Archives: July 9-July 15, 2006
July 9, 2006
Tonight, the drinks on the table are soda. For the first time in over two years, my brother and I have dinner at my grandmother's table. Afterward, it's the return of another family tradition, as Grandma pulls out her old Scrabble board.
April sits at Grandma's side, and every so often, Grandma will say something low to her, sometimes swallowed by the laughter at the table, sometimes audible to us all. “You know,” she begins as my father contemplates his next move, “when Ray and Preston were kids they would get so competitive about this game. And when one of them won the other one would demand that we play another game. And their father just loved to play, so he'd let it go on all night.”
Dad smiles. “Fortunately, your daughter would know when to throw it in, and call it a night after three or four games. Unless she was drinking—”
“Right,” Ray nods. “Because then she'd just float over to the couch and watch TV while we kept playing.”
My father shakes his head, and builds off an “I” tile on the board to make “ICON.”
While Dad plods through each turn, Ray has time to plot out his next move, and make up a back up plan, playing readily after he's done. It's funny because, even though we joked about it moments before, I can't help feeling surge of competitiveness running through me as I rearrange my tiles. I start to keep a running tally of the scores in my head, while Dad remains the official scorekeeper across the table from me. I remember, when I was a kid, wondering if my father rigged the scores to make me and Ray even sometimes. If he did, he had to stop that as Ray, then I, got older and more conscious of what we were scoring each round.
Of course neither of us is quite a match for April in this game. She adds an “L-E-X” in front of my father's word, to make “LEXICON.” “All right,” Dad says, “That's one-two-ten-eleven-fourteen-fifteen-sixteen, and a double word score makes thirty-two.”
April slides the “X” with her index finger to show a double-letter score there as well. “Actually, I think it's forty-eight,” she corrects him.
“She's right Dad,” Ray says.
Dad smiles, marking down the score. “Ray, I thought you and your brother were the English majors, and April here was an actress. Shouldn't you guys be the ones scoring fifty points a turn.”
Ray shrugs. “She's multi-talented. Besides, you have to have a good vocab to act, so you can understand what you're saying.”
“No, no,” April shakes her head. “I'm just getting good tiles. That's all.”
“Modest too.” Dad smiles.
“Only in Scrabble,” Ray says. “You put her in a game of Texas Hold ‘Em and nobody at the table's smiling.”
“A card player too then?” Dad asks with a smile before turning back to the board. I lay down “NOGGIN” off of the “N.”
“Not bad, little brother,” Ray says as I tie my score with his.
July 10, 2006
“You've gotten a little better, I'll give you that,” Ray says, bouncing the basketball back to me at the free throw line at Shermantown Park .
“That's six for eight,” I say bouncing the ball twice, then shooting again, rattling the shot in. “Make it seven for nine.”
“All right,” Ray nods, passing the ball back again. “But don't choke on this last shot.”
I shake my head, bounce the ball a few times before taking the shot. This one bounces off the side of the rim and is headed out of bounds before Ray catches up to it. “You're getting better but you're still susceptible to suggestion.”
“Right, right.”
Ray chuckles dribbling up to the line. He drills his first free throw. “So, Preston what's the deal with you and Emma—and that other girl?”
I wave my hand as I bounce the ball back to him. “It's like I said—it's just a big mess.”
“Well come on, there's nobody else here now. Give me the dirt.” He puts in his second shot.
“Long story short, I cheated on Emma with a friend of hers. Emma caught me and that was the end of that—which I thought was okay because me and this other girl—Veronica started going out. And then, a couple weeks ago, Veronica dumped me.”
“So now you're thinking you picked the wrong girl?”
“Yes,” I say, watching as Ray makes his third straight shot. “No. I don't know. Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice, but then it's not like Emma and I were really getting along then. And I did care a lot about Veronica.” I stop, shaking my head as I pass the ball back. “It's just—how do you know when you are making the right choice with a girl?”
Ray smiles, spinning the ball in his hands. “You ever figure that one out, you let me know.” He takes his fourth shot, which rattles in and out. “Make it three for four.”
“All right, I get it that you never know what's going to happen. But come on, you're engaged for Chrissake.”
“I am. And I'm also six years older than you. It's one of those things where there's really no substitute for experience—I can't really explain it to you.” Ray makes his fifth shot.
“But how did you know you should leave Tracy for April.”
Ray bounces the ball a couple times. “ Tracy was a special girl. Sometimes I think that if I did stay in the states, it would have worked out. I know I was a lot better with her than I was with every girl up until her.” He misses the sixth shot, over shooting and sending it off of the back rim. “But that's just the thing. You can have failed relationship after failed relationship. You can have pointless dates, and you can have crushes that don't amount to anything. But you've got to keep trying.” He pauses, lining up and draining his seventh shot, off of which the ball bounces right back to him. “And all it takes is that right one to set everything right.” The eighth shot bounces around the rim before dropping in.
“I didn't want to talk about it the other night. But there is this girl at Stephon's. I don't really know her,” I look at the ball, spinning it in my own hands. “Hell, until recently, I kind of hated her. But lately, I've been feeling something for her.”
Ray shrugs. I pass him the ball back and he promptly drains his ninth shot. “I can't give you any answers, little brother. The best I can say is that you'd might as well you can do with it.”
“Even if that means just getting my heart broken again?”
Ray holds the ball, looking at me. “ Especially if it means getting your heart broken. Because the only way you're gonna get your heart broken, is if you really care in the first place. And that's the whole point of all this relationship stuff.”
I don't know what to say in response, because I know he's right. Maybe I just needed to hear it.
I clear my throat. “Better not choke on this last shot, or else we're going to sudden death.”
Ray's face twists into a smile. He spins the ball once more between his hands then prepares to shoot. I know it's going in before it even leaves his hands.
July 11, 2006
“Now you guys are sure you've got everything you need? All your clothes and toiletries and everything?” my father asks as we finish up breakfast. Dad got up early today—normal time for him but a couple hours before anyone else—to make a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. He's going into work late, waiting until he can Ray and April are ready, at which time I'll drive, dropping my dad off at work, and them at the airport.
“Yeah, we double checked when we got up, and I think we're all set,” Ray says, whipping his mouth with a napkin.
“All right,” Dad goes on, “But if you did leave anything, just call and I'll ship it to you—either to California or Florida , whatever you want me to do.”
We don't talk much about where the Ray and April are headed, but all know that their next stop is Florida , where they'll spend a couple days with Mom before going home.
There's a small part of me that resents how big a deal Dad is making of Ray and April leaving—like they're, on some level, more significant than me. But then, it is the first time we've seen him in years, and who knows when we'll see them again—maybe a year from now, when they have the wedding.
April's quiet this morning. She looks tired, and hasn't eaten much, mostly just sipping her coffee. I heard the hum of their voices across the hall, talking late last night, but couldn't hear what they were saying. I suppose they can sleep on the plane.
I think of how I'll miss Ray—how these last few days have been a nice escape from the routine of the summer. With Matt gone, all I really have to look forward to is hanging out with Chang and Joey every now and again—that and going to work at Stephon's. I think about Ray's advice from last night.
“Well, we all set?” Dad asks.
April nods.
“I think so, pops,” Ray says.
“Let me help you with your bags,” I say, and lead the way upstairs.July 12, 2006
“So Tucker's latest trip is that Student Association organizations shouldn't be charged for running ads in the paper,” Sam says over the phone. I'm at home, goofing around on my computer.
Sam said that things wouldn't be easy for The Window with Tucker as the SA president, and a part of me has wondered if it's not equal parts Tucker being an asshole associate of his predecessor, and Tucker just not liking Sam. Either way, I don't really know what this latest bit of news means yet, but I get the sense that it's makings of a new hassle. “So what does that mean for us?”
“Well ads revenue is our primary source of income. And as an SA organization ourselves, we're expected to fundraise a certain amount of money, or else we lose our status, and funding, and so on and so forth.”
“Right.”
“So Tucker's arguing that in raising funds by having other organizations pay for ads, we're not really making any new money for SA—we're just re-circulating the money they had given to other groups.”
I lean back in my chair. “I hate to admit, but that actually makes some sense.”
“I agree with you. But the issue is that Carrie, Teri and I set up our budget at the end of last year so that we're expected to raise $20,000 through ads revenue—counting on the $5,000 or more that we get each year from student organizations.”
“Okay.”
“So now, after we signed on to raise a certain amount of money, Tucker is changing the rules of how we can go about raising money—and you'd better believe he's going to penalize us if we can't hit our quota.”
“Diabolical.”
“This is serious shit, Presto. It means we're going to have to get a lot more aggressive about selling ad space.”
“Well I'll do my part—nothing makes people want to advertise with a paper like a solid news reporting.”
Sam chuckles. “Yeah, that will be a part of it. And some of that news will have to include the acts of douche-baggery that Tucker's responsible for.”
“No doubt.”
“All right, I just wanted to get you thinking about all this,” Sam says. “So what's new with you?”July 13, 2006
Julie expertly folds a t-shirt and stacks it on top of the rest of the pile of perfectly neat clothing, before moving it all into a bag. “There you are,” she says. “Have a great day!”
As the customer walks away, I lean against the counter. “How long do you figure I'll have to work here before I figure out how to fold clothes like that.”
Julie shrugs. “Jermaine's been here a year longer than me, and he still can't do it.”
“Must be a girl thing then.”
Julie smiles. “So I was talking with Jermaine, and we were thinking that after everybody had such a good time on the Fourth of July, maybe we should hang out more often.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, we were thinking maybe after we closing on Saturday, the four of us—you, me, him and Anastasia could go out for food or something.”
“That sounds really good.” It really does sound good, as I've been trying to figure out a way of asking Anastasia to so something outside of work. I pause, checking the receipt tape in my register. “But I'm actually going away for the weekend.”
“Well that's too bad. Where are you going?”
I hesitate, not sure of how Julie will react to the news, and wondering if Matt's been in touch with her since the last time we talked. I doubt it, since Matt and I have hardly spoken over the last month. “I'm actually going to Brewdell—I'm visiting Matt over at his camp.”
“Oh.” In that instant, I know they haven't spoken.
“I can, you know, tell him you said hi,” I volunteer.
Julie nods, looking away. “Yeah, that would be nice.”July 14, 2006
“Hey Preston , come on out here for a minute,” Dad calls. I'm surprised to hear him—I didn't expect to see him until after the weekend, and I'm just getting my bags set to head to Brewdell.
“What's going on Dad?” I ask, popping my head out of my room.
“Come downstairs for a minute.”
With a sigh, I lob the pair of socks in my hands into my duffel bag, then head down. Getting to the foot of the stair, I can see Dad standing in the doorway, the front door open. In a flash, I worry that something is very wrong—that we're going out, and leaving in a hurry. Maybe something with Grandma. God forbid something with Ray and April when they were traveling.
Dad smiles when he sees me, though. “Come out here.”
He leads me outside, and I spy to cars in the driveway—Dad's sky blue oldsmobile, a new looking silver car beside it. “I decided to buy a new car.”
All my worries disappear. “No kidding? Trading in the blue bomber?”
“Not exactly. I figured that I know someone who could get some use out of it?”
“A client?”
Dad sighs and pats my back. “Na, son. With all of the traveling you've been doing lately, I figured maybe it's time you have a vehicle to call your own.”
“You're kidding.”
“You're driving more than I am anyway lately. This way, we won't have to worry about sharing or anything.”
The car's been in my life some ten years now. There's something new about when I look at it now. “Are you sure about this? I've been working—I could pay you something for it.”
Dad waves his hand. “I'm overdue for a new car anyway, and it's not like this old heap is gonna last you much past college anyway. So save your money. Use it for gas.”
“Thank you, Dad.” I wish there was something more I could say—something to really show him how grateful I am.
“You're welcome.” He smiles, probably understanding. “I have to get back to the office for a couple hours, so I'll let you get back to packing. Have a safe trip this weekend, all right? And tell Matt I said hi.”
“Will do,” I agree. In a moment, Dad's in the new car and on the road. In my pocket, I touch the keys to what has become my first car.
July 15, 2006
“Everybody ready! Get set!” Matt says, before his face turns to a grin. “Get extra set!” The kids groan. “Go!”
The kids hurl into a sprint. They're in a footrace from just ahead of where we stand to a tree about the length of a football field away, before running back. It's just one leg in the “Olympics” this afternoon.
“You like torturing the kids, don't you?” I ask.
Matt shrugs. “They like it.”
Other counselors line the course, cheering on different kids, making sure nobody gets hurt. I have to admit that Matt was pretty smart about choosing a camp gig for his summer. I got in in time for dinner yesterday, and in time to catch the dance the counselors put on for all the kids that night. Afterwards, they put the kids to bed in their little cabins, before heading outside for a bonfire, where I got to know everyone a little better.
Penny's among the counselors on the sidelines, jumping and clapping as one of her girls pulls toward the front of the pack. Matt's been spending a lot of time with her since I got here, and I spotted them holding hands at the fire last night. Matt melted a marshmallow for her s'more too. Really cute girl—short and bubbly. Matt and I haven't really had much chance to talk alone, so I can't ask him anything about her. I have managed to squeeze in the fact that Julie said hi, which Matt didn't really respond to.
“So what do you have lined up for the kids tonight?”
“It's the talent show, thank God. Means all we have to do is sit back and watch while the kids do their thing for a couple hours.”
“That is, aside from our dance routine.”
“Your dance routine?”
Matt laughs. “The guy counselors have our own little thing—really simple. Then the girls have their dance. It's sort of a friendly competition.”
I shake my head. “It sounds like fun, bro. I really wish I'd thought ahead and got myself a job like this.”
The first of the kids reach the tree, and start the return trip. “It's fun. But then are days when I wish I could go home at the end of the day, get eight hours of sleep. Makes a job like yours sound a little more appealing. Of course, there aren't many girls like Penny over in Shermantown.”
I laugh. “That's true. Though, the field at Stephon's might not be quite so bleak as we thought it was.”
“So you're getting over Veronica?”
“I miss her. But there's a point when you've gotta start looking elsewhere.”
“So who's making things less bleak over there?” Matt asks.
I was hoping to really talk to Matt about this, rather than having it come up under circumstances like these, when we've only got a second. I hardly get the name, “Anastasia,” off my lips, and Matt can hardly start laughing before the first kid crosses the line, winning the race.