Same Same but Different

Chapter Seven

The summer sun started to dip below the western wall of the US Embassy. The shift for the Marine post would change soon, but no one seemed to care. Every man in the space was taken by the movie star. After a few rounds of pool (none of which I won) the guys had bounced between foosball, darts and some rather loud and violent video game in the living room. I stayed outside, choosing to lean casually against the pool table when it wasn't my turn at the foosball table or when I didn't have a dart in my hand instead of sitting on the couch and shooting people on a screen. Video games had never really been my jam anyway.

The stiffness Chris had exhibited upon initial arrival to the Marine house had broken. His hat stayed turned backwards and he laughed loudly when silly mistakes were made in any game he played. He was  engrossed in the video game  while I stood outside. Smith and Tennessee were ending a round of foosball.

It was easy to remember coming to this house for the first time. The whole place had the same super clean smell. The aroma pulled me right back, as smells always do. Even though I was related to one of the occupants at that time, I felt immediately out of place. They were Marines for Pete's sake. And much like the stereotype, the Marines who had been on post with my sister loved to party. I was just a poor artist who had essentially given up and gone into teaching. If you could call what I did teaching anyway. With my empty bank account, I could not afford to party. One of the guys, a big muscular one with a thick Yankee accent, had fired up the grill. I couldn't remember his name, but I remembered how pretty he was and how much he flirted with my sister as he smoked ribs. That probably added to the feeling of discomfort I remembered. He wasn't Faith's type. His high and tight haircut had a sheen of gel, he smelled of cologne, and he kept encouraging us all to go out for drinking and dancing. Though Faith definitely loved to have a good time, she usually spent time with people who were more low-key than this suave Yankee had been.  I hadn't been in the country long, so deep down I wanted to go out and see the nightlife. Reluctantly, and after some really stellar ribs, Faith gave in. And that was the first night I spent at Pontoon. The man paid for all of our drinks, danced too close to us, was overly handsy, and ended up puking out of the side of the government issued SUV. I let my eyes scan the room. None of the current men on post looked like they'd be that level of trouble. Faith had told me she had to set an alarm on her phone to go check on the man every hour or so. She'd been afraid he'd choke on his own puke and die. That was how drunk he was. None of these dudes gave off that vibe.

Or maybe that was just because they were all fanboying over Chris Evans. Everyone easily could have been just trying to be on their best behavior for Captain America himself.

"You want next?" Rolf asked, interrupting my weird rabbit hole thoughts.

I was going to say no when Chris materialized next to me. "Sure." He playfully patted my shoulder. "You can let me win." 

I hadn't played Chris in foosball. I'd lost to him twice in pool (best two out of three did not go in favor of me and Rolf at all) and then he'd been stolen away by others. I was fine with that. I had no right to spend any more time with him than anyone else in that house. I had, however, beaten every single person I played in foosball. Unlike the Marines, and most of the random people I played the game against in college at the student union, I didn't spin the handles violently. I played the game with a weird level of focus and precision.

"Straight up if you win, she let you. She plays it all mathematically." Rolf was clearly  mocking me in how he pronounced the word 'mathematically' and yanked his hand against a handle, the plastic red bodies of his little men whirled into red circles, and the ball whacked straight into Smith's goal. "Game! Suck it!" He gestured vulgarly with his hands towards his crotch as Smith lowered his head with an embarrassingly high level of frustration.