Archives: July 16-July 22, 2006
July 16, 2006
Sunday's a pretty low-key day at the camp. Matt and I sit on a bench by the lake, Matt splitting his attention between the kids in the water and the ones playing football behind us. According to Matt, Sunday's the only day when there aren't any real structured activities.
Penny's in the football game, and so that side of things gets a little more of Matt's attention. “She's actually from Maryland ,” he says.
“Then what's she doing here?”
“Has an aunt who lives in town here, who's friends with the woman who runs the whole camp.”
“Good deal.”
Matt nods. “It's like I was saying—just a little something for the summer. Under ordinary circumstances, the two of us never would have met. After we're done here, it wouldn't shock me if we never speak again. But for now, the getting's good.”
“Does she know this is just a summer thing?”
“Haven't really talked about it. Not like we're getting real serious, though. Just having fun. If it comes up, and she isn't on the same page, I'll set her straight.”
“Set her straight?”
“Hey, help him up!” Matt yells. One boy accidentally knocked another one over when he was backing up, then kept on running. “John, you all right?”
The first kids helps the second one up, and the second gives Matt the okay sign.
“So what about you and Anastasia?” Matt asks, turning his attention back to me. “Last I heard you hated her. Now you guys are a thing?”
“Hardly.” I look out on the water. “It's just that she's warmed up some since then. We actually talk sometimes. And she's a really pretty girl.”
“And you've got a crush on her?”
“Something like that. I don't know. I half think the other people at work are trying to set us up. They wanted to go out as a group this weekend, but I was coming here.”
“Well let me ask you—do you think she likes you too, or is this just you checking out a hot girl?”
“Fucked if I know. The one thing that hasn't changed is that I still don't know how to read her.”
Matt laughs, and pats my back. “Well either way, I'm proud of you. You're not wasting anytime being all heart broken, heading right back out there.”
“But that's just it.” I run a hand through my hair. “I don't know what I'm gonna do if this doesn't work out. And I don't know if I am in this just for the summer. Of course, on the other hand, I hardly know her at all.”
“Maybe you oughta get on that.”
July 17, 2006
“So then he passes me the ball, and I'm wide open, from right at my spot. So I take the shot, and it's nothing but net,” I say, firing a t-shirt like a basketball over to the opposite side of a new display, where Jermaine is standing, finishing my story of the three-on-three basketball tournament I won with Mike and Dave last spring.
Jermaine claps his hands. “See that's what I'm talking about. That's why I want to be in sports broadcasting. You get a moment like that, game on the line, and regular joe schmoe gets the ball from his superstar teammate, beats the odds and drills the shot. I love it.”
“You've got a customer, Jermaine,” Anastasia says, tilting her head. She's the only one of us on the right side of the display to have a clear view of the front counter.
“Got it,” he says, jogging off.
I finish folding one stack of the new shirts and push them to the center of the table, beginning my next one. “So what about you, Anastasia? You ever play any sports?”
“I used to run track in high school. I was a sprinter,” she says, not looking up from her own shirts. “Played basketball for a year in junior high, but I didn't like it.”
“Why's that?”
“I just don't like sports with arbitrary goals.”
I grin. “What does that mean?”
“Track makes sense.” She goes on folding. “It's just a matter of who can cover a distance in the shortest amount of time, and the skills can be practical to other parts of life. But basketball? Putting a ball into a hole that's way over your head, and having to bounce the ball if you want to move with it? It's just stupid.”
“But I would argue that it requires more skill—because you not only have to run, but throw with accuracy, and dribble—”
“Which is what's arbitrary about it.” She looks up at me at last. “Take what we're doing right now. If we wanted to race to see who could fold shirts the fastest, that would make sense, because it's gauging a specific ability. But if we were going to see who could fold shirts fastest one-handed, while running place it wouldn't make any sense. It would just be inventing arbitrary rules to a game that's ultimately pointless.”
It's actually kind of interesting.
I smile. “So you don't think you could beat me if we had to run in place while we were doing this?”
“I think that you would probably hurt yourself.” She doesn't want me to see it, but I spot the slightest trace of a smile on her face.July 18, 2006
“So how was Matt doing with the kids,” Chang asks, dribbling the basketball between his legs, as if he has a crossover move worth worrying about. “Happy he finally has someone he can beat in a game of basketball?”
“I don't know. The kids are in junior high—might still be a little to advanced for his skills.”
“True, true.” Chang tries to go past me, but I pick the ball off of him and dribble back toward the free throw line. Without Matt around, Chang, Joey and I are restricted to games like this, a round-robin one-on-one contest. I post up on Chang, spin and toss in short jumper.
“Not that you're much better,” Chang goes on, “But you're tall, so you can score on a guy like me.”
“A guy with no game?”
Joey laughs on the sideline. Chang turns to him. “What are you laughing at? I'll be beat both of you.” He checks the ball back to me
“You want to beat me, you'll have to stop this.” I fake left turn right, pull up and take my shot from just inside the three point arc. I'm taller and have a better shot than Chang. Today, I'm in the zone too, and it's not even fair.
“All right,” Joey claps his hands. “Game point, let's wrap this up Presto-Chango.”
“Don't call us that,” I say, getting the ball back and beginning to dribble around the perimeter.
“He's right,” Chang says. “My name should go first.”
I pull up my dribble and glide toward the hoop, throwing it hard off the backboard. In a move I learned from Mike Weaver, I know where the ball is going, catch it, and put it in for the win.July 19, 2006
“I don't know,” I say, leaning over the counter. To be honest, we don't really have a lot in the way of baby clothes. You can go through the kids section in the back corner there and see if anything might fit.”
“All right,” thanks, the woman says, before pushing her baby carriage off in that direction. She looks around the store as she goes, as though she doesn't believe what I said.
“Why a mother would want to buy clothes for a kid that young at Stephon's is beyond me.”
“Maybe she wants the kid to be fashionable,” Anastasia says, leaning against the counter. “If you can pay for it, I say why not?”
“So you would dress your kid with clothes from here?”
“Well we don't really have money to throw around, so we usually stick to Walmart.”
I raise an eyebrow. “We? What, you and your husband?”
“No, me and my niece.”
“You've got a niece?”
“Lives with us. Four women in one house.”
“Huh, I didn't know that.” I feel stupid stating the obvious there, and don't feel much better moving on, “So do you, like, take care of her?”
Anastasia rolls her eyes. “Sometimes.”
“And four women—is that four women and your sister's husband? Or boyfriend?”
“He's not in the picture.”
“What do you mean he's not in the picture?”
“I don't know who he is. I've probably never met him,” she says glancing at a scrap of paper from the counter, then tossing it in the garbage. “Any other questions?”
“Na—I guess not.”July 20, 2006
Jermaine starts to clean the right side of the counter, while I finish checking out a customer on the left side. “You have a nice day,” I say, as she turns to go. I look to Jermaine, squirting some spray on the counter before going it with a square of paper towel. “So Jermaine, did you know that Anastasia has a kid—her niece—living with her?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Why, you just hear about it?”
“Well yeah. And I mean, that's sort of a big thing, isn't it?”
“Helping to raise a child? I'd say that's a pretty big deal.”
“What I mean to say is—how am I just learning about this now? I mean, isn't that something that you would mention?”
“Mention to who?”
“I don't know.” I rip off the receipt I forgot to give to the last customer and toss it in the garbage behind me. “To your co-workers? To your friends?”
“How long you known Anastasia?” Jermaine asks, raising his eyebrows.
“All right, I get your point.” I look out on the store. It's been pretty dead today. “So what do you know about Anastasia and the kid?”
He shrugs. “Not a real lot. Older sister got knocked up by some deadbeat who didn't want anything to do with her afterward. She dropped out of college and works 40 hours a week at some restaurant now. Mom and Anastasia help look after the girl, and help out financially. And that's why Anastasia's been stuck going to school here so far. Hoping to pay her own way to school in the fall.”
“See, now how do you know all that? I thought you weren't friends with Anastasia.”
“I got two good ears, though. You'd be surprised what you can get out of somebody, or what you'll hear second hand.”
I scratch my head. “So how old's the kid?”
“Don't know exactly. A year, maybe two? Never seen her.”
It's funny—the things you'd never know about a person. It's not like that changes anything about the way Anastasia treated me when I first came in. But then, maybe it does. It's not as though I could have known any better, but now I think that there's something to the way she looks men—the way she looked at me.
July 21, 2006
“How things going out there in the wilderness?” I ask, lying back on my bed.
“Quiet for now,” Matt says over the phone, “and just two more hours before it's not my problem anymore.”
There are two different groups of kids who pass through Matt's camp each summer. Tonight is the last night for the first crew, and there's some tradition of them wreaking havoc on that last night—sneaking off to play or swim, enjoying their last night away from home. “And then there's some of the older kids,” Matt explained earlier, “sneaking out to get their mack on. Those are the most fun ones to catch.”
Matt hasn't come across anything yet, though, in his 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. patrol around the campgrounds. “I can't really blame the kids for wanting get out, though. It's nice place here. No way I'd just spend my last night in bed.”
“Right, you would have been a little hellraiser.”
“Eh, I'd find my way over to Penny's cabin, that's for sure.”
“And how is old Penny doing?
“Doing just—son of a bitch!”
“We have trouble?”
“We have mosquitoes,” Matt replies. “This sucker got in me pretty good—got blood all over my hand.”
“Gross.”
“Still wish you had a camp job?”July 22, 2006
My phone vibrates at my side almost the second I get out of work. Rather than head for the parking lot, I opt to stay in the mall and walk around a bit while I talk to Mom.
“How are you doing, honey?”
“I'm doing all right,” I say. “Actually just got out of work.”
“At Stephon's right—the clothing store?”
“That's right.”
“You know, I used to shop there sometimes when I lived in Shermantown.”
“Yeah, I remember that.” I don't really remember. When I was a kid she used to bring me along when she went shopping sometimes, but I can't really remember the differences from one clothing store to another. “So how are you?”
“I'm okay. It's been busy at the restaurant with all of the tourists and everything.”
“Well that's good right?” I eye a 50% off sale at a shoe store and decide to stop in. I could use a new pair of sneakers.
“The money's good. Almost a little too busy for comfort, though. Had to put up a help wanted sign yesterday.”
“Gotcha.”
Mom clears her throat. “You know, I was thinking that if you don't have plans next summer, maybe should come spend a couple months down here. I mean, after those days your brother and April spent here, I've been thinking that I could have to someone else around. And you could work at the diner to save up some money.”
As good as Florida sounds, the offer isn't that appealing. Though it's a fully year away, I've been thinking about coming back to Stephon's, or about applying for a job at Matt's camp. And then Dad wants me to work in his office, which probably wouldn't look bad on a resume. “I don't know, Mom,” I say. “Maybe.”
“Well just keep it in mind, and we can talk about it more in a few months.”
“Sounds good.”
“All right, honey, I've got a call on the other line. All right if I let you go?”
“Yeah, that's fine,” I say, lifting a nice pair white shoes to which, of course, the sale doesn't apply. “I'll talk to you later, Mom.
“Love you, Preston .”
“I love you too.”
The conversation over, and the sign advertising the sale a little misleading, I don't waste any more time, leaving the store and heading toward home.