can already tell he is somewhat of a lightweight with drinking.

"I'm from New York."

"The city?" he asks me. "New York City?" He separated the words as he says them, like New York City is some magical place that only exists in fairy tales and 90's sitcoms or something.

"Long Island, actually, but close to the city."

"Oh, Long Island," he says. "I've never been there, but I've seen it before. I flew into the airport in New York once, and I saw it from the plane."

I nod. "Which airport did you fly into? I hope it wasn't LaGuardia. That's the worst."

He smiles at me and takes another drink. "I don't remember. It was a long time ago. I must have only been thirteen."

"Oh, cool," I say to him awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

"What do you think of Canada?" he asks me.

"I like it," I reply. "Vancouver is a beautiful city. And everyone here is always so nice and polite. Not like New York at all."

Andy smiles at me. "I like it here a lot."

"The pizza here isn't quite the same, though," I joke, forcing the conversation along like I'm dragging an anchor behind me. I take another slice of the pizza we are sharing.

"What is the pizza like in New York?" Andy asks me.

"Oh, it's basically the best," I tell him. And now I don't restrain myself, and I go into my full on ten-minute New-York-Pizza-Rant.

Andy listens to me the whole time I am talking. Like, really listens. I can tell he isn't just thinking of what he'll say about himself next or what story he'll tell when I'm finally done talking like people seem to do so much instead of really listening to what someone else is saying. Oddly enough, it feels very comfortable just talking to him, and he seems very content to sit there and listen to me.

"Wow, you are really passionate about pizza," he finally remarks after I am done talking.

"Yeah, I am!" Now, I really, really want a slice of New York Pizza. I can't get my mind off it.

We finish the pretend pizza in silence, and then the waitress comes over to ask us if we'd like anything else.

"No thanks," Andy replies before I can say anything. "Can we just get the check?"

"Sure," she says.

Shit. Shit. I look at my phone. It's around 9pm. I can't let Andy get away yet. I know we have plans to meet up tomorrow, but it won't be easy to get a chance to talk to him privately with his sister there. I need to finish part one of my goal. I need to figure out why I recognize him.

"Do you want to go to another bar after this?" I ask.

He takes out his phone and looks at the time. "I should be getting home. It's getting late, and my sister is getting in tomorrow."

"Andy, it's only 9pm. It's hardly late at all! Besides, I know this bar right on the street where we live," (where I live, I know he doesn't live there too, but I'm going to pretend along with him for now) "that we could just go to for one drink."

He sighs. "All right fine, Jordan, you've convinced me."

And with that, Andy and I leave Dockside Bistro 21 together. He puts his hood up again and crosses his arms in front of himself as we walk through the rain, looking down at his feet.

This is probably why he bumped into me. He doesn't look where he is going. It's like he  expects other people to move out of his way magically or something. I don't think he's doing it to be impolite. I think being on the street just makes him nervous for whatever reason.

We get to the bar I was talking about and go in. I take a seat at the bar, and Andy takes the seat next to me.

"Can I order you a drink?" I ask Andy.

"Oh, I'm fine with just a beer," Andy says.

"Are you sure?" I look through the list of specialty cocktails, trying to determine which one has the most alcohol in it. "Let's try something fun. How about this?" I point to a drink on the list that I know has a lot of alcohol in it—the dreaded Long Island Iced Tea.

"Umm, I don't really drink liquor," Andy only looks momentarily at the drink list I'm excitedly shoving in his face.

"Oh, come on Andy, you have to, in honor of me! It's called the Long Island Iced Tea. Like where I'm from! Besides, I bet you'll like it."

Andy sighs. "Fine." He agrees without even bothering to put up any more resistance, like he's weighed the options in his head and determined that trying to argue with me won't be worth his time because he's just going to end up losing in the end anyway. Ha! I can be such a nasty little peer pressure-er when I want to be.

I order the drinks for Andy and myself and the bartender makes them for us quickly.

I clink my glass against his and take a sip.

"You're right, this is pretty good," Andy tells me after he's taken a drink. "It actually just tastes like iced tea."

I smile at him, taking a drink myself. "Actually, there's no tea in it." Just a whole lot of liquor.