The Song of David(18)

“Sprite. He loves Sprite.” She sounded so relieved I thought she was going to break into tears, but she turned to Henry instead, finding his arm and instructing him gently.

“Henry, did you hear that? Mr. Tag—um, Tag says you can watch the game with him.” Henry slid onto a stool, his eyes not leaving the screen.

“Is he okay right here, David?” She just couldn’t get comfortable with my name. I wondered why.

“That’s fine. Go on. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you. Thank you, I . . .” She stopped, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said firmly. With her stick in hand, she tapped her way around the bar and disappeared down the long hallway that led to the restrooms and the employees’ locker room.

I put a bowl of peanuts in front of Henry, along with a tall Sprite, thought better of it, and replaced the peanuts with pretzels. Henry seemed like he might be the type of kid who would be horribly allergic to peanuts. That was just what I needed tonight.

“Kobe Bryant leads the league in free throws.” I had no idea if this was true. I just threw something out there to see if Henry would engage.

Henry’s eyes snapped to mine and he shook his head, indicating my stat wasn’t the case.

“He’s the tallest man in the NBA?” I knew this wasn’t true.

Henry started to smirk.

“He has the biggest feet?”

Henry shook his head.

“His best friend is named Shaq?” I asked.

Henry shook his head so vigorously I thought he was going to fall off his stool.

“Kobe Bryant is the youngest player in league history to reach 30,000 career points,” Henry informed me. I gave myself a mental high five that he was talking at all.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, nonchalant.

“He was also the youngest player to ever start in the NBA,” he added.

“Big deal.” I waved my hand. “Everybody knows that.” I winked, letting him know I hadn’t had a clue.

“Did you know he was named after Japanese beef?” Henry boasted, pulling his Sprite toward him and taking a long pull at the straw.

“No kidding!” I started to laugh. I moved away from him to take care of some customers a few stools down, and greeted Axel, my Swedish sparring partner, who slid onto a stool one over from Henry and said “tack”—thank you in Swedish—before guzzling back the beer I placed in front of him.

“Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant aren’t friends,” Henry said seriously, and placed a pretzel carefully on his tongue. He looked at his now empty glass despondently.

“No? Why not?” I asked, refilling his Sprite.

“Giants don’t make good friends.”

“Are you talking about Shaq or Kobe? They’re both pretty big.” I tried not to laugh because Henry wasn’t laughing.

“Giants don’t like when someone is bigger than they are.”

“I don’t know about that. Look at me and Axel. We’re both pretty big.”

“Who’s the biggest?” Henry asked.

“I am,” I said firmly, and at the same time Axel thumped his chest.

Henry looked at me owlishly, as if I had just proven his point. Axel started to laugh, and I laughed with him, but Henry didn’t laugh at all. He just wrapped his swollen lips around his straw and drank his Sprite like he was dying of thirst. I waited until Axel turned his attention to Stormy, who had stopped to flirt as she waited tables.

“Henry? Are you having problems with a giant?” I touched my lip and looked pointedly at his mouth.

“The Giants won the World Series in 2012,” he said softly. “In 2010 too. They’re very popular right now.”

I wasn’t sure if there was a hidden message in the popularity of the Giants or if Henry just wanted to change the subject. I tried again, using a different approach.

“You know the story of David and Goliath, right? David’s just a little guy, Goliath’s a huge warrior. David ends up killing him with just a sling-shot and Goliath’s own sword.”

“Your name is David,” Henry said, his eyes on the game.

“It is. Do you need me to slay a giant for you?”

“The Giants’ bench is deep.”

I narrowed my eyes at Henry. He didn’t look away from the television. It was like conversing with Yoda. Or R2D2.