Archives: May 28-June 3, 2006
May 28, 2006
“How's the restaurant?”
“It's good,” Mom says over the phone. “We just put in a jukebox—we're adding sort of a fifties flair to the place. Figure it'll appear to all the old folks here.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” I want to ask my mother about the divorce. It's only the second time we've spoken since she asked my father for it. I didn't think of it as much more than a formality at the time, but since Dave mentioned the idea of there being another guy in the picture, I haven't been able to help wondering.
“You know, you still haven't seen the restaurant. I'd really like for you to come see what it looks like.”
“Well, yeah, I'll definitely come see it sometime—you know I've been meaning to.”
“You've been meaning to, but I still haven't seen you since Christmas time. It's time you take those good intentions and turn them into some action. Now you know I can't really spare the money to get you a plane ticket right now, but if you ask your father, I'm sure he'll be able to help you out.”
Dave also suggested the divorce could have been about money. I hate to think my own mother might be motivated by a thing like that.
“We'll see Mom.” For now, I change the subject to a topic I know she'll want to hear more on, and one I never tire of talking about. “Right now, I'm focusing on making a trip to see Veronica.”
“That's right—you told me you had a new girlfriend and I haven't heard a thing about it since.”May 29, 2006
“You're telling me you won this big tournament with a jump shot like that?” Matt asks.
“Toss it back out to me,” I say, standing in a corner of the court, just outside the three point line. Matt bounces the ball back to me and I fire again, not airballing the shot this time, but having it glance off the side of the rim this time.
“Still no outside shot,” Matt says, gathering the rebound, laying the ball in the basket. “I guess some things really don't change.”
“Speaking of things that don't change, when are we gonna remove you from singlehood? I mean, fuck Julie and Johnny. Time for you to find something new.”
“Something new in Shermantown? Nothing ever changes here,” he says, tossing in a jumper from just inside the free throw line. “Same shit different day. I'm just waiting until I leave for camp. See some new people—and when you're all isolated like that, the camp is your world. You don't even think about people outside it. That means 10 to 15 odd girls, 10-15 odd guys, and the cream rises to the top.”
“I hope that's not some kind of innuendo.”
“Just a metaphor.”
“Shoot the ball.”
Matt misses this time, and I grab the board, dribbling to the opposite corner of the half court.
“I'm telling you,” Matt goes on as I rattle the shot home, “You're gonna be missing out. A bunch of college aged girls, who you'll never have to worry about seeing again, summer heat, the isolation factor—this is the place to play.”
“Speaking of playtime, where the hell are Chang and Joey? Weren't they supposed to get here half an hour ago.”
“Let me take a look at the cell,” Matt says, trotting to the sidelines as I move to my spot to the side of the free throw line, and knock down the shot I practiced so many times with Mike and Dave.
May 30, 2006
Lois, a thin, pretty woman, about thirty years of age, sits perched on a stool, a good six inches over me as I sit in a folding chair. She's the store manager at Stephon's. Clad in a black tank top and blue jeans that fade inward to near white down the middle of each, she bobs her short hair up and down as she switches between looking at me and jotting down notes in her steno pad. “So what do you like to do for fun?”
The question throws me off a little, after questions about customer service experience, how I would go about responding to emergencies in the store, and my own thoughts on fashion. “Well, I like to play basketball. And I like to read—I'm an English major in school.”
“Do you like to party?”
“Excuse me?”
“ Taylor College . I had some friends over there. Not much to do on a Friday night if you don't have a bottle in hand.”
I chuckle. “I prefer the Solo cup myself.”
Lois laughs and sets the pad down on the desk behind her. “I like that. And I like you, Preston . You've got personality. So I'm offering you the job.”
“Really?”
“You got it, Presto. Any questions?”
I look around me, at the back office, cluttered with receipts, print outs, bags of clothing on layaway, all covering the same royal blue carpet that runs throughout the store just outside it. This is where I'll be spending my summer.
I smile. “When do I start?”May 31, 2006
“So are you gonna get an employee discount on your next mini-skirt?” Matt says, eyes glued to the TV screen as he mashes the controller with his thumbs.
“No wait, go down that pipe.”
“I go down the pipe and I miss the one-up.”
“Not if you do it right.” For the first time in years, Matt has set up his old school Nintendo, and so here we sit, playing the original Super Mario Bros. “And Stephon's sells men's clothes too, ass.”
“So when's your first day?”
“Sometime next week. I asked not to start until after the weekend.”
“What's it matter?”
“I'm seeing Veronica this weekend.”
“Ah right. And what does she think of your new job?”
“She's happy for me.”
“Fuck.” Matt says as his Luigi runs into one of those bird looking things with the shells.
“Tough break,” I say, picking up my own controller.
“So what are you doing with Veronica?”
“Not really sure. Meeting up in Duncanville . Supposed to be a lot of shops there—quaint little village kind of thing. Just going to kill the day together.”
“Gonna find a hotel room or something?”
“Doubt it. It's just a day visit.”
“Time is short, all the more reason.”
“That's a little sketchy—” I trail off as the TV turns to a shade of green, then grey. “What the fuck?”
Matt gets up and taps the top of the Nintendo, then hits it again harder, turning the screen to a solid shade of green. “Old technology, dude. Not much you can do about it,” he says and presses the reset button.
“Hey, while you're up, why don't you get me another Dew.”
“You know, I'm gonna start charging you for those things.”
“Like hell you are. If your mom complains, let me know and I'll pay her back.”
“See I pay your mom up front, right and proper.” Matt says, heading off for the kitchen as I see him off with my one finger salute.June 1, 2006
I press my bare foot against the wood railing, leaning back on my lawn chair out on the back deck. The sun's just beginning to dip in the sky. “I think it's going to be a decent gig. I'll be inside in the air conditioning, probably working 20 hours a week or so, folding shirts, working a cash register. Can't complain about that.”
“But what'll Matt do while you're at work?” Veronica asks. “Seems like all you guys do is hang out.”
“Yeah, but he's off for his camp job in a few weeks. He won't know the difference.” It's points like this that worry me a little in our conversations. I've found over the last couple weeks that we have a lot less to talk about over the summer months, and I catch myself repeating things I've already said. But then, she sincerely doesn't seem to remember them, which makes me wonder if she has been listening. I guess I can't blame her if she isn't, with the monotony of it all. It's for that, if no other reason, that I'm looking forward to this job—something to keep me busy and give me something worth talking about.
“It's just funny to me because I only have a couple friends I'm still in touch with here. And we're good friends and all, but we'll go out for drinks on a Friday night, maybe out to dinner sometimes, but that's it.”
“Well Matt's like my brother,” I say. “And he lives right down the street.”
“I know. I guess it just reminds me of my first summer back from college. Back then, everyone came home, and we would go out of every night, drive out to the beach on the weekends, stuff like that.”
“So I'm making you feel old?”
“Something like that.”
“Well don't. Because tomorrow, it's just you and me. Dropped off the old man at the airport this afternoon, and I've got his car for the weekend. Hitting the road at 9 a.m. sharp.”
“Have you been up before noon yet all break?”
“Haven't had a reason to until now.”
“So you're excited?”
“I can't wait.”
“Me neither,” Veronica says, with the hint of a giggle. “So I have some things to take care of before tomorrow. I'll see you in Duncanville , all right?”
“Sounds good. Have a good night, babe.”June 2, 2006
I had my alarm set for 8 a.m. this morning, but woke up at 6:30 and couldn't get back to sleep. So I got up right then. Thankful that Dad's out of town for a conference, I put on my music loud and hopped in the shower. Within the hour, I was on the road.
I've never been to Duncanville , so I'm glad to be on the road early. I take all the back roads Veronica recommended to me, speeding through the upstate New York countryside, past long stretches of fields, dotted by barns and silos. Nothing but static comes across the radio waves.
I round a corner, and I'm in Duncanville . All at once, the county side is gone, and I'm in a little town, shops and restaurants intermingled with large, old-style houses. I follow Veronica's directions further, zigzagging through the streets. After a couple wrong turns, I right myself, ending up at the public parking garage Veronica prescribed.
I walk to Bravo's, a coffee shop that looks simple from the outside, and is all polished wood inside. Just as I'm walking up to the counter, I spy Veronica sitting at a little table by the window. She spotted me first, watching me, and smiling by then.
“I thought we said noon ,” I say as she stands and I walk closer.
“Maybe I couldn't wait.”
“Guess I couldn't either.”
She kisses me, a hint of the hazelnut from her coffee lingering on her lips, then takes a hold of my hand in hers. “So you found the place okay?”
“No problemo. Directions were perfect.”
“Sometimes people get scared they missed something after driving through farmland for more than an hour.”
I order an Italian soda and join Veronica as she finishes up her drink. From there, we head out into the village. We walk through quirky little businesses—an antique store, a used record shop, some clothing places. Veronica helps me pick out a couple new polo shirts. I give her the thumbs up to a new sundress. We grab lunch at this ribs stand, surrounded by picnic tables. I'm happy to see Veronica dig into the ribs without any inhibitions. It's like the summer has released her from the demons of the school year—from making all of the perfect and adult decisions.
We continue walking around the town, ending up at a park a little past 5. The place is immaculate, all perfectly trimmed grass, crystal clear duck pond up ahead of us. They're setting up a stage on the far side of the park and there are food vendors lining the way there. “They do this every Friday in the summer,” Veronica explains. “It starts the first Friday of June. They have local bands playing, and all the restaurants set up their little booths. These things are why I love this town.”
I can understand the charm of Duncanville, and understand why my folks would take their drives out here for a weekend here or there years ago, leaving me and Ray with my grandfather.
We take a seat in a pair of the white folding chairs set up around the stage. The evening begins with the chorus from a local elementary school singing a couple songs. While others gush at how cute the kids are, Veronica sings back the correct note with each of the many errors the kids make in each song. Nonetheless, she smiles and claps her hands with everyone else at the end of each song. I put an arm over her and pull her in close.
There's a string quartet of old folks playing next, then a Beatles cover band of middle aged the wrap up the night. During their last song, the fireworks begin behind the stage.
“They do this every year,” Veronica whispers as the sparks flash behind us and people begin to clap, before the song is over.
The fireworks are modest, one set going off at a time, each of a single color. There's something beautiful in the simplicity of it, though. I kiss Veronica's cheek and she turns to kiss me on the lips. When the fireworks and the festival are over, we'll make our way back to the garage and each head back toward home, starting our next period of weeks apart. I do all that I can to savor this moment, kissing her hard—tasting and smelling her, as the fireworks explode above us.June 3, 2006
“I'm telling, I've not only got my chops back—I'm better than I've ever been,” Dave says across the phone line. “Had the girls eating out of my hands.”
“So what did you play?” I ask, opening a cupboard, looking for something to snack on.
“Started with ‘Lightning Crashes,' easy chord progression, got to sing all throaty,” Dave says. He's talking about an open mic he played at in his hometown two nights ago. Then it was on to Ben Harper, ‘Steal My Kisses.' Messed it up pretty royally, but most of the kids there didn't know the song anyway, so it's not like they noticed.”
“Good deal. So you're gonna be doing the open mic thing from here on out?”
“Well I'll be doing it here, but when I get back to Taylor , I've gotta get a band together. Start writing some music, get political with it. Then the public show becomes a private show in a dorm room someplace, when I find a pretty little thing to go home with.”
“All part of a plan then.”
“There's always gotta be a plan. I'm not saying that's the sole objective with the music thing, but there's no point in turning away a perk,” he says with a laugh. “So what's going on with you, my man?”
“Went to see Veronica yesterday.”
“Very nice.”
“Just a day trip, though. Went to Duncanville , outside Albany . Had this whole festival thing going on.”
“Ah, it's good that you're keeping up with the woman whatever you're doing. Gotta keep a short leash on a girl like that.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I'm just saying, pretty girl. Gotta keep her interested.”
“Whatever dude. We're doing fine.”
“Good deal. So what else is going on with you before I let you go.”
“Before you let me go? You in some kind of hurry?”
“I'm almost done putting the finish on the old man's fence here. After that, I'm hanging up on you whether you're done or not, and it's shower time.”
“Well no hard labor over here. Just relaxing at home, hanging out with Matt a lot. Got a clothing store gig starting up next week.”
“Clothing store, huh?”
“Better than option B over at Golden Burger.”
“My what high standards we keep.”