Page 58 of Tito

Reggie

Ten feet away from the trash can, he paused. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Watch this.”

“You’ll miss.”

“Just watch.”

“Oh, I’ll watch,” I said. “Watch you miss.”

I wasn’t the only one interested in the outcome. Everyone in the coffeeshop was watching. One of the things I liked about Tito was that he didn’t care. Not even a little bit. Make the shot, or not, he didn’t care if the people saw him.

He lobbed the cup high into the air. As soon as the it reached its apex, I knew what the end result would be. I glanced around the coffeeshop, making note of the silent gasps, shaking heads, and pointing fingers.

The cup crashed down onto the edge of the trash can’s opening. It then flipped in the air end over end. When it landed on the floor, the lip popped off. Frappuccino funk leeched from the cup and pooled on the tile.

Tito looked at cup, me, and then the Barista. “Can I get a mop, please?”

“Bahahahaha,” I said. “I knew it.”

Wearing a grin, I finished my drink while Tito cleaned up the mess. After returning the mop to the mop closet, he waved to the crowd of onlookers and then took his seat at my side.

He collapsed into the oft leather chair. “That ended poorly.”

There was no sign of embarrassment or frustration at the outcome of his charade, only indifference.

“It doesn’t bother you that you missed it, and everyone was watching?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

“Why?”

I knew the reason, or at least I thought I did. I wanted to hear him say it, though.

“Because there’s no definitive answer to the problem,” he said. “It’s all guesswork. That, and there’s no consequence. Nothing changes if I miss.”

His response was exactly what I suspected it would be. It was the same way I looked at obstacles in my life. If I could solve the problem, I’d work my ass off to do so. If there was no way to solve it, I’d give my best guess and live with the outcome.

“What about this?” I asked, wagging my finger back and forth between us. “Does it bother you that it’s not something you can figure out?”

His gaze narrowed. “What? You and me?”

“Yes. Us. This thing we’re doing.”

“Not at all,” he said, rubbing a spot of drink matter from his jeans with a napkin. “It’s similar to solving a problem, though.”

“How so?” I asked.

He set the napkin aside. “I do something you take exception to. It’s my duty to make note of that, store it, and make every effort in the future not to make the same mistake again. It’s not to say the act in question was a mistake, but if you took exception to it, it becomes one. Conversely, if I do or say something, and you express elation or happiness, it’s my same duty to make note of that, store it, and utilize it in the future to evoke the same emotion.”

“I like your outlook on matters,” I said.

“It’s common sense.” He turned to face me. “You wouldn’t intentionally do something if you knew from experience that it would upset me, would you?”

“I might.”

He gave me a sideways look. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Because I can be combative sometimes. It’s just an ornery streak I have. I do it to evoke emotion. Nothing big, though. More practical jokes than anything.”