46.
With that she was done. She got up, left the office and closed the door behind her. Leaving me to wonder if I can really do this. I’ve never done it, but other people have. And it’s not like I’ve been smoking for 20 years. It’s only been about two, and I’ve not a pack a day smoker either. The only thing I’m really worried about is what I’m going to do when I get stressed out. That’s the one thing that I really lean on these things for. Boredom cigarettes can be replaced by gum and celery, but the stress one can’t. Maybe I can learn to meditate or get all Zen or something. I wonder if the Dhali Llama is in the phone book?
Alright, I can think about this later. I have to talk to Em more and I’ll have to fill Ethan in as well. I’m not going to ask him to stop with me, this is my cause. But he’s my best friend he needs to know what missions I’m on. Alright, back to the room. I stand up from the desk and push the chair in. The door locks behind me when I close it and I hear the click. My papers are still strewn about where I left them, but there’s only 10 minutes left in the period. There’s one multiple choice sheet in the mess. It’s one of those choose the most right answer things with scenarios for peer mediation kind of situations. I’m tempted to just do a good old “A, B, C, A”. But there are only 15 questions and I should be able to guess a 75%. I put my head down and quickly choose what looks right. I get all 15 questions answered to my satisfaction and put the sheet in the box of things to be marked. Now it’s time to clean up all this other junk so I can go to English. With the work sheets neatly shoved back in my file folder I grab my things and head out the door from the second room instead of going back through Leesa’s way. There are only two minutes left until the bell. I doubt anyone but Yvons will come in expecting to find me. It’s a chance I’ll take.
There has to be some way to make Monday more exciting. And in keeping with Emily’s plan I’m not going to smoke, I’m going to sit in front of the classroom and say hi to people and wait for the ten minutes to be over. I grab my whole bag from the office since I’m going to need a notebook and Lear and who knows what else to get through the next 75 minutes. I take my time getting to the classroom and don’t have to sit very long once I get there. Ms. Sheppard opens the door and we file in like under-age prisoners. I doubt that anyone shares that opinion. But, that’s the beauty of independent thought. I take my seat and place my books on the desk top. The start of the class is left for re-reading and reviewing the text. I open the book and skim through. I don’t really feel like causing any trouble today. It just feels like a good day to blend in and fade into the background. Its not my usual way of things. But maybe unusual isn’t so bad. She preaches and teaches and I just sit down and let it soak over me. Some of it sinks in and some of in and some of it just drips off of me like rain water. I make myself look interested by scribbling down notes when it looks like other people are. Ms. Sheppard makes eye contact once or twice when she’s talking. Maybe she knows that what she’s saying is argumentative. But I’m not biting today. The time ticks slowly by without incident and as the bell rings and I pack my things up to leave Ms. Sheppard comes over.
“Is everything ok Dan?”
“I guess so, why?”
“Just curious, there was something different about you today.”
“I’m ok, just changes coming soon.”
“Alright, well I guess we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“See you then, have a good day.” With that awkwardness out of the way I start making my way back to the office to get ready for lunch. I know that I’m going to be far from the front of the cafeteria so a bag of chips and pop will have to be enough. I’m in a no rush to play volleyball either, but I’m not sure why.
45.
The girls come in together and they’re both smiling which is a very comforting detail, and one that eases some of my apprehension towards the talk Em wants to have in less than 20 minutes. Tasha and Em divide up the remaining slips and giggle to each other as I push down the buttons and make my familiar call to rise and observe.
I’d rather be saying “Play Ball” but it’s Monday morning so I imagine everyone has something else they’d rather be doing. The girls fight through their giggles and we get through the announcements without incident. They do seem excited about this whole “Prom” thing. Which leads me to just a little bit of frustrated anger. God damn Gillian Elliot. Who am I going to ask to go with me now? Whatever, I’ll figure it out. I can always bring some hot little freshman.
I go to my office and grab my notebooks and head to Guidance. I walk in the door and do my best to say a polite good morning to Leesa. We certainly aren’t going to be asking about each other’s weekends. But we can try to be civil. There’s no sign of Emily so I go to the adjoining room and start to spread out assignment sheets and open my notebook to the pages with the first draft of my paper. There sure is a lot of crap here for a course that was supposed to be a cakewalk. I start reading over the jibberish that I’ve written so far. It’s not bad, and I’m not looking to attain perfection with this piece, so it’ll do for now. I turn some of my attention to the new question sheets that have made their way into my file since Friday morning. But before I can even start to become critical of them the door opens and the Silver Fox pokes his head in the room and tells me that there’s someone in Mrs. I’ll-see-you-at-9:45’s office to see me. I’m 99% sure it’s Em.
It would be a miracle if it wasn’t and I had real problems to help someone with. But, alas, I open the office door to find no miracle, only what I expected. Emily is sitting at attention and looks all business as I close the door behind me and she looks into my eyes. I sit down on the other side of the desk. Not the same spot I would be sitting if I was trying to console someone or work through their mental anguish. But in this case I want just a little boundary and space between Emily and I. I smile and we say good mornings and hellos. I ask how she got out of class and what she told Leesa to let us use the office without raising red flags.
“I’ve got Mr. Timmins wrapped around my little finger, so it was no problem getting out of class. And Yvons told Leesa that I already booked a meeting through him, so she really couldn’t say anything.”
“Very well played little Emily, I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” she says with the trace of a smile that it looks like she’s trying to hide.
“Now, without sounding pushy, may I ask what I’ve done to deserve this wonderful visit?” I ask, not sure whether or not I really want to know the answer.
“First, don’t be so sure it’s going to be wonderful. Second, wouldn’t it be possible that I just want to enjoy your company? I mean I do know you better than anyone.”
“I’m almost positive this isn’t going to be pleasant, and I’m a little scared to tell you the truth.”
“Fine be scared, that isn’t going to help you. I’m only here to help.”
“Thank the good Lord! I was sure you were going to beat the hell out of me. Now what are you here to help with?”
“Your smoking, you moron. I told you I was going to. Or do you not remember that either?”
Ouch that one was a little harsh, and I think that I need some recovery time before moving forward. But since that would be the smart thing to do, and that’s never really been my strength, I continue anyway.
“Ok. Yes I do remember. What’s your master plan?”
“Well the Phys ed. class is putting on a quit smoking contest and initiative and I figure if you come out and sign-up we can cut any negative spot light big time, while building up positive news and maybe even help the cause.”
“But I would have to quit smoking for this to work, right?”
“Yes Daniel, you would have to quit smoking cigarettes. That’s the whole fucking point.”
“Ok, ok. Geez, you don’t have to beat me up. I think I could give it a try.”
“Good, and I’ll be watching you, checking your bag and your office for smokes and trusting that you don’t lie to me.”
“Ok, ok. When do we start?”
“Well the contest starts Thursday. So I recommend that you start cutting back now.”
“Now, like today? Well it should be easy enough, I’m almost out and I’m almost broke.”
“Good.” Emily smiles, it’s the first time that she has since she came in here.
“I’m not finished though. What am I going to do about withdrawal and headaches and being cranky?”
“Well, if those things come up then we can deal with them. I’ll get Tylenol, we’ll get you some gum and it will give you and excuse to eat more celery. Just hold off on the Cheese Whiz. You don’t want to be pudgy for prom.”
Again she’s smiling. It’s nice to see actually, even though I’m doubting this plan and my ability to follow through.
44.
I wish that I could remember dreams. I’m sure I had a great one last night. But now I’ve got nothing. I open my eyes and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. I’m not going back to sleep for the nine minutes, but I don’t want the music either. The sun flashing in through the curtains is enough to keep my eytes open at this point. I roll over and swing my legs over the bed, hoping that they’re strong enough to stand on.
I head straight to the bathroom and pee and brush my teeth, the usual morning stuff. Then I head back to my room to try and choose some clean clothes. I’ve got nobody to impress today. And I’d like to lay low if at all possible. I find a clean pair of jeans and a black Bob Seger tour t-shirt from one of those “New Vintage Clothes” places. It’s cool to me because I remember my mom and dad listening to him when I was little. Plus, vintage is stylish enough to keep me in the loop.
There should be time for a quick breakfast since I didn’t procrastinate this morning, so I throw my notebooks in my bag and go downstairs. I don’t feel like cereal, which is pretty much the only thing there’s time for. So instead I pour a glass of milk and take three cookies from the container. I’m already chewing half a cookie as I walk into the living room to see Gran. She gives me a look that’s somewhere between “You know better” and “You’re so foolish”. I swallow and smile at her.
“Good morning Granny” I say with a big grin.
“Good morning yourself, smart ass” she replies with a trademark smile of her own.
I keep eating and sit down to watch the morning news that’s on TV. There’s not much being talked about, it’s really just a review of the weekend news. And as I finish eating I figure I should probably just get ready and go outside to wait for the bus. I throw on a pair of black running shoes and my black sweater and head out the door with my bag over my shoulder.
There are already a couple of people waiting for the big yellow bus so I’m not too early. We say hellos and everyone asks how weekends were. The girls from across the street make their way over and the older sister Tammy pokes the younger one Sara and says something quietly in her ear. I don’t know what she said, but the poor 9th grade Sara is blushing as they get to my side of the street. I wonder if maybe she saw me cutting the grass yesterday with my shirt off or something. I can feel a small smile starting to creep it’s way across my face. Even if it’s not about me I can pretend. Plus it’s always nice to feel desirable. Sara stands at the other side of our little group until the bus starts to make its way around the corner. So far so good. I didn’t have to disclose anything about Friday night and I’m in my regular seat on my way to deal with the rest of the day. I don’t even bother getting my iPod out this morning, I don’t even remember if I have it with me. I only get to update it at Ethan’s place anyway so sometimes the songs get stale. Plus I know a thousand songs it seems, so I can always just sing to myself in my head.
This morning is more about survival than anything else. Whether it needs to be or not. The bus rumbles along our small town streets toward the school, it’s all the things that get boring in this town that I find comfort in. What a conundrum that is. As we pull into the parking lot I grab a the strap to my bag and wait my turn to stand up and get off. I’m in no rush. The day really doesn’t start until I’m here anyway. I walk into the school through the front doors and head straight to the office. Mine I mean. The door’s unlocked which is nice. Too often it’s locked up over the weekend and I have to borrow a key on Monday morning to get it. I drop my bag on the table and notice some papers that I don’t remember leaving in here. Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed. I wonder who Goldilocks could be. It doesn’t take long to get an answer to that question. As soon as I turn around and start to the door I see a note taped to the inside.
-Dan,
We need to talk after announcements.
I’ll come and see you in the Guidance office during first period.
Don’t flake out on me!
-Em.
I should be a little worried I’m sure. The tone isn’t super friendly and she was a little pissed when we woke up and I didn’t remember things from Saturday night. If this is Goldilocks, I think I’d rather take the three bears.
I close the door behind me and head for the real office to do the announcements. When I get there the slips are waiting in the box and I go through them as I always do. There really isn’t anything here other than meetings for clubs and a reminder that prom tickets go on sale Thursday. I pick out three and leave the rest, including the prom note. I’m sure the girls will be more excited about it than I am. I don’t really feel like wandering the halls so I just sit at the empty desk in the back of the office and wait for the bell to ring.
43.
First plan of action tomorrow, find Emily and get a hug. I need a distraction. But what is there at 9:30 on a Sunday night. I can’t just turn on some loud Rock and Roll and phase out my thoughts. And slow, sad Country is just going to add to the current feelings. I could eat, but I’m not hungry. I could smoke, but I’m almost out. I could go for a run, but who am I kidding. At least I still have my sense of humour. Maybe I’ll just go have a shower and go to bed. I can turn the lights off. And just relax while the water comes down over me. It might not get the thoughts out my racing mind but at least I can save a few minutes tomorrow morning. I close up my notebook and put the cap back on my pen. I even remember to turn the light off on my way out of the room. I’m such an environmentalist.
I drop everything on my bed and grab my towel as I head for the bathroom. I take my shirt off and turn the water on. More hot than cold, I want that relaxed muscle feeling like in a hot tub when you could just melt away. I reach my bare arm in to check the temperature. I try to test it with the inside of my wrist or the back of my hand. If that’s where moms check their baby bottles it must work. After a little tweaking I pull my arm back out and start to take the rest of my clothes off and toss them in a pile on the floor by the door. I turn the light out and climb in the shower. The water is a little hot, but I’ll adjust to it soon enough. I don’t even reach for the soap right away. I just want to stand here and feel the drops. I put my hands on the wall at the front of the shower and lean forward. I can feel my hair soaking up water as the streams come down my face from my forehead. I wish I could just feel this forever, the darkness is like a shield keeping everything unwanted, uncomfortable and uninvited away.
The water is my wardrobe, protecting me from cold and wind. It’s like the safety of a childhood bed, tucked in by loving parents, with a night light and stuffed animal to keep you company and ward off bad dreams.
After what feels like an eternity I stand up straight and let the water fall directly over my face. I grab the soap from the shelf thing in the corner and do my thing all the while letting the water take me away. After I’m all clean and rinsed, and probably turning red from the water’s beating I reach down and turn off the taps. I step out from behind the shower curtain and grab the towel from the counter. I dry myself off enough to walk out of the bathroom and wrap the towel around my waist. I’m sure I’d be okay with what I saw in the mirror if it wasn’t all fogged up. But oh well.
I walk back to the bedroom and pull my pajama pants from a pile in the corner. I shake them out, not because I don’t want wrinkles, but just because. I throw today’s clothes on the “to do” pile in the corner and hang my towel up on the back of the door. There’s nothing left to do now I guess but go to bed. The blankets feel nice and I turn the pillow over to get the cool side on my face. It reminds me of my all time favourite saying. “He’s cooler than the other side of the pillow.” Okay, so it’s not my all time favourite. But it sounded good one night when the sports guy spit it out.
I can’t believe how much more relaxed my body feels now. It’s like I didn’t even realize I was tense anywhere other than my head. And now I can feel how loose my muscles are and just ready I am to go to sleep. I want to turn the radio on, but I won’t. I don’t want to ruin my Zen. I can feel myself slipping away. And I know it’s not even worth trying to think. I’m just gone.
41.
When we’re both finished eating I get up and grab my plate and hers and take them to the kitchen. I know she appreciates it, and I hope that someday I can make someone else happy with little things like this too. I take the trip a couple times, taking glasses and condiments and left-overs. When everything is moved I ask if there is anything else that I can do to help. She says no, as she always does, and I don’t argue. I’d never win the argument if I tried anyway. Since it’s Sunday there’s no Wheel of Fortune on tonight but Gran has some other shows that she’ll watch, even if she’s not really paying full attention. I, on the other hand, don’t know what I’m going to do with myself between now and bedtime. I really should sit down with my homework I suppose. My notebooks are upstairs, and if I’m going to get anything done I don’t want the TV as a distraction so I guess I’ll hang out in my second room upstairs. Because Gran and Grandpa never moved after all of their kids grew up there were 3 empty bedrooms when in. One of them is full with old boxes of pictures and things of my aunts and uncles years ago. The room that is my bedroom was always the spare room so that was easy transition. And the last kind of became my office. I do homework, listen to music or even just stretch and think and breathe if I’m feeling a Zen. Ethan also uses it from time to time if he can’t make home to sleep. He just curls up on the floor with a pillow. Sort of like I did at the party. But minus Emily beside him.
That really did throw me off. It makes shake my head just thinking about it. Did I really just invite her over? What else did I say? What else did I do? I guess I’ll either have to ask her of just go on not knowing. I’m not really sure which is the better option.
Anyway, back to the office. There’s a wheelie chair and a desk that I brought with me when I moved in. And the wheelie chair is my prized possession. I bought it when I was 16 because Michael J Fox had one when he was Alex P Keaton on Family Ties in the 80’s. And even though I’m not a conservative business and politics type, I feel just as cool when I’m in that friggin’ chair. I grab my books from my bedroom and go to the office closing the door behind me. I can just sit in here and work with the radio on and with rarely an interruption. I can also climb out onto the roof of the garage, but I haven’t done that lately. I turn the bright ceiling light on to avoid eye fatigue and hit the sleep button on the old clock radio on my desk. That will give me 59 minutes of music and I can measure success by that, Google it. I adjust my chair (barely, but just because I can) and open up my notebook. I know that my business plan needs internet work and research, a luxury I don’t have and haven’t asked for here. So I guess that just leaves my made up independent study. I wish I knew why it worries me so much. It’s just another essay. And the only one that’s going to see it is the teacher. I look back at my outline and try to figure out what comes next. I guess I need to expand the memories and go from there.
When I was 12 years old I loved baseball more than anything. And I always had my own wooden bat. It was my thing, nobody else chose wood. It was all the about aluminum bats that made hitting the ball harder much easier. Then, in the middle of the season my bat broke. I had to use an aluminum one just like everyone else, and it wasn’t the same anymore. For two months I hoped that somehow I would get a new bat. But my birthday is in February so that wasn’t going to help. And we didn’t usually get thins that we wanted but didn’t need. Then on a Saturday morning when my final tournament of the year was starting my dad pulled into the parking lot. I saw his car, and was happy he was there, but I wasn’t even close to ready for what came next. As I was playing catch and getting ready to play my first game he walked down the long gravel driveway from the parking lot with a brand new wooden bat in his hand. It was light in colour, with a blue ring at the bottom of the barrel. It was a Rawlings Adirondak model. He has even already taped in white, it was perfect. I don’t remember my hits that day. Or the scores of any games (although we won them all, we really were that good), but I will never forget that one perfect moment, when he was the perfect dad. That will probably always be his one shining moment in my eyes. No matter what else happens in the next 30 years I doubt that he can do anything that will mean more than that bat did on that day. And I hope that no matter what happens in those same 30 years nothing will ever undo what it meant to me. I hate this feeling. The one where I miss him and wonder with all kinds of what ifs and stuff like that. I wish I could say I miss having him home and living with him. But I don’t remember what it was like. I guess I really just wish I know what it was like, or to have one of those TV families where everything works out in the long run and everyone learns their lessons along the way. But wishing for the past to change is wasting wishes.
40.
I know that dinner is only a matter of minutes away so there’s no point in going back down to my dark and drab haven. Gran’s already in the kitchen as I get down so I head for the dining room. The newspaper is there, for no reason other that neither of us have moved it, so I pick it up and see what else can be fixed up. There isn’t much really, just straightening up the salt and pepper shakers seems to put things back to normal. I walk the few steps to the hallway and drop the newspaper into the blue box with the rest of the papers since Wednesday. Wednesday is the magic day because that’s when the garbage and recycling guys come down our street. That also means that if anyone in the family wants something clipped out of the paper to be saved they have to call by Tuesday afternoon to get it. And depending on whose it is Gran might just tell them to come and get it themselves. I walk back toward the kitchen and slide past Gran to the counter. I reach up and grab plates and glasses and head to the table. Gran smiles at me because she loves and she thinks that these little things are a lot more significant than I do. I just don’t see any reason for her to do all the work to get dinner ready when I know that she’s not going to let me do any clean up other than taking dishes back to the kitchen after we’ve finished eating. I go back in and joke with Gran quickly.
“Will you get out from under my feet please, I’m trying to get dinner set up here. Jeez!” It’s a joke that I wouldn’t dream of making with my mom but with Gran it’s taken properly.
“Well excuse me Mister, how could I have been so blind?” She’s got a big smile on her face, which always makes me smile too. It’s impossible not to be happy when she is. Believe me I’ve tried. I pull open the drawer to the right of the sink and take forks and knives for the two of us and then turn in a tidy circle to snag the margarine and pitcher of water from the fridge. I take things to the table and then ask from the doorway if there’s anything else that we need.
“I don’t think so dear. Have a seat and I’ll bring things in.”
I do as I’m told, more because I’m hungry than for any other reason. Gran brings the dishes of food in and what do you know, I was right about side dishes. I’m glad I brought the margarine, because even if I don’t have bread I can put it one my potatoes. God bless Gran and her cooking, but mashed potatoes here aren’t like in restaurants. There is no milk involved, just banged up boiled spuds and a little margarine for moisture. The reason I think is that they fry better as left-overs, which is key for Gran since she rarely uses the microwave. We sit and eat and everything is amazing as usual. She uses a little more salt than is probably healthy. But who am I to say anything to her about it. We chat as we eat. And Gran asks if I have any plans for the week. I don’t so I tell her that. I tell her about the fundraiser and the athletic clothes at school and I can tell that she’s impressed that I’m at the top. There’s nothing higher that knowing a parent (or in my case a grand parent) is proud of you. Just like there is none lower than knowing you’ve disappointed them. I’ll take the pride, it helps to justify difficult situations and working through them. She asks about work this week and I tell her I’m there late Tuesday and Thursday, then maybe Sunday morning for brunch. I don’t work much, but I’ve got a great boss and he pays me pretty well. I cook in a small restaurant and motel just off the highway. Business is usually pretty slow so I get time to try new things and read the paper and think. I might have to look for something with more hours this summer, but for now I’m perfectly content with my set-up. Gran asks me where Ethan’s been for the weekend. I tell her I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was still sleeping. She laughs a little but doesn’t say anything else.
39.
I watch the hour long show twice because there’s nothing else on. The good news is though that there should be a Cubs game on soon. Sunday afternoon baseball is great. Sunshine, hot dogs, kids with their parents, and best of all the game. I love the whole thing. Anyway I flick through the channels until I find what I’m looking for, a live video feed of the front of Wrigley Field.
I think the park is as big a reason I love the team, as anything else. The game starts and it’s the same old thing. Baseball might not be as constantly exciting as basketball, but I love that at any moment there could be an amazing play, the kind that brings you right out of your seat. The only bad part is those plays always seem to go against the Cubs. I sit back and let the game wash over me. I don’t play the same kind of ball anymore but I love just observing the small things. The footwork, and body language, the things that the camera isn’t focused on but you can still see. Baseball is a lot like life really. Every once in a while you’re going to have to make a hard play or be put in a tough position. But, if you pay attention, do things properly and stay ready, the hard plays get a little easier day to day. I guess the moral of the story is live right and be ready, but I never really got the moral of most stories. I just liked the stories themselves. As I’m watching, and floating in and out of sleep Gran yells down the stairs.
“Dany, are you there?”
“Yes ma’am, what can I do for you?”
“You can eat, what do you want for dinner. Beef or chicken?”
“Beef please, thank you Granny.” I feel kind of bad having a yell back and forth conversation with her, but I know that’s how she and Grandpa always worked so I don’t think she minds too much.
I can almost taste the grease dripping off the beef already now that Gran has mentioned it and I can smell it as it wafts down the staircase. If I’m right, and when it comes to Gran making dinner I probably am, it’ll be ground beef, mashed potatoes and some sort of veggies. My bet is peas, only because we haven’t had them in a while. But it could very easily be corn (either creamed or regular) or carrots, or beets even. I remember when I was little we would come here for dinner and Gran would let my brother and I choose whatever vegetable was in the pantry to go with dinner. Those were good times, they seem like a long time ago now. I blink out of my reminiscing stare and notice that my Cubs are again losing. It’s friggin’ 8-3 for the New York Mets and we’re already into the 8th inning. Now I’m not trying to be a pessimist, but things don’t look good. Oh well, losing is one of those things that just naturally comes with being a fan. Especially of the cursed Cubs of Chicago. I decide that it’s not worth watching another team pump fists and shake hands and pat asses on the infield at Wrigley, and I turn off the TV.
I make the trip upstairs and wander all the way up to my room. It’s almost dinner time now and I haven’t had a smoke yet today. I look at the clock and see that it’s only about 20 to five, which means I should be able to have a smoke and wash up before Gran yells up at me to come and eat. It’s the same old routine as I close the door behind me and peel off my shirt and toss it on the bed. I notice through when I open my pack that I’m running dangerously low on smokes. Maybe it’s a good thing that I haven’t had one yet today. And that Emily has a plan. After the soothing burn I turn off the fan. It won’t be long now until I just leave it on all the time without worrying about getting cold. And that will be nice. I pull my shirt back on and spray the cologne. Ah hell, I should have waited with the fan, how did I screw that up? Either way I go to the washroom and quickly splash some water on my face. It’s a good thing to do after a smoke. Plus maybe it will help- me out of this half sleep state that I’ve been in all day. Now with a half wet face I head down the stairs to the living room.
38.
“Hey lady” I say to her as I walk through the doorway.
“Good afternoon sunshine” she quips back playfully.
“Hey now, it’s only 11. I’m even going to get to have breakfast before noon. So there.” I stick my tongue out at her. She always brings out the kid in me.
Gran doesn’t say anything, just laughs at me as I turn towards the kitchen. Cereal sounds the most appetizing of all my options. If for no reason other than it’s much less effort than cooking eggs or bacon or anything else. I grab a bowl from the cupboard and grab the cereal container from the end of the counter. Gran always buys knock-off cereal brands in bulk. It’s not that we don’t have the money, or even that we eat that much of it, but I think it’s an attitude hold over from having seven kids of her own. So instead of pouring Fruit Loops into my bowl I shake some frosted Fruitios in. One thing there is always plenty of in the house though is milk! I pour in the 2% and grab a spoon. The Sunday paper is on the dining room table when I get to it so I open it up for a quick read. I don’t read it every day, and Gran never does, but she still has it delivered every day of the week. I don’t know if that’s so I can read it whenever I feel like it, or just because she didn’t have the heart to cancel the subscription after Grandpa was gone. Either way, I open it the same way as always and read it just as I was taught.
After I’ve read what I feel is important (read: Sports, entertainment, comics, politics) and my Frosted Fruitios are gone I rinse my bowl in the sink and think. Do I really need a smoke now or do I just want to go downstairs and veg in my chair? I choose downstairs, and grab a couple chocolate cookies from the plastic container on the kitchen table as I head for the stairs. There won’t be much on TV as far as sports goes, but maybe CNN will have something good on, or if I am lucky there will be something good on ESPN Classic. I get to my chair and grab the remote. There’s no need to turn a light on, the sunshine is coming through the two small windows to my right in an almost perfect amount.
I hit the red power button and watch the black screen come to life. I go to CNN first because it’s closest on the grid, but what do you know, I’m disappointed. It’s just the ticker at the bottom of the screen and some talking head on the screen explaining some small town story that everyone should be able to relate to or find interesting. Something about the 200th anniversary of when the Johnson family opened the town funeral home or old man Springfield getting ready for the 60th summer season at his roadside country hotel. Either way their plan didn’t work because I’m not interested at all. So I keep flipping through the channels. Passing everything from infomercials to church at home shows. Sunday really is the worst day for TV. I get to ESPN and it’s SportsCenter, which isn’t a bad choice and will probably become my back-up plan. I push down the button a couple more quick clicks to get to ESPN Classic, I’m hoping for basketball or baseball. But, here I am and it’s golf. Coverage of the 1972 U.S. Open. I don’t even know what was special about the Open that year, and I am certainly not going to watch to find out. I rarely watch golf live, let alone some 30 years later. So it’s back to SportsCenter.
The highlights run through in tidy little segments and as I’m watching all I can think is I could do this. It’s the same as when I watch a ballgame on TV. I can say almost word for word the same things the play by play guy does, but usually 30 seconds sooner and without someone talking to me through as ear piece to coach me along. It’s too bad I don’t have the passion to take broadcasting at college. Plus my life plans don’t fit with a travelling schedule for eight months a year or more. I want to be a good dad someday. The kind of dad that will play catch, help with homework and make my wife do all the disciplining, I’m kidding, but it would be nice if it worked out that way. But since nothing is ever certain, and as it’s been said, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”, I’ll just have to wait and see where this ride goes. I just hope for stability.
37.
I grab a notebook and pen. The hardest part is finding blank pages to write on. Here we go. I grab the pen and start doing that stupid tapping thing again. I hate waiting for words to come. Let’s just see where the pen takes me.
As I sit here I’m a lucky man
I’ve travelled off to distant lands
I’ve seen things some have only dreamed
I’ve had you standing next to me
You listened close when no one cared
Through thick and thin you were there
When I was down you helped me up
And when I cried you showed me love
Without you life is not the same
You can make me smile on any day
So name the things I need to do
And they’ll be done just for you
And please forgive the things I’ve done
Let them go down with the sun
And when the sun comes up again
We’ll be here, true best friends
Very rarely do I surprise myself. But I’m kinda happy with this thing. I think part of it is probably about Ethan. I read it again. Then again, it sounds kind of gay that way. There’s a lot of Emily that fits those words too. Fuck it, who cares, I like and that’s good enough for me right now. I doubt that I’ll come up with anything else that good (at least I think it’s good) but what could a few more minutes hurt?
Walking in an open field, my head among the clouds. A face appears before me and puts my feet back on the ground. There are no words in her mouth, no expression on her face. But in her eyes she holds the keys to a far off distant place.
That’s all, I’m done for the night. When it takes 20 minutes to get that little bit accomplished it’s time to hang it up. At least on that project. Larger things like essays are reports and stories need to be plugged away at. I understand that much. But personally, if I am writing lyrics or poems and they don’t flow out in at least a first draft form then today just isn’t the day for that piece. It’s like natural selection of words. Ok, maybe it’s not , but that’s the thought that came to me. I never, however, give up fully on a piece. Just because it didn’t come out smoothly the first time around doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be written at all. So I keep a shoe box (that should probably be replaced at this point) with half written prose and letters (both received and never sent) and even short stories. And sometimes if I can’t find words to start a night I go back to the shoe box. Or, if I’m on a roll and words keep coming faster than I can get them out, I’ll pull it out and see if I can’t give an ending to some starts. I don’t call myself an artist, and I really don’t share anything enough for anyone else to call me one. But I do believe that words are art. Maybe some day I’ll follow through on some of it. Then again, maybe not. The more I think about it the less sure I am. I mean, do I really want everyone to know all those thoughts? To know about dreams, or love, or hurt and tears. That’s certainly not my usual gig. But maybe that’s what’s holding me back. Maybe the truth will set me free.
Arg, I’m so confused. I need to sleep. I reach over and turn out the light and roll onto my side. I close my eyes and think about the face with no words or expression. I can see the face. But I can’t the see the eyes, so I don’t know the rest of the story. Oh well, I guess it will just have to stay in the shoe box. I can almost feel myself slipping away. I love it.
I feel my eyes closed but I’m awake. The question now becomes do I open them and look at the clock to see if I should go back to sleep. Or do I let myself believe it’s 7:30 in the morning and there is no reason for me to up yet on a Sunday morning. Ah hell, I’ve thought about it too much now. I might as well be wide awake and see what the world has to offer. Turning my head to look at the alarm clock gives me a little relief. It’s 10:47 and Gran will make fun of me when I come downstairs anyway. I throw on a pair of blue and white board shorts. I’m in school colours even on the weekend. I grab and old athletics t-shirt from gym class to round out the combo. No point in going halfway. Plus, I sort of like having the Spartan logo on my chest. I am proud of my little school and what I’ve accomplished there. I stumble my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I guess I’m not as wide awake as I first thought. I splash my face with cold water. Defiantly sending a message that I need to wake up. After I’m done and I’m confident that I can make it down the stairs in one piece I dry my face and turn out the bathroom light. I’ll come back for a smoke after breakfast. When I get down to the front hallway I go right to the living room instead of left to the kitchen. It’s always good to say good morning or hello to Gran. I think it’s an unwritten rule that my dad and his brothers and sisters lived by. There she is in her chair with the blinds open, the sun shining in and her knitting in her lap (go figure).
Small Town Senior, 18 And Counting 
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