The Lion and the Gazelle: Part 1-The Lion

Every morning in Africa, the lion wakes up knowing he will have to outrun his pride if he wants to eat. The gazelle wakes up knowing he must outrun the lion if he wants to live. It doesn't matter if you are a lion or a gazelle, when the sun rises, are you ready to run?

Mr. Winston, the unlucky bastard, stood a full 6-feet tall when he was just fourteen years old. "You should play ball," everyone told him on account of his height. In high school, he was always picked first, no matter the sport, and it never failed to see him in the back row of every class picture.

Once, he was mistaken for a teacher on parent-faculty night and it took Robbie Johnston's mother a full 15 minutes before she realized she had addressing her concerns to "Little Nicky Winston from down the street." Apparently, Mrs. Johnston was confused about her son's D in chemistry as he spent hours locked up in his room "doing his assignments." He waved it off, knowing full well what Robbie did in his bedroom each night. It was the same thing every 14-year-old boy on Kernan Street had done at night in their bedroom with the door locked--and it was far from studying.

The glamour of being an athlete or the ability to buy beer for his friends (and, for a certain price, anyone else) in high school never much appealed to Mr. Winston. He longed for something more. Something would make a difference in the world. And while the lifestyle accompanied with dribbling a ball for a living had its promises, Mr. Winston's aspirations were just a bit higher. So, he went off to college.

There, he found it easy to be himself with no predetermined expectations holding him back. He was not the only tall kid on campus. He was not the only boy with facial hair. He wasn't even the only Nicholas Todd Winston. In three years' time, he graduated with all kinds of honors and awards so much so that he resembled a heavily-ordained Christmas tree in his deep green robe.

After all this, he still wanted more.

"I don't know," he sighed, placing his fourth shot glass on the bar at Mable's. "I just feel like something's missing--like I should be doing more."

Jason Reeves stared back at him with an incredulous look. Jason and Nicholas had been roommates in college and friends for years. While Nicholas had a double major in Business Management and Aacounting, Jason simply held a degree in Philosophy. The two often had hours-long converations before agreeing to disagree. Mr. Winston liked their contradicting opinions. Jason's views of the world were different than his, he thought for himself. He had always liked that about him.

"What do you mean? You want to own your own business or something?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

Jason knocked back his second shot of tequila. "But you work for Abshire & Grant! Do you know how many people in our class would kill for that job? Seriously, I thought Carrie Hill was going to strangle you when Dr. Lee announced you had won won the internship."

That made him smile. Carrie Hill, for all her outer beauty, was a cold, conniving bitch. It was no secret that she slept her way through school only using her brain in classes taught by morally conscience female professors. There was a time, a period of about 3 days, when Carrie was absent from all her classes whcih struck all with concern. Carrie always showed up to class. Her may have been wrinkled, inside-out, or the same as the day before; her make up may have been smeared or missing altogether; her hair may have been a jumbled mess atop her hair usually loosely held together by a single office-grade rubber band--but she was always present in class.

"Maybe Professor Cunningham's keeping her locked up somewhere," offered one of their classmates.

"Yeah, he's a bit of a psycho." chimed in another.

"Or maybe his wife found out." chirped a third, causing the class to erupt with whispers and other possible reasons for Carrie's absence.

In the end, it was Ade Owusu, a premed student who worked part-time at the campus health center, who silenced the rumors. Carrie had an infection in an unsavory and unmentionable place. It required a 5-day prescription of antibiotic cream.

Carrie Hill...

Carrie Hill... Carrie Hill...

The bar faded back into view along with Jason's hand passing over his face.

"Man, you were really gone there. You okay?"

Mr. Winston knocked back yet another shot, savoring the burnign sensation in his throat and expanding in his chest before settling in the pit of his stomach. Soon, the lightheadedness would arrive and he would be forced to call a cab to take him 6 and 3/4 blocks to his apartment. "I think I'll head home." he said finally, tumbling off his bar stool.

"Need a lift?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I'll just call a cab."

Jason looked confused, then hurt. "It's 6 blocks. That's less than a mile."

"Six and three-quarter. City blocks. Besides, you live in the opposite direction."

That made Jason laugh. "Leave it to you to rationalize when you're drunk. Come on," he said taking hold of Nick's arm. He threw a stack of bills on the bar and continued dragging his intoxicated friend out the door.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.