“You’ll be able to hear it. You just won’t understand it.” I had forgotten William was a smart mouth. I hated it, because I was the same way.

We hopped back in the van and off we went, passing my apartment—bye-bye apartment. Bye-bye nice warm apartment with my nice warm bed and piping hot water destined to flow into my oval-shaped porcelain tub. Bye-bye Muggly.

Soon we arrived at his house. I loved William’s house. It was the house he grew up in and where I’d spent most of my time growing up as well. It was a cozy, detached, two-story red brick house built in the early forties, with the biggest fireplace I had ever seen. As kids we would always watch movies in the family room in front of the fireplace, waiting for his parents to go to sleep so we could play Doctor, which later turned into Hide and Go Get It, which later turned into just plain ole It’s Right Here, Now Take It. We entered the house.

“Make yourself comfortable, you know where everything is.” It was just like I had remembered it. The clock with the broken second hand was still broken, and the plastic that we had ripped as kids was still ripped and covering the same couch.

“You want something to drink?”

“Sure? What do you have?”

“Milk and orange juice. Oh, and some Kool-Aid.”

“Kool-Aid? What flavor?”

“There’s only one flavor for black folks, Montana, red.”

“Red is not a flavor. It’s a color.”

“In the ghetto, red is a flavor and a color.”

“Do you really have Kool-Aid?”

“No, but I wish I did. Oh, I know what. I have just the thing. It’s the perfect occasion.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Just a minute.” Rushing out of the room, trying to surprise me, it was William at his usual best. Fun-loving. Playful. Still a kid at heart.

“You better hurry up. I don’t have all night, you know.”

“First, let me take a little chill out of the air.” William entered the family room looking like Paul Bunyon with an armful of logs.

“You could have just turned the heater on, you know.”

“I could have. But it’s broken. I’ve been meaning to go get a new one, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“You’re a contractor and you don’t have a heater that works?”

“Yeah. Just like dentists have the worst teeth. And mechanics have the worst cars. And flight attendants have the most baggage.”

“Touché!”

William started the fire with the skill of a Boy Scout. Fanning the flames, flipping the logs, poking and prodding until like one of the Fantastic Four he yelled—“Flame on! Perfect. Warm. Toasty. Just like when we were growing up. And next, a little something to wet the whistle.” William pulled from inside the tall wooden buffet a bottle of champagne that looked like Chicken George himself had fermented it. It was covered with dust as thick as cotton, which, after he stopped himself from choking to death, William quickly wiped off.