Free Under the Cypress Moon by Jason Wallace Page A

proximity.
    Mark repeated his attempts to gain T.L.'s notice.  "T.L.!  T.L."
    Finally, T.L. saw the hand waving in the air, though he did not hear the shouts.  "Over here, Mark," the man replied to his friend, waving his hand in reply to Mark's.
    Pushing his way through the crowd, Mark grew easily tired of having to say, "Excuse me.  Excuse me, please," everyone either not hearing his request or not caring.  Obviously nothing but college students, they were so enthralled and mesmerized by their own pomposity. 
    Mark made it through and found T.L. wedged up against the side of the bar, the two of them barely able to take seats on the only stools left available. 
    "What the hell is goin' on here tonight," Mark snappily asked T.L.
    "Some frat from VSU came up here for some damn reason.  I talked to one of 'em.  They got in too much trouble down in Valdosta and wanted a safe place to go to and thought they'd find the smallest hick town around."  T.L. seemed just as annoyed by it all as was Mark.  Now, both of them were confined to their place.  How they would ever get out, they knew not.  Leaving the bar would be an absolute impossibility.  "So, what's goin' on with you," T.L. felt compelled to ask, having not seen his friend for some time, highly unusual for the two of them.
    "I've been at home, in my room."
    T.L. didn't even have to ask why.  He knew.  It was plain to see that Mark was very torn up over Shylah, over losing her.  There was an unspoken language between Mark and T.L.  Each always seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking.  T.L.'s eyes began to swell up, almost emitting a tear as he thought of the heartache that his best friend was experiencing, a heartache that he couldn't help but feel as though he had contributed to somehow.
    The two sat in silence for some time, T.L'.s head resting wearily on his fist, Mark mostly looking down at the bar, occasionally taking a baby sip of a beer but not really feeling like drinking.  This, too, was highly unusual.
    The atmosphere of the Muddy Water that night was so hazardous in every conceivable way.  It held a depressing air that stifled thought.  Mark knew that, without chance of evicting himself of the choking smoke and noise, it would matter none at all if he added to it.  In this light, he decided to light up a cigarette, and soon, another, not long after that, another. 
    T.L. almost never indulged in smoking, but seeing Mark in such a delirious and unhappy state, T.L. figured, "What the hell," and with no word said, took a cigarette from Mark's pack.  Before long, the two had smoked so many cigarettes that the pack was nearing empty.  It got to the point, however, that T.L. could take it no longer.  Breaking the silence, he had to ask, "Are you o.k., man?  You gotta talk to somebody."
    Mark sat motionless, barely even managing to turn his head to accept the address of his friend.  T.L., unable to stand the boredom of the place and unwilling to let his friend suffer alone, continued, "Ok.  You remember a few years back when I was seein' that girl, Dani?  I felt like you do.  I was so head over heels for that girl.  I went through Hell to get her and to try to keep her.  You remember what happened?"  T.L. hoped that this might engage Mark in some sort of conversation, bring him out of his stupor a little, but it was all to no avail.
    Taking a brief pause, clearing his throat a bit, and searching carefully for his next words, T.L. carried on, "That girl was everything to me.  I let her get away all cuz of some things other people said to her.  But hey, look at me now.  I still think about her, but it doesn't really hurt anymore.  I'm alright.  I'm doin' good.  I'm here.  I'm alive."
    This last part managed to finally bring a response from Mark.  Lifting his head up, with a puzzled look in his eye, almost that of a madman ready to strike, Mark shot a hasty and slightly angry, "And what are you tellin' me, T.L.?!  I'm