Archives:
November 19-November 25, 2006

November 19, 2006

“Hey, hey. Welcome back, superstar,” I say as Mike walks through the door. The Eskimos slaughtered their opponents on the road last night, and Mike looks positively beat coming back to the suite this morning. It's about 10, and Chang is still sleeping off the night before. Dave didn't come home with me, busy with the girls and the band.

“Preston, my boy,” he says, dropping hid duffle bag in the middle of the common room floor, before making his way to the fridge. “How's life here at Taylor ?”

“Pretty much the same as you left it. Played cards with Dave and the band last night.”

“Oh yeah? Good guys?”

“A little sketchy.”

Mike shrugs. “That's about right.”

“So the news made it sound like you really crushed those guys.”

“Hardly even a game. And I only got 18 points because they sent me to the bench halfway through the third quarter.”

“Sorry to hear that. Hope it didn't ruin the trip for you.”

“Na, it wasn't that,” Mike says, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch from me, half gallon carton of orange juice in his hand. “It was Pepper.”

“Pepper? Did she come to the game?”

“Had her on the phone. She was talking about coming up for the game in two weeks, but then she started going on about how its senior year, and she doesn't have time to come hang out with me all the time. And I'm like, all the time? We're lucky when we see each other once a month.”

“So what's gonna happen?”

Mike finishes drinking from the carton and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “We left it up in the air. She's gonna see what her schedule's like then, and let me know.”

“Ah, I hate leaving things unsettled like that.”

“Tell me about it,” Mike says, shaking his head and then tipping his head back to finish off the carton.

November 20, 2006

My phone vibrates, shaking my nightstand. “Hey Dave, what's up?”

“Not much Preston , you already in bed?”

“Yeah, just turned in. But what can I do for you?”

“I'm stuck outside here. I think I left my ID back at Nick's place. Can you come let me in.”

“Yeah man, I'll be right there.”

I put on some flip flops and head outside. When Dave sees me coming toward the store, he flicks his cigarette out into the snow. “Thanks bud,” he says, stepping through door. “I owe you.”

“Rehearsal run late tonight?”

“First of many times that's gonna happen these next couple weeks. We've got our first gig.”

“Is that right?” From what Dave tells me, the band ordinarily would be playing most weekends by now, but with him so new, they didn't want to rush into booking anything.

“The guys think we're ready,” he says as we walk down the hallway. “We're playing at The Hammerhead.”

“Gonna get down with the freshmen?” The Hammerhead's as close a bar as Taylor has to The Palace back home. It's over/under, so it's always crawling people under 21, to the point where there's almost a stigma to the place. They do have a reputation for having decent music, though.

“I'll get down with whoever wants to listen.”

I open the door to our suite and we head inside. “So you said the guys think you're ready. How're you feeling?”

Dave's lifts his arms. “I feel—exhausted.” He laughs. “But we'll be ready.”

“Hey Dave, can I ask you about something?”

“What's that?”

“It's just, from the poker game the other night, it looked like those guys were kind of—”

“Medicated?”

I chuckle. “High as a kite?”

Dave nods. “Yeah, that's fair.”

“Look, man, I'm not trying to be your mom here, or anything—”

“I know.” Dave raises his hand. “And I appreciate the concern, Preston —I really do. But I'm gonna be fine. I know I've done some stupid stuff before, taken some things too far. I've got a better grasp on what I'm getting into now. And I know how to take care myself.”

I nod. “OK. I just thought I'd say something.

Dave claps my shoulder. “And I do appreciate it. I'll be all right, buddy.” He takes a step back toward his and Mike's room. “Thanks again for letting me in.”

November 21, 2006

“ Preston , stick around for a minute,” Hancock calls as the rest of the class gets up to leave. With some hesitation, I slow down the process of packing up my bag, then pick it up and make my way to the front of the room.

“How are you, Dr. Hancock?” I ask.

“I'm doing well, thanks,” she says, peering at me from over the frames of her glasses. “So I haven't gotten to most of the papers yet, but I have to admit, I skipped ahead to yours out of curiosity.”

“Curiosity?”

She nods. “I wanted to see how you'd respond to my comments. And after reading your new paper, it left me with a question.”

I swallow hard. I thought I had made a break through, and figured out the sort of content Hancock was looking for in a paper—that I'd written honestly, and constructively. It occurs to me that I didn't bend over backwards to praise the book—that I maintained that the lack of male characters compromised the plot. I suppose that means the paper wasn't quite good enough.

“Did you really figure something out—or were you just so good at BSing it that you fooled me?”

We share a smile, and I scratch the back of my head. “I guess I figured some things out. Maybe there was more to Elsa's Town than I gave it credit for.”

She nods. “I was just curious.” She removes the paper from her bag and hands it to me. There's a lot less red on this page, and what she did mark is more grammatical than content oriented. I flip to back page to see the “A” she wrote there. “Good work, Preston .”

November 22, 2006

I stand by the baggage claim, with thoughts of being thankful I'm alive lingering in my head. I just got off my first flight since I was a kid, and despite all the statistics they tell you about how safe flying is, I can't deny I was a little anxious.

It's my first time in Florida , and when I've got my bags, I take a minute to absorb that fact. Looking out the big glass windows, I observe the lack of snow, and that there won't be any need to put my winter coat back on tonight, or for the next few nights.

I take my cell phone from my pocket and start to dial my mother's number.

“ Preston !” Looking up, I find Mom's calling me.

She walks toward me, her sister and a man behind her. I have little doubt the guy is the latest in my aunt's long strong of boyfriends. She has never been one to settle down. Mom walks ahead of them, almost shaking, walking a little unevenly, beaming at the sight of me. I'm happy to see her—strangely happier than I expected to be.

“Ma, I said I'd call you,” I say, putting away my phone and hugging her as she gets to me.

“I know, but we didn't just want to wait around the house for you.” She looks at her watch. “And besides, you're right on time.”

I look at my own watch and nod. It's right about 9 p.m. I slept on the plane and am feeling sort of tired now—almost like I should be in another time zone, where it's later.

“So, in case you were curious,” Mom says, “this gentleman here is Avery.”

I turn to him. He's a black man, just a nudge shorter than me, wearing a Hawaiin shirt and khakis. “It's good to meet you,” he says, shaking my hand. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

“ Preston , there's something I need to tell you,” Mom goes on. I look back at her. “Avery is my fiancée.”

November 23, 2006

“So who's your team, Preston ?”

I turn to Avery, seated beside me on the couch, slumped down, one foot up on the coffee table. “Hmm?”

“I asked you who your team is. You have a favorite?”

I shrug, turning back to the TV. “I'm not a big football fan. I guess I'd pick the Bills since I grew up near them.”

“Yeah, gotta show love for the home team.”

“All right guys,” Mom says, coming into the living room. “Dinner's ready.”

I get right up while Avery stretches, then follows after me toward kitchen. It's not a bad-sized little apartment, and it has a sort of new feel to it that I'm not sure if I like. On one hand, there's no chair with a stain you wouldn't want to sit on, and no cobwebs anywhere. On the other hand, I feel like the place is hardly lived in—that it's got more the feel of a hotel than a home. That's probably on account of my mother and aunt spending so much of their waking time at their restaurant. From what they tell me, this is one of less than five days out of the year when they shut the place down.

Avery is a regular customer at the restaurant. He's a real estate agent, and has had lunch there at least a couple days each week for as long as he or my aunt can remember. That's how he met my mother.

I agreed to come to Florida for Thanksgiving more in the interest of appeasing my mother than for any other reason. Since then, I've sort of regretted it, for not getting to be home for the holiday, and not getting to see the people at home. It's only seeing my mother's spread of turkey with all of the right fixings that I start to feel positive about my decision.

And everything is good for a minute as we eat, and the only words spoken are requests to pass the yams or stuffing. It's funny how, of all things, it's Mom's cooking that can take me back in my memory, and make this place feel a little more like home.

Avery devours a drumstick at the head of the table. I like the guy well enough. While we don't seem to have much in common, he seems nice enough. I spot my mother and him holding hands here and there, or him kissing her on the cheek. It's almost cute, if a little weird to see my mother like that.

Of course, there's another part of me that's guilty just sitting at the same table with him, while I can only assume my father's alone.

November 24, 2006

“All right, so I guess this is it,” Mom says as I get up to head onto my plane back to New York . I'll spend about a day and a half in Shermantown before I head back out to school.

“Well hey, I'll see you for Christmas right?” I ask.

“You can count on it, sweetheart.” She hugs me and kisses my cheek the same way my aunt did when I said goodbye to her at the apartment this morning, before she left for the restaurant. I start to walk away, but she clings to my arms. “ Preston , I want you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah, what's that?”

“Don't mention Avery to your father.” I don't consciously react, but I must have rolled my eyes or something, because she goes on quickly, “I know that's a lot to ask Preston . But I wanted you to meet Avery first, and I don't want your father to learn about this secondhand. So please, just keep it to yourself until Christmas so I can tell him.”

“Does that mean you're bringing Avery to Shermantown with you?”

“No. We talked about that, and I think it would be too much for your father right now. And besides, Avery wanted to spend the holiday with his folks down here.”

“All right,” I agree. “I'll keep quiet about it. But don't wait too long. I don't like keeping secrets.”

“Just until Christmas,” she says.

“Just—do it right.” I'm not even sure what I mean, but given how much I think it still hurts my dad that Mom left him, I don't want for this part to be any harder than it has to be.

Mom nods and kisses my cheek again. “OK, honey, you've gotta get going.” I start to walk off, with Mom calling after me with each step. “Have a safe flight! Call me to let me know you got back safe! I love you!”

November 25, 2006

“So you've got a new daddy?” Matt asks.

“Very funny, ass.”

“Hey, it's all right,” Chang says, leaning over the table. “I can tell you about having new parents. I've got the experience.”

I turn away, and can't help but smile at the irony of it. I look out at the bar as we spend this Saturday night out at The Palace. The guys told me they were here Wednesday night, and the place was packed. Apparently the day before Thanksgiving has a tradition of being one of the biggest bar nights of the year, nationwide. That's what Matt said, anyway.

Joey comes back with our third pitcher of Coors. The Palace isn't quite as lively tonight. Losing interest in busting my balls about my mom and Avery, the guys recount all the old familiar faces they saw that night. They name people I haven't thought of, much less seen, in well over a year.

At the same time, Taylor feels sort of foreign to me. It's funny how just a few days away from a place can change your perspective on it. I'll go back tomorrow, and I'm sure it won't take long to get in the groove. But after acclimating myself to Florida—seeing my mother and aunt and meeting Avery, then seeing the people in Shermantown, it's almost hard to conceive of sitting in my common room in McSavage, or in the Window office, or Hancock's classroom.

And then, in about three weeks, I'll be coming back home. And by then, I'm sure Shermantown will feel foreign again.

I pour another cup from the pitcher.