Archives: August 20-August 26, 2006
August 20, 2006
“So the kid realizes it's me, just as I realize it's definitely the kid,” Matt says, leaning over the table as the rest of us eat and listen. “And he breaks into a dead sprint. And what the hell am I supposed to do? So I chase after him.”
We laugh, and Julie laughing especially hard. I was a little worried about inviting her out tonight, not knowing where exactly she and Matt stood at this point. I couldn't seem to get Anastasia alone, though, and couldn't very well invite her to come out and meet my best friend without saying something to Julie. Things have worked out just fine, though. I was surprised by just how much his face lit up when he saw her come in the restaurant after me, and I don't think she's stopped smiling since she came here.
“So did you catch him?” Chang asks.
Anastasia's face turns from side to side, bouncing back and forth like a tennis ball, following the conversation, digesting who each of these people are. She has a smile waxed onto her face, and she's quiet enough where it's hard to tell if she's really having a good time. At the least, she's trying look like she is, and I appreciate that.
Matt raises a finger as he swallows a gulp of his milkshake. “I catch up to him. But once I do, it's like, what am I supposed to do? Because I'm not allowed to grab a kid unless it's a clear safety issue. So I just kind of hover over him,” he says, waving his hands and bobbing his head around Julie for a second as she giggles. “And thank God he stops, and walks with me back to his cabin.”
“See, that's why I couldn't work a job like that,” Joey says, chewing a bite of his mozzarella stick. The song playing on the restaurant speakers switches. It's another upbeat, nineties pop tune, like the one before it. “Kid snuck out of his cabin at night and I caught him—don't think I could stop myself from slapping him upside the head.”
Matt laughs. “Trust me, you want to. But at the same time, by the end of a session, it's like they're your own kids, and you start to buy into all the stuff about making them better people—having ‘educational conversations,' as my boss liked to say.”
Spontaneously, I grab Anastasia's hand under the table. She turns to me for a second, then looks back out at the table, smile as big as ever as she loosens her fingers, then locks them with mine.
“I should have done something like that this summer,” Julie says. “It would have been good to get out of Butterton, and done something different.”
Matt shrugs. “You could always do it next year. I think I might go back myself.”
“Hmm,” Julie begins. “I'll have to keep that in mind.”August 21, 2006
“So that was a good time last night, huh?” I say sinking into the sofa in Matt's living room for the first time in months.
“Yeah. It's kind of weird for me, though. I miss the folks from camp, but it was great seeing all of you again. And then, it's back off to school in just a few days.”
“Guess we're growing up now.”
“Guess so.” The remote control wobbles aimlessly in Matt's hand, as he stops on some infomercial. He's not looking at the TV. “It was funny talking to Julie too.”
“Yeah. You guys seemed to be getting pretty cozy there.”
“We talked a few time this summer. But you know, I was otherwise occupied.”
“Right.”
“But the minute I saw—it's like something clicked in my brain.”
I shift, the leather of the sofa making a sound beneath my movement. “What clicked?”
“I think I might be in love with her.” Matt turns to me and smiles. “I know, it's stupid. She's got a boyfriend, and all. But when I'm with her, it's just like she understands something. And it feels different. I don't even know what I'm trying to say.”
“Well does that mean you're going to pursue something with her?”
Matt shakes his head. “The time isn't right. I mean, we could try now. But it's too hard doing the long distance thing, especially if we were just getting started again.” He shakes his head again. “Na—Julie's a long term thing. No need to rush it. Might happen, might not. But if it's gonna happen, I'm going to do it right this time.”
“Kind of heavy, man.”
Matt straighten s the remote control in his hand. “In the meantime, Johnny Reed can have his fun. We'll see what happens.” And with that, he turns the channel.
August 22, 2006
Tonight, Anastasia and I sit on the couch in her house, watching a TV edit of a summer blockbuster from five-odd years ago. She sits leaning in to me, my arm over her, her head on my shoulder, one of her hands knotted up with my free one. We're babysitting tonight, and Theresa has been asleep for the last hour.
And then, with a cry, she's awake.
Anastasia gets up and picks up the child. Theresa goes on crying, but doesn't wail quite as loudly as Anastasia rocks her in her arms. She sets the baby down again, and launches into a game something like peekaboo.
It's kind of funny watching Anastasia with the kid. I remember when I first met her, thinking of how cold she was. Watching her now, I'd have no trouble mistaking her for the most loving mother in the world.
And I think about love.
Matt said he might be in love with Julie. I've never heard him say that about a girl before, and if he said it about any other girl, I don't think I could believe him. But given the history they have, I can guess it's something that has grown between them—the way he knows her, and understands her to know him.
Theresa giggles. The kid's all smiles, all of a sudden. I think about the kind of love Anastasia has for this kid. In a sense, it's love out of obligation. You have to love your family, and you have to care about the little girl your sister's struggling to support and give a decent childhood. But then, there's something else there. I see it in the way Anastasia smiles when her niece giggles. It's a sense of commonality, that she's shaping this little person, and wants something better for her.
I think of Chang and his adoptive parents. I think of how they must have the same feeling as any birth parent, in that they have brought up Chang. They have watched him grow, and guided him. They have provided for him. They must love him as much as any parent.
I haven't seen eye to eye with my father about keeping the secrets he has. But right or wrong, it can't be easy for him, having to stand in the shadows. I guess he cares a lot about Chang. In putting him up for adoption, he relinquished his obligation. He doesn't have to take responsibility. But still, he has held onto that newspaper clipping for 19 years. Still, he has thought about his third son enough to have the opinion that it's best for Chang if he doesn't take a role in his life. And maybe that's love too.
Anastasia sets Theresa back down in her crib, back asleep, then comes back to me. She's beautiful, even tonight, a little sweaty, in her tank top and an old pair of denim shorts. I think of how I've gotten to know her this summer, and how perfect this night is.
I don't love her. As much as I try to fool myself into it for a second here or there, I know enough to know that there's a lot I don't know, and won't have the chance to learn in these next few days.
But that's okay. When I think back, I wonder if I really loved Emma, or Veronica. It's something I've been quick to think, and to say, but who knows what it means. Regardless, I'm willing to admit that Anastasia and I are not in love.
I'll kiss her at the end of the night. And when I do, it will be with the understanding that I'm kissing her goodbye.August 23, 2006
Today I'm at home folding up shirts and pairs of jeans. I've had my last day at Stephon's, at least for this summer, and now I'm packing up to head back to Taylor .
I'm playing a CD on my computer as I go. It's a copy of a mix CD I made for Emma last winter, with mostly songs that The Off Beats covered. It's wild to think about how much has changed since I first made this CD—much less how much has changed over the last year, since the last time I was packing up this room.
But then I think that it was only a three months ago that I was packing up my room at Taylor . I guess that's the nature of being in college. Every few months, you're packing up your whole life and hitting the road.
When the suitcase is full I set it down alongside a finished box and the dust-covered trophy from last year's basketball tournament. I take a break, moving over to my computer to check my e-mail, and I'm surprised to find a message from Lois. I'm not the only one to get the e-mail. The list of recipients shows everyone I worked with at the store. It reads:
Hey gang,
Just wanted to drop you all a line and say it's been fun working with you this summer. To Julie and Preston , good luck at school and keep in touch.
Lois
Attached, she has all the photographs she took a couple weeks ago. There's one where Julie's trying to hide behind a clearance rack. Another of Jermaine, posing with women's underwear on his head. There's one of me with my arm over Anastasia. And then there's a big group shot. I remember Lois asking a befuddled customer to take it for her, then gathering each and every one of us by the front counter.
With a click of the mouse I save that picture as the background image on my desktop. It's just a little something worth remembering from home.August 24, 2006
“Thanks again for giving me a hand here,” Dave says, stepping, half tripping, over the box propping open the door to our sweet as he bring another large box inside.
“Not a problem at all,” I say, setting down a duffel bag and a floor lamp. “I've just been sitting here bored until you got here.” It's the truth. I only arrived a couple hours before him, but that was enough time to get most of my room set. From there, I sat down at my computer, beginning to surf the web I would any day at home.
“Well be bored no more,” Dave says, lifting the little plastic basketball hoop from the box.
“Perfecto.”
Dave laughs. “I was trying to decide if it should go in our room this year, or out here in the common room.”
“The question is whether you want Mike in our room all the time, or out here.”
“Well, I like the guy, but it's a pretty little room.” Dave begins to fish out the suction cups to hang up the hoop, and makes a move toward wall next to the main entrance of our suite.
“So, good summer, man?”
“Pretty damn good. Really made some moves with the guitar. Gonna be playing that thing a lot more this year.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, and this time around, when the girls come crawling you're gonna be single and available to reap the benefits.”
I laugh. “So we're going to keep that door propped, huh?”
“You'd better believe it,” Dave says, lifting the duffel bag. “And mark my words, I'm gonna get a band together before the end of this year.”
As he's talking a little baggy falls from one of the side pockets of his luggage.
“And what's that, Dave?”
Dave smiles. “We don't need to play games, Preston . It's okay.” He picks up the weed between two fingers and holds it up. “Just enough for a little recreation. Not gonna get crazy this year.”
“Right.”
“I'm serious.” He drops the baggy back into the pocket and reaches in, removing the other suction cup for the basketball hoop. “This is going to be year of no drama, no worries.” He presses the backboard to the wall, and the hoop is in place. “Just good times all around.”August 25, 2006
“All right, that's 34 for 50.” Dave says, moving the little foam ball from hand to hand as we trade positions, him sitting on the common room sofa, me standing by the hoop to rebound for him.
“It's nice outside. Maybe we oughta think about playing some real basketball—you know, out in the light of day.”
“Eh, daylight's overrated,” Dave says, banking in his first shot. I lob the ball back to him. “Much like running around—and other physical activity attached to the actual sport of basketball.”
“We almost had you in decent shape when we played in that tournament last year.”
“Never again, compadre.”
“Whoa—” I say as the door opens and hits against my side.
“Hey boys, what's shaking?”
“Mike!” Dave says, getting up. “How you doing, buddy?”
“Real good,” he says, setting down a couple bags. He clasps hands with Dave, then with me. “Sorry about the door. Didn't realize you were standing there.”
“No worries,” I say. “You need a hand moving in?”
“That'd be awesome.” He turns to Dave. “You in too?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We head outside and begin to fetch Mike's things from his car. It's funny how things change. In a sense, I miss our room from last year—the place Dave and I made into a home for a year. On the other hand, I've got the feeling that this is the start of something good.August 26, 2006
Mike, Dave and I have spent today not unlike the day before, mostly sitting around the common room. We shoot hoops for a while, then turn to Mike's X-Box for a couple hours, all the while waiting for Kyle to move in and complete our suite.
There's a knock on the door and I get up to open, and to my surprise, it's Chang outside. “Hey buddy, what's going on?”
“Not too much,” he says, looking off to the side. “Mind if I hang out for a little while. “Not at all, come on in,” I say, stepping in. “Guys, this is my good buddy from home Chang—he just transferred here. Chang, these are my suitemates, Dave and Mike.”
“‘Sup buddy,” Dave says.
“Sorry Presto,” Mike says, “just ran you off the road.”
I turn back to the game. “Son of a bitch.” I knock my hand against Chang's shoulder. “You want in for next race?”
“Sounds good.”
“Want something to drink in the mean time?”
“I'll take a coke if you've got one?”
“Pepsi all right?”
Chang nods and I fetch him one from the little fridge next to the TV, consciously stepping in front of the TV an unnecessarily long period of time, just to be an ass to the guys, who each groan.
“So how are your new digs working out for you?” I ask, handing Chang a can of soda.
“The room's not bad, albeit on the opposite side of campus from all my classes. What bugs me, though, is the roommate.”
“I know how that goes,” Dave says, not looking away from the game, as he mashes the controller. “My first year roommate was a real asshole.”
“Right, because it was peachy living with you, smoky.”
“Oh!” Mike exclaims and laughs.
“Well I hate to break it to you guys,” Chang goes on, “but my roommate takes the cake. For one thing, the dude sleeps naked.”
We let out a collective groan.
“Yeah, I know. And I asked him about it after the first night, and he said it's how he's always slept. So I asked him to at least pull a sheet up, and he said it was too hot, and started bitching about how it was his room too. So I end up sleeping—as much as I can—facing the wall, knowing this guy's balls flopping around right behind me.”
“That sucks,” Mike volunteers.
“Yeah, and it doesn't help that he gets up at 7 both days, and starts playing his music. The guy's just a douchebag.”
“You should put in for a room change or something,” Dave says.
“Already asked my RA about it, and he said the campus is booked—it's gonna be a while before anybody can move.” He takes a sip of his soda. “Seriously, I don't know how I'm gonna live like this.”