Page 31 of Five Goodbyes

Whatever tension the three of them were feeling by being picked up by me, and the situation overall, seems to instantly fade as they laugh in unison and try talking over each other to tell me their version of the story.

“Whoa . . . hold on. Isaiah, you first. What happened?” I ask. Jasmine’s brother contorts his face in obvious pain as he turns in his seat to face me.

“Okay . . . Listen . . . This is the craziest night of my life. You know we went to V-Live, right? Well, we got there just in time to get the last available table. It’s only the three of us so we aren’t using any kind of scene with an entourage of any kind. Some of those tables had fifteen to twenty people at them.” I picture the scene as he starts, and I know exactly what he’s saying.

“You know the music is going off and we get out there and begin making friends with a few ladies, and they join us. We order bottles of Ace of Spades and Hennessey and are sharing with our new friends.”

“And two bottles of Goose,” one of Isaiah’s buddies say from behind me.

“Yeah, those too. We’re having an awesome time, and a few other people join our table. I remember the lights going crazy. Blues and purples and pinks all ripping around in some dance with the music. I have to say, all of it mixed together put me in another dimension. Everything was going great. This chick named . . . uh . . . dammit, I’ve forgotten her name now. Anyway, we’re getting a little handsy on and off the floor,” Isaiah shares.

“Pharoah? Pharah?” one of the other guys interjects.

“Pharaoh maybe. I don’t remember her name, but she was a mix of Lebanese and Cuban, and probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. She’s also the cause of all of this.” I raise my eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

“Seems that she had a boyfriend that was still interested in being her boyfriend while she didn’t want anything to do with him. A very long story short, him and four of his friends showed up at the club. He made his way to our table and started acting like a jackass. She told him to leave, he told her no. I told him to leave, and he told me no.”

“That’s not exactly what you said,” one of the guys blurt out in a laugh.

“What did youactuallysay?” I ask.

A smile begins to creep over Isaiah’s face, and I shake my head knowing that whatever he tells me is going to be something I probably would say myself.

“Imayhave told him that the reason the girl doesn’t want to be with him is because his fake-ass slicked back hair is leaking too much oil from it. And she doesn’t like all of her clothes being stained black.”

“Ohhh boy,” I laugh.

“I thought it was funny. My boys here thought it was funny. The group gathered at our table thought it was funny. The girl cuddled up next to me thought it was funny. The jackass didn’t think it was funny.”

“I imagine not.”

As I drive, I picture the club, the flashing neon lights, the gyrating bodies, the thumping bass that rattles the bones. The intense emotions that quickly move up and down while drinking copious amounts of alcohol, the laughter of people getting to know each other in a way they never would outside of an environment like this.

“It didn’t help that she was all but curled up on Isaiah’s lap during this conversation,” one of the back seaters says.

“That probably didn’t help the situation at all. Though, it wouldn’t have been an issue if the dude never showed up.”

“Okay . . . finish the story,” I demand.

“Things escalated from there,” Isaiah continues, his voice dropping to a hush. “Before we knew it, we were in the middle of a brawl, people throwing punches and chairs.”

Isaiah goes on, his descriptions growing more vivid and detailed, painting a picture of the chaos that engulfed the club. “It happened so fast, man. One minute we were laughing and enjoying ourselves, and the next, we were right in the thick of it.”

I can practically see the scene unfolding in front of me: Isaiah and his friends, their backs pressed together as they faced off against the five assailants. The air thick with the sharp tang of adrenaline and sweat, punctuated by the sound of fists connecting with flesh, and the sickening crunch of breaking chairs to the bodies of those in the vicinity.

Isaiah describes the feeling of being punched in the face, the sudden jolt of pain that reverberated through his skull, followed by the hot rush of blood pouring from his nose. His vision had blurred, but he fought on, driven by a primal instinct to protect himself and his friends.

“The club erupted into a frenzy of chaos, with terrified people scrambling to get away from the insanity of the fight. The air was filled with the sounds of screaming and shattering glass, as chairs were hurled from one section to the next.”

Isaiah's voice begins to tremble as he recounts the end of the fight. “We managed to take down three of them, but the other two just wouldn't quit. That's when the bouncers finally stepped in, grabbing us and throwing us from the club.”

As I listen to Isaiah's account, I wince at how their night of fun turned into a nightmare. I’m grateful they’re alive but hope this one incident doesn’t follow all of them for the rest of their lives. It isn’t a small thing to be in a situation like this.

We pull up to Isaiah’s friend’s condo building and let them out without saying a word other thanbye. Both give Isaiah a quick fist bump, wincing in pain as they do, and say goodbye. I don’t wait to watch them get into the building before pulling away, pointing my car toward my apartment complex.

“Listen man, you’ve got to text your parents right now. Tell them you’re okay and ended up at my place. We’ll meet them at Jasmine’s at ten. No other info than that. Got it?” I ask.

“Okay.”

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