***
PROLOGUE
My first time was with a stranger, so it's a closure of sorts to have had my last time also be with a stranger. A stranger I sought out and feared might not exist -- a stranger eventually and ultimately found to be stranger than I -- a stranger that set me finally and freely from this prison of my own producing.
But this -- this is a serial about more than just those two instances. Greater than just those two strangers. It's about what came before, what happened in between, what led to this sharing of the stories of so many -- all intertwined in my one tale.
My name is Aloysius Angelasia, but you can call me Alan -- and these ... these are my archives.
***
CHAPTER 1
Back then, I was just a college student -- so there was no way I was able to afford first class. This trip was going to be one on a low cost carrier -- both ways -- but I had flown often enough to know that I needed a strategy.
I set my alarm to wake up exactly 24 hours before the flight to sign in and check in online.
I played line monitor while standing there half an hour before boarding, to make sure no one was in front of me with a higher number or a later letter.
I picked a row that already had someone perched in the window so that I could land myself in the aisle in hopes that it would create that awkward (yet often effective) no-flyer-zone in the middle seat.
I unpacked my "flying goodies" and put my papers-to-read and my crackers-to-eat in both sets of seatback flaps. I flinched thinking if only I had brought liverwurst like I used to eat on the school bus when I was a young-un to serve as a middle-seat-flyer repellent.
I took off my shoes as soon as I sat down (and, come to think of it, those old sneakers kind of smelled like liverwurst in the right heat -- if only it were hotter on the plane!) and I slipped them under the middle seat to trick an onlooker into thinking that someone was there and had just "stepped away" (of course, "stepping away" could only be to the tiny bathroom -- or the wing -- clearly that part wasn't completely thought out).
And then the piece-de-resistance. I grabbed the barf bag, hunched over slightly with my forehead resting on the upturned tray and thought green sickly thoughts in hopes that my countenance would change momentarily just because I willed it to.
It was always a fool-proof plan. But it was never a full-proof plan. And, sure enough, the steward got on the phone and announced that it was a full flight -- but luckily a short flight -- and then he made some kind of pun about our destination that I ignored for fear I might smile and ruin the facial expression I had crafted.
I held out hope that it was some industry established fake-out to feed folks to their seats faster. Fingers crossed, more and more flyers filled the aisles, and I contemplated whether I would take this farce so far as to start to gag. I could sense lots of activity around me -- rows filling in -- and then, without looking up, I could see the shoes of the stranger that was stopping in my section, and I knew that my gig was up.
I set my alarm to wake up exactly 24 hours before the flight to sign in and check in online.
I played line monitor while standing there half an hour before boarding, to make sure no one was in front of me with a higher number or a later letter.
I picked a row that already had someone perched in the window so that I could land myself in the aisle in hopes that it would create that awkward (yet often effective) no-flyer-zone in the middle seat.
I unpacked my "flying goodies" and put my papers-to-read and my crackers-to-eat in both sets of seatback flaps. I flinched thinking if only I had brought liverwurst like I used to eat on the school bus when I was a young-un to serve as a middle-seat-flyer repellent.
I took off my shoes as soon as I sat down (and, come to think of it, those old sneakers kind of smelled like liverwurst in the right heat -- if only it were hotter on the plane!) and I slipped them under the middle seat to trick an onlooker into thinking that someone was there and had just "stepped away" (of course, "stepping away" could only be to the tiny bathroom -- or the wing -- clearly that part wasn't completely thought out).
And then the piece-de-resistance. I grabbed the barf bag, hunched over slightly with my forehead resting on the upturned tray and thought green sickly thoughts in hopes that my countenance would change momentarily just because I willed it to.
It was always a fool-proof plan. But it was never a full-proof plan. And, sure enough, the steward got on the phone and announced that it was a full flight -- but luckily a short flight -- and then he made some kind of pun about our destination that I ignored for fear I might smile and ruin the facial expression I had crafted.
I held out hope that it was some industry established fake-out to feed folks to their seats faster. Fingers crossed, more and more flyers filled the aisles, and I contemplated whether I would take this farce so far as to start to gag. I could sense lots of activity around me -- rows filling in -- and then, without looking up, I could see the shoes of the stranger that was stopping in my section, and I knew that my gig was up.
***
He shuffled those feet that had come into view and coughed. It wasn't a cough of someone seeking to dislodge something from his airway -- or a cough from deep within the chest of someone ill -- but a polite cough. A polite cough that was quickly followed by a louder, more direct cough that wasn't so polite.
Clearly, my ruse had not deterred him. Of course, if I hadn't been bent over pretending I might almost vomit, I would have also noticed that it wasn't so much a choice of his, as no other seats were available on the plane.
One last cough -- this one clearly laced with profanity were I an expert in the language of cough and able to translate it. Then a gesture with his bag. I could feel the person across the aisle starting to get interested. The woman in the window seat started to fidget and shift farther and farther away from the empty seat in the middle -- and from me, judging me with her movement because I hadn't taken action fast enough. I scrambled to grab my edibles, my readables, my potables and my wearables that all been accomplices in my attempts to keep that seat open, and I acquiesced.
But I did so keeping one important part of my plan intact -- I didn't make eye contact. At this point, mostly out of shame that this attempt at seat subterfuge was no longer a victimless crime. I got out of the way and let the stranger in.
A stranger, that for now, at least, I only knew by shoe and by satchel. A stranger that would be my first before this flight had finished.
Clearly, my ruse had not deterred him. Of course, if I hadn't been bent over pretending I might almost vomit, I would have also noticed that it wasn't so much a choice of his, as no other seats were available on the plane.
One last cough -- this one clearly laced with profanity were I an expert in the language of cough and able to translate it. Then a gesture with his bag. I could feel the person across the aisle starting to get interested. The woman in the window seat started to fidget and shift farther and farther away from the empty seat in the middle -- and from me, judging me with her movement because I hadn't taken action fast enough. I scrambled to grab my edibles, my readables, my potables and my wearables that all been accomplices in my attempts to keep that seat open, and I acquiesced.
But I did so keeping one important part of my plan intact -- I didn't make eye contact. At this point, mostly out of shame that this attempt at seat subterfuge was no longer a victimless crime. I got out of the way and let the stranger in.
A stranger, that for now, at least, I only knew by shoe and by satchel. A stranger that would be my first before this flight had finished.
***
Read. Doze. Repeat.
Read. Doze. Snap my head back when my own snoring chokes me awake. Glance furtively to see how many people might have been forced to listen to my labored breathing.
Read. Doze. Play peek-a-boo with the child two rows up until she tires ... and lets the world know that this is her first plane ride. And that she doesn't like it. And that she's over peek-a-boo.
Read. Doze. Watch that guy walk up and down the aisles and wonder why. Is it that he's just so tall? Did he have a deep thrombosis scare in his past and he's following doctor's orders? Is he a domestic terrorist looking for the right victim to launch his plan? Or maybe an air marshal? Consider whether they put them on low-cost carrier flights or whether that degree of safety is something one gives up for discount pricing.
Doze. Read. Crane my neck to try to figure out who was best dressed last week in the magazine across the aisle.
Read. Doze. Wake to someone behind me rearranging himself in such a way that his knee gets pressed through the seat and into the small of my back. Push against the pressure to let that person know that I will not cede comfort without a fight. Celebrate when he rearranges himself yet again nowhere near my seat.
Read. Doze. Curse modern times that have led to me not wearing a watch and to relying on my cell for the time -- a cell phone now turned off because I'm a good airplane citizen. Look out the window to see if I can somehow calculate how long we've been in the air by analyzing the clouds.
Read. Doze. Wake startled as the plane lurches. Listen to the "fasten seat belt" sign and the accompanying message from the pilot. Look to the stranger to my left and the woman at the window seat to get a sense of those who might be closest to me if we crash. White knuckle the seat arm facing the aisle. Maneuver my left elbow to get a tighter grip on that side. Feel the knot in my throat and the pit in my stomach and briefly consider that the knot left creating the pit, which explains the feelings in a way I hadn't ever considered before.
Drop. Get scared.
Close my eyes, but not to doze. Pray.
Read. Doze. Snap my head back when my own snoring chokes me awake. Glance furtively to see how many people might have been forced to listen to my labored breathing.
Read. Doze. Play peek-a-boo with the child two rows up until she tires ... and lets the world know that this is her first plane ride. And that she doesn't like it. And that she's over peek-a-boo.
Read. Doze. Watch that guy walk up and down the aisles and wonder why. Is it that he's just so tall? Did he have a deep thrombosis scare in his past and he's following doctor's orders? Is he a domestic terrorist looking for the right victim to launch his plan? Or maybe an air marshal? Consider whether they put them on low-cost carrier flights or whether that degree of safety is something one gives up for discount pricing.
Doze. Read. Crane my neck to try to figure out who was best dressed last week in the magazine across the aisle.
Read. Doze. Wake to someone behind me rearranging himself in such a way that his knee gets pressed through the seat and into the small of my back. Push against the pressure to let that person know that I will not cede comfort without a fight. Celebrate when he rearranges himself yet again nowhere near my seat.
Read. Doze. Curse modern times that have led to me not wearing a watch and to relying on my cell for the time -- a cell phone now turned off because I'm a good airplane citizen. Look out the window to see if I can somehow calculate how long we've been in the air by analyzing the clouds.
Read. Doze. Wake startled as the plane lurches. Listen to the "fasten seat belt" sign and the accompanying message from the pilot. Look to the stranger to my left and the woman at the window seat to get a sense of those who might be closest to me if we crash. White knuckle the seat arm facing the aisle. Maneuver my left elbow to get a tighter grip on that side. Feel the knot in my throat and the pit in my stomach and briefly consider that the knot left creating the pit, which explains the feelings in a way I hadn't ever considered before.
Drop. Get scared.
Close my eyes, but not to doze. Pray.
***
273 fatalities after a May 25, 1979 crash in Chicago on American Airlines.
265 dead after a November 12, 2001 disaster in Queens on American Airlines.
230 expired after a July 17, 1996 accident in New York on TWA.
156 gone forever after an August 16, 1987 catastrophe in Michigan on Northwest Airlines.
153 casualties after a July 9, 1982 tragedy in Louisiana on PanAm World Airways.
That top five list went through my head as the plane reacted to the turbulence in which we found ourselves. Not because I was a savant with numbers, but because some asshole "friend" of mine with a disturbed sense of humor had just posted that on social media the morning of my flight.
Balancing that in my brain (what can I say -- I was blessed with a very analytical mind) was the knowledge that low cost carriers have excellent safety records. And very happy employees. Which made me think the pilot had incentive to get us out of this pocket of bad air and I just had to wait patiently and try to control the erratic beating of my heart, hang on to the seat as if it would save me from any impending doom, and remember to breathe.
And, a few tense minutes later, sure enough -- everything returned to normal for the plane. Well -- normal being relative for the triple digit gathering of folks inside a skinny metal tube hurtling through the air at unbelievable speeds.
As for our row of passengers, what was set into motion by those few tense minutes of unsettling motion was to become my first time.
265 dead after a November 12, 2001 disaster in Queens on American Airlines.
230 expired after a July 17, 1996 accident in New York on TWA.
156 gone forever after an August 16, 1987 catastrophe in Michigan on Northwest Airlines.
153 casualties after a July 9, 1982 tragedy in Louisiana on PanAm World Airways.
That top five list went through my head as the plane reacted to the turbulence in which we found ourselves. Not because I was a savant with numbers, but because some asshole "friend" of mine with a disturbed sense of humor had just posted that on social media the morning of my flight.
Balancing that in my brain (what can I say -- I was blessed with a very analytical mind) was the knowledge that low cost carriers have excellent safety records. And very happy employees. Which made me think the pilot had incentive to get us out of this pocket of bad air and I just had to wait patiently and try to control the erratic beating of my heart, hang on to the seat as if it would save me from any impending doom, and remember to breathe.
And, a few tense minutes later, sure enough -- everything returned to normal for the plane. Well -- normal being relative for the triple digit gathering of folks inside a skinny metal tube hurtling through the air at unbelievable speeds.
As for our row of passengers, what was set into motion by those few tense minutes of unsettling motion was to become my first time.
***
Just a few moments of turbulence -- that's all it took. The three of us in our row had been content in our own pockets of individual limited airspace (and I mean limited -- did I mention that this was a low price carrier?). But rock the boat a bit -- or, I guess more accurately stated, shake the plane a spell -- and suddenly the bumpy airspace outside had jumbled up all the space inside.
"So why are you headed to Florida?"
I froze for a moment. Surely he wasn't talking to me. Not after the way I had started the flight. Up until this point, I had acted like the aisle seat was first class, and those to my left were just plebeian passengers mostly out of my line of sight and predominantly out of my mind.
"I have a job interview."
That wasn't me speaking (after all, I was just going for a spring break vacation) -- that was the lady at the window.
With a sigh of relief, I realized that of course I was not invited to this conversation and I was not about to get involved. I cursed the fact that I wasn't one of those crazy kids addicted to ear buds and that I couldn't block it all out overtly. I had to listen -- but I could do it very passively.
While I resolved all of this in my head, they had been chatting, so I dropped in to the conversation one more time -- not because I wanted to but because I kind of couldn't escape.
"... back home for me ... I had tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't even take the time to meet with me. Out of respect to the family, I didn't go to the funeral. I just paid my respects later that night by myself."
Good grief -- what did I miss while I was sitting there inside my own head? I had to admit that a part of me secretly hoped that this was just the beginning of the story and not the end.
"So why are you headed to Florida?"
I froze for a moment. Surely he wasn't talking to me. Not after the way I had started the flight. Up until this point, I had acted like the aisle seat was first class, and those to my left were just plebeian passengers mostly out of my line of sight and predominantly out of my mind.
"I have a job interview."
That wasn't me speaking (after all, I was just going for a spring break vacation) -- that was the lady at the window.
With a sigh of relief, I realized that of course I was not invited to this conversation and I was not about to get involved. I cursed the fact that I wasn't one of those crazy kids addicted to ear buds and that I couldn't block it all out overtly. I had to listen -- but I could do it very passively.
While I resolved all of this in my head, they had been chatting, so I dropped in to the conversation one more time -- not because I wanted to but because I kind of couldn't escape.
"... back home for me ... I had tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't even take the time to meet with me. Out of respect to the family, I didn't go to the funeral. I just paid my respects later that night by myself."
Good grief -- what did I miss while I was sitting there inside my own head? I had to admit that a part of me secretly hoped that this was just the beginning of the story and not the end.
***
"I blame the wife."
Middle seated man continued his story. Me -- I continued to look away but I was kind of listening (I couldn't exactly leave my aisle seat, after all). And the woman at the window clearly was engaged in the conversation, as the guy kept going.
"When he met her, she changed him. I mean I always knew that my son was going to go off and have his own life -- but she changed his very soul. Nothing was ever good enough for her -- especially not me or my wife -- and nothing he did either. He ended up getting a second job just to keep her happy at home constantly doing strange things in this-ville or that-ville on the computer. All day long -- posting about cats and sharing videos and the viruses that came with them."
Funny -- even though I wasn't "actively" listening, I could definitely hear him roll his eyes. Somehow that facial movement was audible in that moment.
He continued -- "And then when they had their boy -- my grandson -- she was the one who moved the both of them across the country just so we wouldn't be a part of his life."
"Oh ... I'm so sorry!", interjected window woman.
"That was the beginning of the end of our relationship. We fought for him to change his mind, but had no luck. And then ... the accident ..." His voice trailed off. It was getting awkward for everyone -- window woman, middle seated man and me.
Middle seated man continued his story. Me -- I continued to look away but I was kind of listening (I couldn't exactly leave my aisle seat, after all). And the woman at the window clearly was engaged in the conversation, as the guy kept going.
"When he met her, she changed him. I mean I always knew that my son was going to go off and have his own life -- but she changed his very soul. Nothing was ever good enough for her -- especially not me or my wife -- and nothing he did either. He ended up getting a second job just to keep her happy at home constantly doing strange things in this-ville or that-ville on the computer. All day long -- posting about cats and sharing videos and the viruses that came with them."
Funny -- even though I wasn't "actively" listening, I could definitely hear him roll his eyes. Somehow that facial movement was audible in that moment.
He continued -- "And then when they had their boy -- my grandson -- she was the one who moved the both of them across the country just so we wouldn't be a part of his life."
"Oh ... I'm so sorry!", interjected window woman.
"That was the beginning of the end of our relationship. We fought for him to change his mind, but had no luck. And then ... the accident ..." His voice trailed off. It was getting awkward for everyone -- window woman, middle seated man and me.
***
After a few deep breaths, he had clearly gathered his thoughts. At this point, I couldn't not listen to what he said next, but I avoided eye contact and let the window woman take the brunt of the emotional exchange.
He continued -- "I had to put the pieces together myself from what I found in the news since I wasn't welcomed at the services. As I understand it, there was a ..." His voice trailed off again. I thought he was going to be overcome, but then I realized that he was just searching for the right word. "... an altercation -- on the playground -- just kids being kids, I guess. Lee -- he's my grandson -- he was made out to be a hero, not that that's much comfort to any of us now. He apparently stepped in to protect a smaller child who was being bullied. That child ran away, and the group of delinquents started in on him."
"Eventually, a teacher waded in to stop the melee -- and he grabbed Lee and pulled him out of the fracas. In separating him from the group, he somehow pushed him to the ground where he hit his head on the sidewalk. He got distracted by all the others, and by the time he realized that Lee wasn't getting up, it was already too late."
Next came the deepest of sighs. I could hear the window woman catch her breath and knew that she was in tears. The middle seat man, now known to me, despite my attempts to not connect with anyone, as "Lee's grandfather", was breathing heavily, fighting with the words that he didn't want to say that would force him to re-imagine the experience -- the words that none of us really wanted to hear -- the words that would finish his story.
"He died on the way to the hospital."
And then ... nothing but silence.
He continued -- "I had to put the pieces together myself from what I found in the news since I wasn't welcomed at the services. As I understand it, there was a ..." His voice trailed off again. I thought he was going to be overcome, but then I realized that he was just searching for the right word. "... an altercation -- on the playground -- just kids being kids, I guess. Lee -- he's my grandson -- he was made out to be a hero, not that that's much comfort to any of us now. He apparently stepped in to protect a smaller child who was being bullied. That child ran away, and the group of delinquents started in on him."
"Eventually, a teacher waded in to stop the melee -- and he grabbed Lee and pulled him out of the fracas. In separating him from the group, he somehow pushed him to the ground where he hit his head on the sidewalk. He got distracted by all the others, and by the time he realized that Lee wasn't getting up, it was already too late."
Next came the deepest of sighs. I could hear the window woman catch her breath and knew that she was in tears. The middle seat man, now known to me, despite my attempts to not connect with anyone, as "Lee's grandfather", was breathing heavily, fighting with the words that he didn't want to say that would force him to re-imagine the experience -- the words that none of us really wanted to hear -- the words that would finish his story.
"He died on the way to the hospital."
And then ... nothing but silence.
***
Well ... nothing but silence and a bit of guilt.
After all, silence is all I had been hoping for since I boarded the plane. But even with my attitude having been what it was, I still wouldn't have wanted it to all come about in quite this way.
I glanced quickly to my left and I saw that window woman had grabbed the hand of middle seat man (I mean, Lee's grandfather). Although they weren't exchanging words any longer, it was comforting to me and my guilty conscience to know that she was giving him some degree of comfort in some way.
As he collapsed deep into his seat and deeper into his grief, I found myself deep in thought -- thinking about Lee, about the teacher that was indirectly responsible for Lee's death on the playground that day, about the parents that had to deal with that kind of unfathomable loss and, yes, about the stranger beside me on the plane with wounds so fresh and raw and exposed.
With thoughts and emotions welling up inside me, I found my own body shutting down as a coping mechanism. And I got tired again. And I dozed off.
Which means I missed the announcement by the flight staff to return my seat to an upright position -- apparently both times it was communicated. So Lee's grandfather/middle seat man did what I've done in many that type of situation. He reached over to tap me on my arm to interrupt my slumber and to help me be in compliance with the law of the flight cabin.
Tap one ... tap two ... and on tap three, I awoke. I looked directly into his eyes -- and that's when it happened -- that thing which changed my life forever.
After all, silence is all I had been hoping for since I boarded the plane. But even with my attitude having been what it was, I still wouldn't have wanted it to all come about in quite this way.
I glanced quickly to my left and I saw that window woman had grabbed the hand of middle seat man (I mean, Lee's grandfather). Although they weren't exchanging words any longer, it was comforting to me and my guilty conscience to know that she was giving him some degree of comfort in some way.
As he collapsed deep into his seat and deeper into his grief, I found myself deep in thought -- thinking about Lee, about the teacher that was indirectly responsible for Lee's death on the playground that day, about the parents that had to deal with that kind of unfathomable loss and, yes, about the stranger beside me on the plane with wounds so fresh and raw and exposed.
With thoughts and emotions welling up inside me, I found my own body shutting down as a coping mechanism. And I got tired again. And I dozed off.
Which means I missed the announcement by the flight staff to return my seat to an upright position -- apparently both times it was communicated. So Lee's grandfather/middle seat man did what I've done in many that type of situation. He reached over to tap me on my arm to interrupt my slumber and to help me be in compliance with the law of the flight cabin.
Tap one ... tap two ... and on tap three, I awoke. I looked directly into his eyes -- and that's when it happened -- that thing which changed my life forever.
***
If a movie were being made of that moment -- no spectacular special effect would be required. No bright light. No stopping of time and space. No temporary transferal to another dimension. Instead -- it was like some kind of download. I was absorbing every painful memory, every shed tear, every heated argument, every ounce of second guessing ... and blame assigning ... and heart breaking -- everything related to the story he had shared with the woman at the window that circumstance had forced me to overhear.
So maybe no special effects, but that movie would have to demonstrate the physical ones. My breathing changed. My pulse quickened. My mind raced. My eyes widened. I could sense endorphins rushing through all of my systems -- all of them being marshaled to handle the onslaught I was experiencing.
And then ... an eerie stillness. Not just with me, but apparently with him as well. It crossed my mind that everything that had just happened to me might also have just happened to him.
My flush turned to blush (not that much turning was involved, as red is and was ... red) and I realized that he was still touching my arm where he had been tapping to get my attention. He pulled back slowly but I could feel him still staring at me. I looked again and saw his quizzical expression. I didn't know how -- or if -- I should respond. I was in shock -- or maybe this was aftershock -- or some kind of a mental refractory period. What the hell had just happened?
I mumbled "thanks" and I returned my tray to the upright position (as, after all, that was the whole reason he had reached out to waken me). And then the plane prepared for its descent.
So maybe no special effects, but that movie would have to demonstrate the physical ones. My breathing changed. My pulse quickened. My mind raced. My eyes widened. I could sense endorphins rushing through all of my systems -- all of them being marshaled to handle the onslaught I was experiencing.
And then ... an eerie stillness. Not just with me, but apparently with him as well. It crossed my mind that everything that had just happened to me might also have just happened to him.
My flush turned to blush (not that much turning was involved, as red is and was ... red) and I realized that he was still touching my arm where he had been tapping to get my attention. He pulled back slowly but I could feel him still staring at me. I looked again and saw his quizzical expression. I didn't know how -- or if -- I should respond. I was in shock -- or maybe this was aftershock -- or some kind of a mental refractory period. What the hell had just happened?
I mumbled "thanks" and I returned my tray to the upright position (as, after all, that was the whole reason he had reached out to waken me). And then the plane prepared for its descent.
***
After all that had come before on this flight, it was really an uneventful landing. No experience of turbulence. No story telling between seat mates. No tapping that led to a download of painful memories.
Just the appearance of the tiny houses with tiny swimming pools next to tiny automobiles on tiny roads -- visible through the window in the row across from me (I had absolutely no intent on leaning over the middle seated man to look out the woman at the window's side of things). An ear pop or two on the way down, a thud or two as we hit the runway and the this-is-a-poorly-built-roller-coaster whoosh of the brakes as we slowly came to a stop.
Then the symphony of cell phones restarting, pings and bells and whistles and tones of every kind, followed by a few loud mouths yelling in to the newly restored apparatuses that they had landed. Followed by the delay as the plane slowly unloaded.
I entertained myself by wondering if anyone might ever have the creative impulse to figure out a way for planes to disembark using both sets of doors. There's clearly a door in the back used by the staff to refill the snacks and the drinks and the like. Surely some time study expert could figure out how to deplane in half the time with just a few modifications.
And then it was my turn to depart. Being seated on the aisle, I got up first. As I left, I overheard the woman at the window say to the middle seated man, "You'll be in my thoughts. I wish you well." -- to which the man replied, "Thank you -- but I'll be fine. I can't explain it, but I know that everything is better now."
Better. Not sure if I would have used that word, but everything was most certainly different now.
Just the appearance of the tiny houses with tiny swimming pools next to tiny automobiles on tiny roads -- visible through the window in the row across from me (I had absolutely no intent on leaning over the middle seated man to look out the woman at the window's side of things). An ear pop or two on the way down, a thud or two as we hit the runway and the this-is-a-poorly-built-roller-coaster whoosh of the brakes as we slowly came to a stop.
Then the symphony of cell phones restarting, pings and bells and whistles and tones of every kind, followed by a few loud mouths yelling in to the newly restored apparatuses that they had landed. Followed by the delay as the plane slowly unloaded.
I entertained myself by wondering if anyone might ever have the creative impulse to figure out a way for planes to disembark using both sets of doors. There's clearly a door in the back used by the staff to refill the snacks and the drinks and the like. Surely some time study expert could figure out how to deplane in half the time with just a few modifications.
And then it was my turn to depart. Being seated on the aisle, I got up first. As I left, I overheard the woman at the window say to the middle seated man, "You'll be in my thoughts. I wish you well." -- to which the man replied, "Thank you -- but I'll be fine. I can't explain it, but I know that everything is better now."
Better. Not sure if I would have used that word, but everything was most certainly different now.
***
I was to have one more direct interaction with him after all -- him, the middle-seated man that I had come to refer to as Lee's grandfather, after overhearing the sad sad story of Lee's death and after downloading all of the painful memories he had.
It was at the baggage claim carousel. I was checking black suitcase after black suitcase, cursing the fact that I didn't have some kind of personal marker on the piece of luggage that six out of ten people had apparently purchased in the same shape and size as mine, and I was too busy to notice that he came up behind me.
"Excuse me. Pardon me. May I speak with you for a moment?", he said as he tapped me yet again on the arm -- although this time, nothing unusual happened when we made contact. "I just have to ask you what happened on the plane."
I wanted this to be over -- as quickly as possible. Hell, I had never even wanted "this" to have started, come to think of it.
"I have to make a shuttle ...", I offered up as a weak excuse. A weak excuse indeed as I still hadn't found my final piece of baggage, and so my protestation that I was in a hurry was quite transparently just me being in a hurry ... to wait.
"I don't want to delay you -- I just need to talk about our ..." It was deja vu recalling when he was on the plane telling the story of his loss and his voice had drifted off and I had briefly thought he was going to be overcome. But just as before, he was in control of the conversation and he was simply searching for the right word. And he found it, as he continued, "... to talk about our ... exchange".
It was at the baggage claim carousel. I was checking black suitcase after black suitcase, cursing the fact that I didn't have some kind of personal marker on the piece of luggage that six out of ten people had apparently purchased in the same shape and size as mine, and I was too busy to notice that he came up behind me.
"Excuse me. Pardon me. May I speak with you for a moment?", he said as he tapped me yet again on the arm -- although this time, nothing unusual happened when we made contact. "I just have to ask you what happened on the plane."
I wanted this to be over -- as quickly as possible. Hell, I had never even wanted "this" to have started, come to think of it.
"I have to make a shuttle ...", I offered up as a weak excuse. A weak excuse indeed as I still hadn't found my final piece of baggage, and so my protestation that I was in a hurry was quite transparently just me being in a hurry ... to wait.
"I don't want to delay you -- I just need to talk about our ..." It was deja vu recalling when he was on the plane telling the story of his loss and his voice had drifted off and I had briefly thought he was going to be overcome. But just as before, he was in control of the conversation and he was simply searching for the right word. And he found it, as he continued, "... to talk about our ... exchange".
***
I kept one eye on the baggage carousel looking for my final piece of luggage and stammered a reply: "But I don't know what to say. What do you want me to say?"
"How did you do it?", he queried.
"It?"
"How did you take it all away?"
Again, I asked, "it?"
"I can't explain it, exactly. But the pain -- it's gone. I still have the memories -- but there's no longer any emotion attached to them. I can replay them, but it's like it's in a vacuum -- like it's happening to someone else. It's like I've been dosed up with some kind of mental morphine."
I stared at him blankly. This was getting awkward again.
"I guess I just need to know, more than anything -- is this temporary? Will this wear off?"
I had to tell him the truth. "I'm sorry, sir. This has never happened before. I have no idea what comes next. I'm sorry."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw yet another plain black bag. On the chance it was mine, I couldn't let it go past and be stuck in this conversation for another go round of the carousel. I stepped in to grab it, confirmed it was mine by the name on the sticker, and proceeded to gather all of my things to leave. I knew this interaction hadn't been satisfactory for either of us, but he still grabbed my hand to shake it.
"Regardless -- thank you". He shook my hand and grabbed my elbow and looked me in the eyes. I could tell that he wasn't convinced as to how to classify what had happened -- good, bad, indifferent -- but he was parting ways with me as if it was something positive -- at least on the surface.
"How did you do it?", he queried.
"It?"
"How did you take it all away?"
Again, I asked, "it?"
"I can't explain it, exactly. But the pain -- it's gone. I still have the memories -- but there's no longer any emotion attached to them. I can replay them, but it's like it's in a vacuum -- like it's happening to someone else. It's like I've been dosed up with some kind of mental morphine."
I stared at him blankly. This was getting awkward again.
"I guess I just need to know, more than anything -- is this temporary? Will this wear off?"
I had to tell him the truth. "I'm sorry, sir. This has never happened before. I have no idea what comes next. I'm sorry."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw yet another plain black bag. On the chance it was mine, I couldn't let it go past and be stuck in this conversation for another go round of the carousel. I stepped in to grab it, confirmed it was mine by the name on the sticker, and proceeded to gather all of my things to leave. I knew this interaction hadn't been satisfactory for either of us, but he still grabbed my hand to shake it.
"Regardless -- thank you". He shook my hand and grabbed my elbow and looked me in the eyes. I could tell that he wasn't convinced as to how to classify what had happened -- good, bad, indifferent -- but he was parting ways with me as if it was something positive -- at least on the surface.
***
CHAPTER 2
Commence vacation.
I had gotten out of my internship two days early so that I could decompress from a busy final semester at school -- a few days just to myself before I joined up with the rest of my service group who were in the state to help families that had been devastated by the recent hurricane.
But first -- time for me. Time for me to do nothing but lay by the pool. To get some sun and some rest and some relaxation. To think nothing about deadlines or final projects or the post-graduation job search.
I always found strength in being alone -- probably from my past as a foster child. I learned early in life that I was the one person on whom I could count. Others would come and go -- in my life for small parts of time -- many for the rightest of reasons and providing the best of circumstances. But in those final moments before falling asleep each night, regardless of the situation in which I found myself (and there were many of all kinds), I knew that mine was destined to be a solitary path. Acknowledging that at such a young age had the opposite effect of making me feel lonely -- it strengthened my soul. It was empowering.
Which is why 48 hours without commitments or obligations was the perfect vacation for me. I grabbed my beer and my towel and headed out to the lounge chair, positioned it as if I was about to sacrifice myself to the sun and reclined into my version of sweet sweet respite. I let the sun warm me to the core. I felt my skin slowly tighten as it crisped, and the blood throughout my circulatory system slowly being brought to a boil, every inch of my body discovering a peace it had long been seeking. My last thought before drifting off to sleep was an a-ha moment in finally understanding that this is why frogs don't jump out of water that is slowly heated until they boil alive -- it just feels too damn good.
I slept ... and there's no way for me to know how long I was out before it happened, but I do know that it was a shock to the system -- the opposite of the peace I had been experiencing -- to find myself suddenly on the playground with Lee.
Kind of.
I had heard enough of the story on the plane (and recently enough) to recognize the scene before me. But, here, everyone around me was faceless and I was off to the side observing the melee.
It all played out just like Lee's grandfather had relayed. Kids fighting on the playground. A little one being picked on. Another one stepping in. The little one running away. The others ganging up on the one who stepped in. A larger figure wading in to the fracas. The separation of the children. The one being pushed down to the ground in the process by that larger figure. The fact that the child hit his head hard on the sidewalk going noticed by no one until it was too late.
All of the images performed just as expected -- but no one was recognizable. The bodies all had blank mannequin like faces going through all of these motions, all the while emitting noises.
And those sounds were worse than the images -- all muffled as no one had mouths. But definitely kids screaming -- some cheering, some egging on, some in pain. An adult shouting ... getting louder and louder. Then more screaming, but a different kind -- a frightful fearful sound. On top of all of that, the sound of an ambulance siren in the distance, growing closer and eventually drowning out everything else.
It became a piercing wail ... its lights bathing the entire creepy scene in red. The faceless heads all turned to me at once -- somehow glaring at me even though they didn't have eyes. The noises all becoming more urgent, the lights becoming more blinding ... everywhere a bright red flooding the scene before me. My senses were being overtaken. I wanted to scream to relieve the pressure.
And, apparently, that's exactly what I did, to the dismay of those who had joined me around the resort's pool, where I had fallen asleep. I sat up with a start and my sunglasses went flying into the water. I was covered in sweat, struggling to breathe and glancing furtively at everyone for immediate assurance that I was back in a world where bodies had faces.
I got up and jumped in the pool to reclaim my shades, secretly hoping that when I returned to the surface of the water, none of this would have actually happened.
I had gotten out of my internship two days early so that I could decompress from a busy final semester at school -- a few days just to myself before I joined up with the rest of my service group who were in the state to help families that had been devastated by the recent hurricane.
But first -- time for me. Time for me to do nothing but lay by the pool. To get some sun and some rest and some relaxation. To think nothing about deadlines or final projects or the post-graduation job search.
I always found strength in being alone -- probably from my past as a foster child. I learned early in life that I was the one person on whom I could count. Others would come and go -- in my life for small parts of time -- many for the rightest of reasons and providing the best of circumstances. But in those final moments before falling asleep each night, regardless of the situation in which I found myself (and there were many of all kinds), I knew that mine was destined to be a solitary path. Acknowledging that at such a young age had the opposite effect of making me feel lonely -- it strengthened my soul. It was empowering.
Which is why 48 hours without commitments or obligations was the perfect vacation for me. I grabbed my beer and my towel and headed out to the lounge chair, positioned it as if I was about to sacrifice myself to the sun and reclined into my version of sweet sweet respite. I let the sun warm me to the core. I felt my skin slowly tighten as it crisped, and the blood throughout my circulatory system slowly being brought to a boil, every inch of my body discovering a peace it had long been seeking. My last thought before drifting off to sleep was an a-ha moment in finally understanding that this is why frogs don't jump out of water that is slowly heated until they boil alive -- it just feels too damn good.
I slept ... and there's no way for me to know how long I was out before it happened, but I do know that it was a shock to the system -- the opposite of the peace I had been experiencing -- to find myself suddenly on the playground with Lee.
***
Kind of.
I had heard enough of the story on the plane (and recently enough) to recognize the scene before me. But, here, everyone around me was faceless and I was off to the side observing the melee.
It all played out just like Lee's grandfather had relayed. Kids fighting on the playground. A little one being picked on. Another one stepping in. The little one running away. The others ganging up on the one who stepped in. A larger figure wading in to the fracas. The separation of the children. The one being pushed down to the ground in the process by that larger figure. The fact that the child hit his head hard on the sidewalk going noticed by no one until it was too late.
All of the images performed just as expected -- but no one was recognizable. The bodies all had blank mannequin like faces going through all of these motions, all the while emitting noises.
And those sounds were worse than the images -- all muffled as no one had mouths. But definitely kids screaming -- some cheering, some egging on, some in pain. An adult shouting ... getting louder and louder. Then more screaming, but a different kind -- a frightful fearful sound. On top of all of that, the sound of an ambulance siren in the distance, growing closer and eventually drowning out everything else.
It became a piercing wail ... its lights bathing the entire creepy scene in red. The faceless heads all turned to me at once -- somehow glaring at me even though they didn't have eyes. The noises all becoming more urgent, the lights becoming more blinding ... everywhere a bright red flooding the scene before me. My senses were being overtaken. I wanted to scream to relieve the pressure.
And, apparently, that's exactly what I did, to the dismay of those who had joined me around the resort's pool, where I had fallen asleep. I sat up with a start and my sunglasses went flying into the water. I was covered in sweat, struggling to breathe and glancing furtively at everyone for immediate assurance that I was back in a world where bodies had faces.
I got up and jumped in the pool to reclaim my shades, secretly hoping that when I returned to the surface of the water, none of this would have actually happened.
***
I wondered how long I could stay under the water.
After all, it would be rather embarrassing to return to the surface to face all of the other resort guests who had heard my outburst when I woke up from my nap and shook free the images that had been haunting me (and my sunglasses, which is what I was in the pool to retrieve). My afternoon in the sun was probably over.
Even worse, I worried, what if I could no longer nap? What if every time I dozed off, I'd see these same faceless images playing this same horrific scene over and over again?
I mean I knew the survivalist's rule of threes -- a person lives three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water and three weeks without food. But what about sleep? I had heard that sleep deprivation was an interrogation technique, so it must be relevant somehow. But why wasn't there a handy "three" reference to make it easy for me to figure out how long I could go before having to deal with this attack on my subconscious senses.
Feeling like I was coming up on the three minutes without air mark, I grabbed my shades from the bottom of the pool and headed to the surface to deal with my public shaming.
***
I climbed out of the pool, shook off like a wet dog and held my sunglasses in the air and over my head as if they were the prize to beat out all prizes and I was the lucky recipient of them, shouting "Got 'em!" to everyone -- and no one in particular.
A few guests glanced my way, but no one seemed to be as invested as I was in my own drama. Note to self -- spending as much time inside my own head as I do may lead me to false assumptions that others are there with me. And I don't mean the faceless ones that had popped up when I had dozed off (they were new) ... but more so the on-lookers and passers-by who really could have cared less about my situation.
All the same, I was done for the afternoon. I gathered up the rest of my things and headed back to my room. Slightly scared to drift off to sleep, I channel surfed from news update to weather report to faux reality show to classic TV comedy and back through the cycle again and again until I had wasted enough hours so that the sun had set.
It was time to get my drink on. I checked the local guides for the best bars and headed out into the night. I was bound and determined to enjoy myself before the "work" part of my vacation had to start. And alcohol was to be the main ingredient in my recipe for rest and relaxation.
A few guests glanced my way, but no one seemed to be as invested as I was in my own drama. Note to self -- spending as much time inside my own head as I do may lead me to false assumptions that others are there with me. And I don't mean the faceless ones that had popped up when I had dozed off (they were new) ... but more so the on-lookers and passers-by who really could have cared less about my situation.
All the same, I was done for the afternoon. I gathered up the rest of my things and headed back to my room. Slightly scared to drift off to sleep, I channel surfed from news update to weather report to faux reality show to classic TV comedy and back through the cycle again and again until I had wasted enough hours so that the sun had set.
It was time to get my drink on. I checked the local guides for the best bars and headed out into the night. I was bound and determined to enjoy myself before the "work" part of my vacation had to start. And alcohol was to be the main ingredient in my recipe for rest and relaxation.
***
See and be seen. Where all the cool kids are. Hottest vibe in the city. Premier S&M site. [Note -- that's S&M as in "stand-and-model", lest you draw the wrong conclusion.]
After reading those reviews, I almost felt obligated to start my vacation bar crawl at that location. But I should have known better, as those descriptive phrases don't really jive with someone content to drink by himself off in the corner. If that weren't enough to make me realize I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the look of disdain when I ordered a bottled beer when it was my time at the bar should have been sufficient feedback that I needed to leave.
But no, I took my drink and headed off to the corner and began my evaluation of the sights before me. Sure enough, the club was filled with frat-douches perfecting their douchery skills and women dressed like little girls who were all yammering in the same baby-doll inflection that may as well have been the proverbial nails on the chalkboard as I struggled to cope with the cacophony. Plus -- everyone was connected to a cell phone. Even those on the dance floor were gesticulating asymmetrically as one hand was attached to their apparatus. So odd.
At this point, you would think I would be high-tailing it out of the place. Instead, kind of settling in to my role as Judgy McJudgerton, I decided that I could continue this exercise for the length of time it took to drink one more beer. Well -- that was the plan UNTIL I saw the line at the bar -- at least six people deep.
Look, different people have different ideas of what hell is like. I mean there's Sisyphus and the ever present task of pushing a rock up hill -- or Prometheus tied to a rock where vultures ate his kidney daily (what is it with hell and rocks?) -- but for me, hell is that period of time in a bar between finishing my drink and having to wait for barstaff to serve me my next one.
I wasn't about to spend 20 minutes in that hell -- that was 1200 seconds of torture that I was not prepared for, especially since this was my vacation. It was time to "crawl" to the next bar.
After reading those reviews, I almost felt obligated to start my vacation bar crawl at that location. But I should have known better, as those descriptive phrases don't really jive with someone content to drink by himself off in the corner. If that weren't enough to make me realize I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the look of disdain when I ordered a bottled beer when it was my time at the bar should have been sufficient feedback that I needed to leave.
But no, I took my drink and headed off to the corner and began my evaluation of the sights before me. Sure enough, the club was filled with frat-douches perfecting their douchery skills and women dressed like little girls who were all yammering in the same baby-doll inflection that may as well have been the proverbial nails on the chalkboard as I struggled to cope with the cacophony. Plus -- everyone was connected to a cell phone. Even those on the dance floor were gesticulating asymmetrically as one hand was attached to their apparatus. So odd.
At this point, you would think I would be high-tailing it out of the place. Instead, kind of settling in to my role as Judgy McJudgerton, I decided that I could continue this exercise for the length of time it took to drink one more beer. Well -- that was the plan UNTIL I saw the line at the bar -- at least six people deep.
Look, different people have different ideas of what hell is like. I mean there's Sisyphus and the ever present task of pushing a rock up hill -- or Prometheus tied to a rock where vultures ate his kidney daily (what is it with hell and rocks?) -- but for me, hell is that period of time in a bar between finishing my drink and having to wait for barstaff to serve me my next one.
I wasn't about to spend 20 minutes in that hell -- that was 1200 seconds of torture that I was not prepared for, especially since this was my vacation. It was time to "crawl" to the next bar.
***
I must have driven past it three times before I realized where it was -- which, again, should have been a sign. I don't know why it was so hard for me to learn to pick up on these signs right in front of my face. But I didn't learn that skill for many many years.
Come to think of it, there should have also been a sign for the bar that I was seeking out on my vacation bar crawl as well. But there wasn't, and eventually, I figured that out and parked and walked in to what can only be described as a classic dive (minus a Guy Fieri-type extolling its virtues as I arrived).
This was a dive long forgotten, never updated and apparently not well known.
There were pictures on the wall of local celebrities -- or maybe they were posters for missing local folks -- or maybe they were trophies of those that had met their end in the back room. It was hard to tell, and my mind was covering all parts of the possibility continuum.
Three tiny televisions were all set to some channel that was playing what appeared to be an endless loop of "world's dumbest criminals", "world's stupidest stunts", "world's craziest fights", etc. etc. It was only later that I realized the programming choice was probably because there was a good chance the barstaff or bar customers might have appeared on those shows.
Eyes adjusted, I confirmed that I was the only one in the joint -- well, me plus the bartender, who looked like he might have recently been in a joint of another kind. I ordered a beer from him (although clearly I was interrupting his quality television time), pounded it and left as quickly as I could -- before my photo joined the others on the wall.
As I drove away, I put the pieces together (specifically about these last two bars) and I realized that the law of Goldilocks meant that the next location I found would have to be juuuuuust right.
Come to think of it, there should have also been a sign for the bar that I was seeking out on my vacation bar crawl as well. But there wasn't, and eventually, I figured that out and parked and walked in to what can only be described as a classic dive (minus a Guy Fieri-type extolling its virtues as I arrived).
This was a dive long forgotten, never updated and apparently not well known.
There were pictures on the wall of local celebrities -- or maybe they were posters for missing local folks -- or maybe they were trophies of those that had met their end in the back room. It was hard to tell, and my mind was covering all parts of the possibility continuum.
Three tiny televisions were all set to some channel that was playing what appeared to be an endless loop of "world's dumbest criminals", "world's stupidest stunts", "world's craziest fights", etc. etc. It was only later that I realized the programming choice was probably because there was a good chance the barstaff or bar customers might have appeared on those shows.
Eyes adjusted, I confirmed that I was the only one in the joint -- well, me plus the bartender, who looked like he might have recently been in a joint of another kind. I ordered a beer from him (although clearly I was interrupting his quality television time), pounded it and left as quickly as I could -- before my photo joined the others on the wall.
As I drove away, I put the pieces together (specifically about these last two bars) and I realized that the law of Goldilocks meant that the next location I found would have to be juuuuuust right.
***
There's something to be said about the rule of Goldilocks, as my third choice of watering hole for the night was just right.
I found a spot at the bar that allowed me to have a vantage point of the whole establishment and took my seat. There were just enough people to have something to watch and to trick myself into thinking that I was drinking socially (although, let's face it, it would have been factual to say that I was drinking alone), but not so many that the barstaff would be so busy that I'd have to wait for seconds -- and thirds, and fourths, and fifths -- well, you get the picture -- it was vacation so this was a night for binge-imbibing.
I settled in, content to stay the rest of the evening in this spot, waiting for my chance to strike up a conversation with the bartender. It was then that I noticed the guy two seats down, texting furiously and scowling at his empty glass.
"Hey!", he yelled to the guy behind the counter. "I need another one." From the slur in his speech, I got the sense that he was already far into his binge. Something told me I should keep an eye out for this one -- and that I now had a conversation starter for the bartender.
When the drunk got up and stumbled toward the bathroom, I seized the opportunity.
I found a spot at the bar that allowed me to have a vantage point of the whole establishment and took my seat. There were just enough people to have something to watch and to trick myself into thinking that I was drinking socially (although, let's face it, it would have been factual to say that I was drinking alone), but not so many that the barstaff would be so busy that I'd have to wait for seconds -- and thirds, and fourths, and fifths -- well, you get the picture -- it was vacation so this was a night for binge-imbibing.
I settled in, content to stay the rest of the evening in this spot, waiting for my chance to strike up a conversation with the bartender. It was then that I noticed the guy two seats down, texting furiously and scowling at his empty glass.
"Hey!", he yelled to the guy behind the counter. "I need another one." From the slur in his speech, I got the sense that he was already far into his binge. Something told me I should keep an eye out for this one -- and that I now had a conversation starter for the bartender.
When the drunk got up and stumbled toward the bathroom, I seized the opportunity.
***
I waited for the bartender to make eye contact and then nodded. "I'll take another".
This time he offered me his hand with my drink. "Hi, I'm Mario ... so what brings you to Florida -- I'm guessing vacation?"
I'm thinking it was either the likelihood that the majority of the clientele at this time of year in this location were tourists -- or he was evaluating my freshly burned visage and drawing the most likely conclusion.
"My name is Alan ... and yes, I'm here for my spring break. A few days of vacation and then I'm joining a group that's working on homes for those that were damaged in Celine." (Celine was the storm that had blown through a month ago.)
"Oh wow. That's great. Well -- we're supposed to have nice weather." His reply didn't really elevate the conversation any, but, after all, names and weather reports form the basis of small talk, right?
I motioned my head to the empty seat where the angry texter had been. "So -- umm -- are things OK with him?" I gave my best mash-up of a quizzical and concerned look, and worked hard to try to put a twinkle in my eye to let him know that I was prepared to mock the situation instead of aggravating it.
"Yeah -- he's going through something. He's been off and on that phone for the last hour. I think he's either breaking up with someone -- or someone's breaking up with him."
"Yeah -- he seemed a little intense." I stretched out the word little a few extra seconds for emphasis.
My new friend Mario just shrugged his shoulders, communicating a "we'll see what happens" without actually saying any words. And then the angry texter came back from the bathroom.
***
And when he returned, he immediately started back to yelling on the phone.
"I've been waiting here for two hours already!" he screamed to whomever was on the other end of the call. "I think you owe me a face to face conversation."
Ah -- the joys of cell phones, where innocent bystanders were dragged into others' conversations -- but only one side of them (of course, except for those cases where the perpetrator purposefully and premeditatedly chose speaker phone -- which was not the case at the bar where I was now "involved").
"Of course your mother would say that! All the things you've filled her head with ... is it any wonder? That was one time ... and it was months ago."
Ah -- the joys of dirty laundry hanging out at the bar. Metaphorically I mean. It's not like the guy whom I referred to as "angry texter" had returned from the bathroom disheveled in any way. As near as I could tell from the outside view, he had hit all his marks on his just-completed mission there.
"Get. Down. Here. We have to talk this out!"
Ah the joys of domestic disputes. Something told me that this night was just beginning.
"I've been waiting here for two hours already!" he screamed to whomever was on the other end of the call. "I think you owe me a face to face conversation."
Ah -- the joys of cell phones, where innocent bystanders were dragged into others' conversations -- but only one side of them (of course, except for those cases where the perpetrator purposefully and premeditatedly chose speaker phone -- which was not the case at the bar where I was now "involved").
"Of course your mother would say that! All the things you've filled her head with ... is it any wonder? That was one time ... and it was months ago."
Ah -- the joys of dirty laundry hanging out at the bar. Metaphorically I mean. It's not like the guy whom I referred to as "angry texter" had returned from the bathroom disheveled in any way. As near as I could tell from the outside view, he had hit all his marks on his just-completed mission there.
"Get. Down. Here. We have to talk this out!"
Ah the joys of domestic disputes. Something told me that this night was just beginning.
***
With "angry texter" hanging up the phone after his diatribe, this part of the bar suddenly seemed too quiet. I looked up from my drink and caught bartender Mario's eye, and nodded my head.
If only I had chosen a different major, I would have loved to explore the masculine communication method known as the head nod -- not to sound all sexist -- but just to recognize that the male gender, over time, seems to have taken that motion and perfected it to nonverbally message so much to the person at whom he was nodding. Actual translation, of course, is always dependent on three factors -- the contextual situation, the level of familiarity between nodder and noddee and whether the nod itself occurs by sticking the chin up-and-out or down-and-in.
In this case, I was clearly communicating -- "Ok, big boy, time for you to step in here and evaluate whether this fool should be thrown out. Oh -- and I got your back, to the extent that you're twice my size and so would really just need someone to lurk in the background with imaginary lat syndrome." By the way, imaginary lat syndrome is the biological phenomenon that results in "puffed chest", in case you were unaware of the medical definition.
Of course, that's what I *thought* I was communicating. For all I know, Mario saw the movement and thought that I was twitching and might be someone to watch to make sure I didn't have a seizure. Without verbal communication and since our level of familiarity was relatively low (he had only served me two drinks so far), one never knows what one is communicating with absolute certainty.
***
"So hey -- everything OK?", asked bartender Mario of drunken "angry texter".
It was one of the rare times that the guy looked up from his phone. "I'll take a shot. What's the special?"
I had thought we were headed toward an intervention -- although, I guess holding an intervention at a bar isn't exactly the norm -- but now we seemed to be back to party mode.
"Umm ... jager-bombs?", answered Mario. "But -- to be clear -- I wasn't asking you if you wanted another drink -- I meant with the yelling and all. Everything good?"
"Oh -- so sorry. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Just dealing with my girlfriend. Or my ex-girlfriend. I'm actually not sure right now. My apologies. Let's do a round for everyone at the bar then that had to put up with me ..."
There seemed to be a fundamental disconnect in the dialogue. Somehow we went from trying to figure out if that customer should be cut off to all of us doing a group shot. Of course, I couldn't blame Mario. Maybe he could make one more big sale before kicking this guy out. And people sure do drink shots quickly, by design.
We seemed to be in a race against time. What would happen first -- me and the others drinking the free shot, him acting up again such that he would be evicted from the bar, or the appearance of the maybe-ex-girlfriend.
I could at least exert some control in this situation. I grabbed my shot. "Cheers!", I said, as I pounded the drink.
***
"Cheers!", he drunkenly responded. "You got a girlfriend?" Apparently, I was no longer just going to be a bystander.
"Not right now," I said. "Not for a few months -- she graduated a year ago and we couldn't handle the long distance relationship."
"She have a sister?" he asked.
My first thought was that maybe he was in the market for a new connection. "Umm ... no -- she was an only child."
I could see Mario watching from the other end of the bar. Although, at this point, I couldn't tell if he was just waiting to make another sale or if he was still wary about "angry texter" man.
"You got lucky, then." He took a long swig of his drink.
I had to encourage clarification -- I just couldn't help myself. "How so?"
"Mine has one. There was a party. There was drinking. She kissed me ... or I kissed her ... there was definitely kissing going on." He paused and smiled, as if he was proudly thinking back to that moment. "But that was it -- just kissing."
"And she found out?"
"Yep -- but that was it! Nothing else." Another long drink. "Now the sister's pregnant and the family thinks it's mine. But it's not! The only connection I ever had with her below the neck was on the dance floor -- and we were both pretty much clothed at that time." He finished his drink, and looked me right in the eyes. " That kid's not mine!"
"That's not what my mother says!", interjected the latest person to join the conversation -- what an entrance for the maybe-ex-girlfriend!
***
"Baby, I told you that was one time. One party. One night. And nothing happened after that like your Mom says." Angry texter's tone had changed to one of pleading.
"You. Kissed. Her. My. Sister." Every word stood as its own sentence in her reply, and she could have cared less that it rhymed and sounded like it might be the start of some dirty nursery rhyme. "And don't you DARE 'baby' me." It struck me that I had never heard that word pronounced as two syllables, accompanied as it was by one long finger wag.
At this point, I wasn't sure if maybe-ex-girlfriend had a flare for the dramatic or if she had also been drinking. It was kind of difficult being thrust into just this one moment in their lives, not knowing too much of what came before. Of course, with the flow of alcohol that had clearly influenced one of the parties, it was also becoming easier and easier to get caught up.
"Well -- she came on to me. I was just being a gentleman. I had to oblige."
Anyone within earshot, including myself and bartender Mario, could visualize the camel's back breaking at this moment. Clearly this kid had "game" -- or at least he did the night the transgression occurred -- but he had absolutely no "game" when it came to covering up his tracks.
She was silent, and in his drunken stupor, he still hadn't realized he had thrown out the proverbial last straw. "I'm just kidding ..." He tried to accompany that statement with a good-natured poke to the shoulder, but his aim was off, so he landed his hand on her upper breast.
"Excuse me -- is there a problem here?" Sadly, that was not the voice of Mario. Understandably, that was not the voice of me (I was a spectator to this sideshow -- well, up until what happened next). Instead, this conversation was welcoming yet another person -- and, by the looks of things, yet another drunk one at that.
To be clear -- I'd never be the person to knock chivalry, but, as near as I could tell, a stranger -- just another customer at the bar -- was inadvisably stepping in to "protect" the maybe-ex-girlfriend.
Which, of course, was just fuel to the fire ...
***
For this, there should have been instant replay. With slow-mo and telestrator capability. Because it all happened so quickly with so many moving parts. We all knew where we stood after it happened. But how we got from point A to point B -- that was open to interpretation, and each participant had his or her own understanding of the sequence and import of events.
Here's my take on what happened.
Chivalrous-but-inebriated interjector decided to step in on behalf of maybe ex-girlfriend, probably because it looked to him like angry texter had kind of punched her in the chest when his intent had just been to reach out to poke her shoulder to signify that his last comment was nothing but a joke. Angry texter, who had opened up to me (who had been, up to this point, just a barcrowd drinking buddy) about his situation did not take kindly to the intervention of chivalrous-but-inebriated interjector and so poked him in the chest advising him to step away from the unfolding scene.
At some point, a drink was thrown. Or, a drink was spilled. That was probably much more likely, what with all the poking and invasion of personal space that was happening. That spilled/thrown drink landed on a second girl -- who, it seems, was in the same party group as chivalrous-but-inebriated interjector. Now everybody knows that the accepted response to drink-throwing is punch-throwing (and, no, not the kind of punch that resides in a bowl, despite the syllogism of matching liquid with liquid), so absolutely no one was surprised that chivalrous-but-inebriated interjector took that course of action in response.
Well -- except for angry texter. He did seem surprised by the blow. Having observed so many emotions from him since I had arrived at the bar, I was not surprised that he would next embody "infuriated".
Which was enough to bring Mario from out of behind the bar to grapple with chivalrous-but-inebriated interjector. That, in turn, called into play my "I've-got-your-back" head-nod communication that I had made to him just within the last half hour, and so I fought my natural inclination to back away from the melee and took a brave step forward ...
... into what quickly became a tangle of me and a falling barstool and the drunken angry texter (and some more alcohol of the spilled variety). I reached out to grab a hold of anything that might steady me as all of those things went to hit the floor, and angry texter turned his head to see who had grabbed his arm and who was keeping him from responding to this fight. When our eyes locked, it happened again -- just as it had with me and Lee's grandfather on the plane.
***
As this was only the second time that this had happened, I was still unclear as to how long it all took. Again -- not so much that time and space stood still or anything like that -- but just that the transfer of memories was so thorough and so complete that it would seem to have had to take at least a few minutes.
Once again, I was absorbing every painful memory that angry-texter had around this situation. I could see and feel and relive the arguments -- every suspicion, every accusation, every tear, every raised voice, every cold night alone on the couch. Wave after wave of his emotions washed over me. Sure enough, just as before, all of my senses were heightened as his thoughts and feelings assaulted me. Every inch of my skin was tingling and even the blood coursing through my body was heated by the anger and disappointment that I was taking on.
This time, I could vividly see all the parties involved. I easily recognized maybe-ex-girlfriend in these interactions since she was right there in the bar, and it didn't take long for me to connect the dots and identify her mother in the images I was internalizing. But then I could make out someone new -- and I saw a completely different set of arguments and heartbreak. It hit me -- this was the sister -- and I was seeing flashes of private painful discussions that he had had with her -- disagreements over whom to tell and what to do about ... his baby. What had started out as a garbled mess was now crystal clear. This guy left a trail of broken hearts wherever he went.
Then ... silence. Kind of. Silence between angry texter's mind and my own. The bar was still going crazy in the immediate moments after the fight had broken out. And it was silence between us for just a moment, as, in my shock at learning the truth, I couldn't help but mutter, "you are are the father" over and over again as if I was Maury Povich after just opening the dna test results. In the din, only he could hear me. He looked at me, clearly unsure about what had just occurred, clearly unnerved about what I was saying and clearly uncomfortable that I was now laying atop of him on the bar floor.
I scrambled to my feet and offered him my hand to help him get up. He declined, standing up himself, never taking his eyes off of mine, wary and wobbly -- giving me that blank stare that I had seen once before.
***
Once is an aberration. Twice is just a coincidence. That's what I told myself.
Angry texter got up off the ground, never taking his eyes off me, giving me that same blank stare. But unlike Lee's grandfather on the plane, I don't think he knew exactly what had happened to him so much as just knowing that something clearly had. Of course, Lee's grandfather had also really struggled to communicate afterwards -- but he had coined that phrase "mental morphine" when he described it as being able to have all of the memories with the emotions unattached from them. I wanted to know if angry texter felt the same.
Then I realized it -- the alcohol. That must be affecting how he was processing our exchange. Well -- that plus the shock of me verbalizing that I somehow knew he was the father of maybe-ex-girlfriend's sister's baby. I didn't dare say anything else to him not knowing how he was handling this turn of events.
He nodded my way -- completely upending my theory of the masculine head nod that I had been thinking about before this had all gone down. Trust me -- I had absolutely no understanding of what that nod was to mean.
He finally broke his gaze and he turned to maybe-ex-girlfriend, who was standing next to the bystander who had intervened (who, in turn, was being held in place by bartender Mario), and he said, just loud enough that the closest of us could hear, "I understand. I loved you. I have to go now."
Maybe-ex-girlfriend, whom I should probably refer to henceforth as definite-ex-girlfriend, started to cry.
But he didn't respond. He calmly walked out of the bar, and through the windows to the front, we all watched him walk across the street, hail a cab and disappear into the night.
Definite-ex-girlfriend ran to the lady's room, Mario released the bystander and told him to leave the bar with his group and I just stood there and surveyed the mess before me, telling myself again ... Once is an aberration. Twice is just a coincidence.
***
Now what? It struck me that any good barstaff would have this mess cleaned up lickety-split, and there would be no evidence of this series of unfortunate events. Well, other than the whisper-down-the-lane gossip mongers, who would embellish the story as they passed it on throughout the rest of the night.
But hey -- that's an American tradition, up there with baseball and apple pie: embellishment whilst tale-telling. I'm sure that the story would morph into someone having been shot at the bar, or a terrorist suspect having been arrested there or that the establishment would be closing down at the end of the month due to an unhappy former employee who conspired to run the business into the ground. Things sure do have a way of taking on a life of their own.
I contemplated whether or not I should find the maybe-now-definite-ex-girlfriend and share with her that I knew that her sister's baby's daddy was indeed angry-texter. The last I had seen her, she was on the way to the bathroom to "freshen up", or whatever it was that girls did in that room en masse. Ultimately, I decided to stay away, on the premise that the last thing she would want was to have yet another stranger putting his nose where it wasn't needed.
Someone came around the corner to mop up the spilled drinks, clean up the glass, and to set the barstools back in an upright position. I backed out of his way -- and backed into the corner where I had watched this all unfold. Since my drink was one of the ones that had spilled, I flagged down bartender Mario.
He shook his head, flashed a half-smile and shrugged his shoulders -- not that he was denying me my next drink, but more so just summarizing the shared experience we had just lived through. When he got down to me, I couldn't help but notice that the right underside of his forearm had been cut and was bleeding. Since it wasn't in his view, I doubted that he even knew.
He dropped off my drink and I decided to take a chance. I reached out my finger and directly touched the wound.
***
"Hey!", he yelped. "What the hell?" He grabbed the spot on the underside of his forearm that I noticed had been bleeding, the one I had just reached out to touch.
"Sorry", I mumbled. I couldn't tell him that I thought, by touching it, I might have been able to heal it. Strange things had been happening to me on this trip. But apparently not so strange as that.
"I ... thought ... I thought I saw some glass stuck in your arm. I was trying to flick it out," was the best I could come up with as a motive for my odd actions.
"Well -- don't do that. Your hands must have alcohol on them from the mess during the fight, 'cause it burns."
"So sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." I'm not even sure he heard my second apology as he walked away.
Well that was embarrassing. I worked to finish my drink as quickly as I could. I settled up my bar tab and left my tip, not saying another word to Mario.
It was time for this night to end. Past time. Just like angry-texter had done before me, I slipped out of the bar and disappeared into the night.
(Kind of. I just left and got in my car and drove back to the hotel. But, as embarrassed as I was, I wanted to disappear.)
Once I got to my room, I passed out on the bed, exhausted from all that had happened.
"Sorry", I mumbled. I couldn't tell him that I thought, by touching it, I might have been able to heal it. Strange things had been happening to me on this trip. But apparently not so strange as that.
"I ... thought ... I thought I saw some glass stuck in your arm. I was trying to flick it out," was the best I could come up with as a motive for my odd actions.
"Well -- don't do that. Your hands must have alcohol on them from the mess during the fight, 'cause it burns."
"So sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." I'm not even sure he heard my second apology as he walked away.
Well that was embarrassing. I worked to finish my drink as quickly as I could. I settled up my bar tab and left my tip, not saying another word to Mario.
It was time for this night to end. Past time. Just like angry-texter had done before me, I slipped out of the bar and disappeared into the night.
(Kind of. I just left and got in my car and drove back to the hotel. But, as embarrassed as I was, I wanted to disappear.)
Once I got to my room, I passed out on the bed, exhausted from all that had happened.
***
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 3
Admittedly, the next twenty-four hours were a bit of a blur. I stayed in the resort, moving back and forth from my room to the pool to going out to get something to eat once or twice. I tried to distract myself by reading anything I could get my hands on -- newspapers, magazines, takeout menus, instructional manuals -- whatever I could find. I looked for a quiet place where no one would bother me and I kept to myself.
Despite wanting to take an afternoon nap, I never really slept. I didn't want to be visited by those faceless figures that had haunted me my first day at the pool when I had dozed off. But I had figured out that, when I passed out, my mind went blank and I wasn't visited by anyone or anything.
So it seemed logical, in an admittedly twisted way, that passing out should be my goal for the second night. I sat in my room and drank, trying not to judge myself for my actions, trying to convince myself that drinking alone was empowering instead of sad ... and I drank and I drank until ... well, until I woke up with a start early the next morning, surprised at the sunlight streaming into my room.
This was the day that the "work" part of my vacation was to begin. After all, I was in Florida on my spring break during my final year of college because I was part of a service organization at my school that was in town to work in a neighborhood that was damaged by the recent hurricane. Today was the day that I was meeting up with the rest of the group.
Seeing as how my arriving two days early was all about getting some extra rest and relaxation, I did have to deal with the fact that I had pretty much failed at that mission.
Despite wanting to take an afternoon nap, I never really slept. I didn't want to be visited by those faceless figures that had haunted me my first day at the pool when I had dozed off. But I had figured out that, when I passed out, my mind went blank and I wasn't visited by anyone or anything.
So it seemed logical, in an admittedly twisted way, that passing out should be my goal for the second night. I sat in my room and drank, trying not to judge myself for my actions, trying to convince myself that drinking alone was empowering instead of sad ... and I drank and I drank until ... well, until I woke up with a start early the next morning, surprised at the sunlight streaming into my room.
This was the day that the "work" part of my vacation was to begin. After all, I was in Florida on my spring break during my final year of college because I was part of a service organization at my school that was in town to work in a neighborhood that was damaged by the recent hurricane. Today was the day that I was meeting up with the rest of the group.
Seeing as how my arriving two days early was all about getting some extra rest and relaxation, I did have to deal with the fact that I had pretty much failed at that mission.
I filed that thought away. It was time to look forward. I shaved and showered and left the resort to head to our prearranged meeting place. It was going to be good to be around people I knew as we were all doing something for others. Today would be a new day, a good day, a day that wasn't about me.
***
"Bacon is never a side dish -- it's always the main meal."
I knew I was going to enjoy my breakfast at Ruthie's Roadhouse when I read that on the menu. This place was our rendezvous for the team that would be headed out to help the hurricane-affected neighborhood. I could really get behind the philosophy of moving eggs and waffles and french toasts to side dishes to let the sizzling strips of pork into the spotlight to shine.
The more bacon, the more energy we'd have to do the work ahead of us, I rationalized.
Having arrived two days earlier, I wasn't surprised to be the first to be here this morning. For sure, I wasn't going to miss the chance to dig in and get a head start on accessing the bacon supply. To be fair, I did order a half piece of french toast and one egg scrambled on the side.
I was halfway through my meal'o'bacon when the first batch of classmates arrived. I stopped inhaling the strips of porcine goodness for just a moment to motion them over to my table -- "I'm over here!"
Jack and Jackie were the first to reach me and they grabbed the seats. Small talk ensued.
"How was your flight?", I politely asked as I was certain that was protocol.
"No issues. We just waited a bit for our bags -- otherwise, we would have been here a half hour ago. Weren't you on our flight?", Jackie asked.
"I came down two days ago -- needed the extra rest and relaxation."
"How was it?"
"Oh -- fine. Good. Great. Nothing much exciting." I stuffed more bacon in my mouth so I wouldn't have to explain any more. After all -- what was I supposed to say? That I picked up a new skill and can absorb people's painful memories when I touch them? I felt certain that such phrasing was most definitely NOT small talk protocol.
I knew I was going to enjoy my breakfast at Ruthie's Roadhouse when I read that on the menu. This place was our rendezvous for the team that would be headed out to help the hurricane-affected neighborhood. I could really get behind the philosophy of moving eggs and waffles and french toasts to side dishes to let the sizzling strips of pork into the spotlight to shine.
The more bacon, the more energy we'd have to do the work ahead of us, I rationalized.
Having arrived two days earlier, I wasn't surprised to be the first to be here this morning. For sure, I wasn't going to miss the chance to dig in and get a head start on accessing the bacon supply. To be fair, I did order a half piece of french toast and one egg scrambled on the side.
I was halfway through my meal'o'bacon when the first batch of classmates arrived. I stopped inhaling the strips of porcine goodness for just a moment to motion them over to my table -- "I'm over here!"
Jack and Jackie were the first to reach me and they grabbed the seats. Small talk ensued.
"How was your flight?", I politely asked as I was certain that was protocol.
"No issues. We just waited a bit for our bags -- otherwise, we would have been here a half hour ago. Weren't you on our flight?", Jackie asked.
"I came down two days ago -- needed the extra rest and relaxation."
"How was it?"
"Oh -- fine. Good. Great. Nothing much exciting." I stuffed more bacon in my mouth so I wouldn't have to explain any more. After all -- what was I supposed to say? That I picked up a new skill and can absorb people's painful memories when I touch them? I felt certain that such phrasing was most definitely NOT small talk protocol.
***
Soon enough, we all were gathered and shepherded into the back party room at Ruthie's Roadhouse.
In addition to me, Alan, and Jack and Jackie, the college sweethearts who had joined me at my breakfast-bacon table, there were eight others from our service organization who had made the trip to the storm-ravaged part of Florida to "do good" and "make right" and "help clean up the damage".
Over in the corner separated from everyone else in the group was J.J., the trust-fund baby, and his paramour Jenna. In the middle was Taneeka (fitting as she was in the middle of everything back on campus -- seemingly a part of every organization -- so much so that I had started to doubt whether she was taking any classes at all or if she was just majoring in extra-curriculars). Next to her was "Scooter Z!" (whose real name no one knew, but who was the goofiest, friendliest, clowniest party animal who had more than earned the exclamation point in his nickname due to his antics).
Mattie, the baby of the group and the only freshperson in the midst, sat in back of him -- and it looked like he was being taken under the wings of Preston and Brandon. No one quite knew the whole story of Preston and Brandon -- other than that they were roommates who did everything together. Actually, the rumor was that they were roommates who did EVERYTHING together, but no one in our group had asked for clarification.
And rounding out our group was Joey. No one knew anything about Joey. Well, that's not completely true as we all knew one thing -- the dean was making him participate as punishment for some drunken window breaking incident one night in the dorms after a bad breakup with his girlfriend. He sat by himself, arm still in a cast, not making eye contact with any of us.
The task coordinator went to the front of the room and yelled to get our attention. After all, we were only college students here to help -- but this was an activity that was part of a bigger effort, and they weren't about to let us loose on the area without tools or professional guidance.
"If I can have your attention, please! My name is Jose, and I'll be your team leader for this experience."
In addition to me, Alan, and Jack and Jackie, the college sweethearts who had joined me at my breakfast-bacon table, there were eight others from our service organization who had made the trip to the storm-ravaged part of Florida to "do good" and "make right" and "help clean up the damage".
Over in the corner separated from everyone else in the group was J.J., the trust-fund baby, and his paramour Jenna. In the middle was Taneeka (fitting as she was in the middle of everything back on campus -- seemingly a part of every organization -- so much so that I had started to doubt whether she was taking any classes at all or if she was just majoring in extra-curriculars). Next to her was "Scooter Z!" (whose real name no one knew, but who was the goofiest, friendliest, clowniest party animal who had more than earned the exclamation point in his nickname due to his antics).
Mattie, the baby of the group and the only freshperson in the midst, sat in back of him -- and it looked like he was being taken under the wings of Preston and Brandon. No one quite knew the whole story of Preston and Brandon -- other than that they were roommates who did everything together. Actually, the rumor was that they were roommates who did EVERYTHING together, but no one in our group had asked for clarification.
And rounding out our group was Joey. No one knew anything about Joey. Well, that's not completely true as we all knew one thing -- the dean was making him participate as punishment for some drunken window breaking incident one night in the dorms after a bad breakup with his girlfriend. He sat by himself, arm still in a cast, not making eye contact with any of us.
The task coordinator went to the front of the room and yelled to get our attention. After all, we were only college students here to help -- but this was an activity that was part of a bigger effort, and they weren't about to let us loose on the area without tools or professional guidance.
"If I can have your attention, please! My name is Jose, and I'll be your team leader for this experience."
***
Jose continued with his speech, and the group of us listened intently.
"First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for volunteering like this for this project. The outpouring of support for this community has been nothing short of overwhelming -- and I mean that in a good way. It really restores your faith in what humans are capable of doing for each other. In addition to your time, the materials you'll be using are all donated and the professionals who will be guiding you are here as volunteers as well. So again -- thank you and don't you forget to thank them when you get the chance."
It was strange -- there was a feeling of accomplishment even though we hadn't started anything yet -- almost as if we were being congratulated for just showing up. "Participation ribbons for everyone," I thought -- and then immediately felt guilty for twisting this good moment into something darker. "Why did I do that so often and so easily?" I asked myself. And then I remembered to get out of my own head and pay attention to Jose's instructions.
"It is important to note that you will be working side by side with the families. Although it's been a month since the hurricane, their sense of loss is still very real. You might be familiar with the stages of grief; just know that different family members are quite likely to be in different stages as they process all that has happened. Please be sensitive to that. And if you have any questions or concerns, Magda is our grief counselor on site." He motioned to the back of the room, and, almost in unison, we all turned to see a young professionally dressed woman who acknowledged us, in turn, with a wave of her hand.
"Based on the skills that you reported on the questionnaire you completed in the initial paperwork, we're going to split you up into two groups -- Taneeka, J.J., Jenna, Brandon, Preston and ..." Jose paused to read the name to himself a second time before saying it aloud. "And ... um ... Scooter?"
Scooter jumped out of his seat. "Scooter Z! I am he! He is me! I am here -- ready to serve! At your service!"
Jose literally took a step backwards in reaction to being accosted by his enthusiasm. "OK -- great. And -- no more coffee for you. So ... that's one team. The rest of you, obviously, are another."
The first thought that went through my head -- Mattie had been separated from Brandon and Preston. I hoped that they could deal with that. Second thought -- my team got Joey, the boy who was being forced to participate by the dean. That seemed like an extra challenge for the five of us.
"Ok everyone -- stay in your teams and head out to the two vans parked outside so we can drive to the worksite. Let's go!"
"First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for volunteering like this for this project. The outpouring of support for this community has been nothing short of overwhelming -- and I mean that in a good way. It really restores your faith in what humans are capable of doing for each other. In addition to your time, the materials you'll be using are all donated and the professionals who will be guiding you are here as volunteers as well. So again -- thank you and don't you forget to thank them when you get the chance."
It was strange -- there was a feeling of accomplishment even though we hadn't started anything yet -- almost as if we were being congratulated for just showing up. "Participation ribbons for everyone," I thought -- and then immediately felt guilty for twisting this good moment into something darker. "Why did I do that so often and so easily?" I asked myself. And then I remembered to get out of my own head and pay attention to Jose's instructions.
"It is important to note that you will be working side by side with the families. Although it's been a month since the hurricane, their sense of loss is still very real. You might be familiar with the stages of grief; just know that different family members are quite likely to be in different stages as they process all that has happened. Please be sensitive to that. And if you have any questions or concerns, Magda is our grief counselor on site." He motioned to the back of the room, and, almost in unison, we all turned to see a young professionally dressed woman who acknowledged us, in turn, with a wave of her hand.
"Based on the skills that you reported on the questionnaire you completed in the initial paperwork, we're going to split you up into two groups -- Taneeka, J.J., Jenna, Brandon, Preston and ..." Jose paused to read the name to himself a second time before saying it aloud. "And ... um ... Scooter?"
Scooter jumped out of his seat. "Scooter Z! I am he! He is me! I am here -- ready to serve! At your service!"
Jose literally took a step backwards in reaction to being accosted by his enthusiasm. "OK -- great. And -- no more coffee for you. So ... that's one team. The rest of you, obviously, are another."
The first thought that went through my head -- Mattie had been separated from Brandon and Preston. I hoped that they could deal with that. Second thought -- my team got Joey, the boy who was being forced to participate by the dean. That seemed like an extra challenge for the five of us.
"Ok everyone -- stay in your teams and head out to the two vans parked outside so we can drive to the worksite. Let's go!"
***
Jack and Jackie made it to our team's van first and they grabbed the middle seat for two. Which left me and Matt and Joey for the way back.
Earlier in the semester, when this whole "service spring break" concept had been presented to our group by those who had gone before us, the notion of bonding had come up frequently. I could understand, in theory, how that might be a great perk of the program -- but I was having trouble understanding how it would play out in practice, since I was stuck in the middle of the youngest participant whom I had never met and the boy that was forced to come along by the dean.
Oh well -- I could have tried to get through this ride in silence like I had hoped to have had done on the plane ride down (not that that worked out as planned) -- or I could embrace the spirit of our endeavor and start a conversation. Joey seemed like the easiest target.
"Hi. I'm Alan." I pointed to his cast. "What happened?" True -- I knew the gossip, but I figured I'd find out directly from the source.
"I broke up with my girlfriend."
"Oh my. She must have a hard face." Partner abuse humor. Not my best moment.
He didn't laugh. But his response did catch me my surprise. "Yep -- too much time on my hands since she left me. I got addicted to self-pleasure. Strained a tendon."
Surprise indeed. It took me a moment to realize that he saw me one "partner abuse" joke and raised me a "masturbation" one.
I would call this kid was a little twisted. I decided that we just might get along after all.
Earlier in the semester, when this whole "service spring break" concept had been presented to our group by those who had gone before us, the notion of bonding had come up frequently. I could understand, in theory, how that might be a great perk of the program -- but I was having trouble understanding how it would play out in practice, since I was stuck in the middle of the youngest participant whom I had never met and the boy that was forced to come along by the dean.
Oh well -- I could have tried to get through this ride in silence like I had hoped to have had done on the plane ride down (not that that worked out as planned) -- or I could embrace the spirit of our endeavor and start a conversation. Joey seemed like the easiest target.
"Hi. I'm Alan." I pointed to his cast. "What happened?" True -- I knew the gossip, but I figured I'd find out directly from the source.
"I broke up with my girlfriend."
"Oh my. She must have a hard face." Partner abuse humor. Not my best moment.
He didn't laugh. But his response did catch me my surprise. "Yep -- too much time on my hands since she left me. I got addicted to self-pleasure. Strained a tendon."
Surprise indeed. It took me a moment to realize that he saw me one "partner abuse" joke and raised me a "masturbation" one.
I would call this kid was a little twisted. I decided that we just might get along after all.
***
As our drive to the worksite continued, we struck up a conversation with Jose, the leader of our experience and the driver of our van.
"You had mentioned donated resources that we'd be using. Where did they come from?" I shouted up to the front of the vehicle from my spot in the way back.
"It really is a collaborative effort. Big box corporate stores give us a lot of materials. Community fund-raisers tend to fill in the rest. And I'm always pleasantly surprised, in local tragedies like this, the whole of our nation really rallies to the cause." I could tell he was getting choked up.
"This crazy world we live in is so fast-paced, so me-focused, so social media connected that we've lost basic real life social skills -- but when word travels of a situation like we went through, those old-fashioned values of community really do kick in. It's like it's latent in our shared dna -- we may not access it all the time, but we sure do when it matters most."
Who knew -- our Jose was a philosopher as well as an outstanding human being who was giving us his time and expertise and leading us through this project.
"And I'll tell you this," he continued. "As much as I worry about our future and where we'll all headed, I will say that the greatest thing to come along was how easy it is to donate to a cause now. The RedCross -- lifesavers all of them -- have it set up so that texting "redcross" to 90999 donates $10 to the efforts. They've made it just that simple. I wish everyone who possibly could spare it would just know that's how fast they can make a difference."
The van got silent as this all sunk in. The gravity of the situation had finally hit us. We each got lost in our own thoughts.
"You had mentioned donated resources that we'd be using. Where did they come from?" I shouted up to the front of the vehicle from my spot in the way back.
"It really is a collaborative effort. Big box corporate stores give us a lot of materials. Community fund-raisers tend to fill in the rest. And I'm always pleasantly surprised, in local tragedies like this, the whole of our nation really rallies to the cause." I could tell he was getting choked up.
"This crazy world we live in is so fast-paced, so me-focused, so social media connected that we've lost basic real life social skills -- but when word travels of a situation like we went through, those old-fashioned values of community really do kick in. It's like it's latent in our shared dna -- we may not access it all the time, but we sure do when it matters most."
Who knew -- our Jose was a philosopher as well as an outstanding human being who was giving us his time and expertise and leading us through this project.
"And I'll tell you this," he continued. "As much as I worry about our future and where we'll all headed, I will say that the greatest thing to come along was how easy it is to donate to a cause now. The RedCross -- lifesavers all of them -- have it set up so that texting "redcross" to 90999 donates $10 to the efforts. They've made it just that simple. I wish everyone who possibly could spare it would just know that's how fast they can make a difference."
The van got silent as this all sunk in. The gravity of the situation had finally hit us. We each got lost in our own thoughts.
***
If Jose's words hadn't silenced us for the rest of the trip, the views out of our windows as we got closer to the site most definitely would have.
Buildings barely standing, walls blown in, debris strewn everywhere. Recognizable pieces of people's lives, laying in odd places, gathered as if some madman had created a tableau for a twisted still life image. Brightly colored orange x's painted on what remained of outer walls, or windows or doors that had been boarded up as residents fled the path of Hurricane Celine a month ago.
A month ago. Four weeks had passed, and yet viewing the damage was still such a visceral experience. As we drove on through the affected area, things began to look a little better. Well, "better" wasn't really the right word for it -- but we could tell that some clean up had taken place. Here, the debris had been organized into piles. And piles. And more piles.
Jose spoke up from the driver's seat -- "Just wanted to show you guys the clean up in stages. I thought by driving in this way, you'd get a better appreciation for the work that was done before you -- and the work that still remains. Your worksite doesn't look this bad, as it was one of the first neighborhoods to get the most attention."
Indeed, he was right on track. A little perspective sure did go a long way. We pulled into a church parking lot and saw that our other half of the group had arrived.
It was time to get to work.
Buildings barely standing, walls blown in, debris strewn everywhere. Recognizable pieces of people's lives, laying in odd places, gathered as if some madman had created a tableau for a twisted still life image. Brightly colored orange x's painted on what remained of outer walls, or windows or doors that had been boarded up as residents fled the path of Hurricane Celine a month ago.
A month ago. Four weeks had passed, and yet viewing the damage was still such a visceral experience. As we drove on through the affected area, things began to look a little better. Well, "better" wasn't really the right word for it -- but we could tell that some clean up had taken place. Here, the debris had been organized into piles. And piles. And more piles.
Jose spoke up from the driver's seat -- "Just wanted to show you guys the clean up in stages. I thought by driving in this way, you'd get a better appreciation for the work that was done before you -- and the work that still remains. Your worksite doesn't look this bad, as it was one of the first neighborhoods to get the most attention."
Indeed, he was right on track. A little perspective sure did go a long way. We pulled into a church parking lot and saw that our other half of the group had arrived.
It was time to get to work.
***
"Okay everyone! Out of the vans and check the side of the shed. That's where you'll find your assignments on the to-do lists."
Jose pointed to the makeshift building in the church parking lot and we all headed in that direction in order to see how we'd be spending our work day. Our group had been split into two teams, but we were now merging with all of the other volunteers who were relying on this place as home base for their efforts.
Our groupings were based on the skills we had disclosed in the surveys we had submitted before arrival, and since I had checked off the boxes for "likes to destroy things" and "trusted to take out the trash" and hadn't checked off anything related to "excelled in wood shop" or "excelled in metal shop" or "confidently knows how electricity works", I had a feeling that I wouldn't be up at the front of the line building anything.
Sure enough -- I was in the demolition group. I began to understand the van ride grouping, because so was Matt and so was one-armed Joey (well -- one working arm, one arm in a cast). The three of us were taken to one of the houses on the edge of the worksite, and we were given appropriate implements of destruction. The demolition leader explained how we were to carefully strip the water soaked drywall from the framing, and how we were responsible for hauling any rubble out to the streetside piles.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, based on the gossip about why he was forced to join us on this trip, Joey was first to single-handedly begin the demolition. With one swing, he loosened a huge portion of the wall. Matt and I grabbed it and dragged it out to the street. We were just about to throw it on the existing pile, when we saw the rubbish at the base start to wiggle.
I hadn't calculated how close we were to the water, but my first thought was ... alligator.
Jose pointed to the makeshift building in the church parking lot and we all headed in that direction in order to see how we'd be spending our work day. Our group had been split into two teams, but we were now merging with all of the other volunteers who were relying on this place as home base for their efforts.
Our groupings were based on the skills we had disclosed in the surveys we had submitted before arrival, and since I had checked off the boxes for "likes to destroy things" and "trusted to take out the trash" and hadn't checked off anything related to "excelled in wood shop" or "excelled in metal shop" or "confidently knows how electricity works", I had a feeling that I wouldn't be up at the front of the line building anything.
Sure enough -- I was in the demolition group. I began to understand the van ride grouping, because so was Matt and so was one-armed Joey (well -- one working arm, one arm in a cast). The three of us were taken to one of the houses on the edge of the worksite, and we were given appropriate implements of destruction. The demolition leader explained how we were to carefully strip the water soaked drywall from the framing, and how we were responsible for hauling any rubble out to the streetside piles.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, based on the gossip about why he was forced to join us on this trip, Joey was first to single-handedly begin the demolition. With one swing, he loosened a huge portion of the wall. Matt and I grabbed it and dragged it out to the street. We were just about to throw it on the existing pile, when we saw the rubbish at the base start to wiggle.
I hadn't calculated how close we were to the water, but my first thought was ... alligator.
***
I think I screamed. I know I jumped. And I am certain that I dropped the wet drywall, and sent Matt scrambling as I fell to my back.
They hadn't trained us on how to handle alligator attacks -- and I was certain that was the cause of the rustling amidst the rubble of the rubbish pile. I decided that that seemed like an oversight, possibly worthy of sending a letter when this was all over -- assuming I survived. Of course, I also wasn't sure how close we were to the water. And, I had to admit, my only other previous alligator exposure was on those ridiculous reality shows.
As I struggled to get up and Matt wrestled with the wasted wall on top of me, I quickly realized that it was simply too late.
I was under attack -- and it was the strangest feeling as it was happening at four different places at once -- my neck, my arm, my ear and my leg -- and the sensation was little cold noses ... and warm wet kisses. I looked my attackers in their eyes -- and melted.
I had screamed and thrashed about because of four tiny pit bull puppies. For this, I had almost soiled myself. My yelling hadn't gone unnoticed, and soon they were joined by the squeals of another.
"Mom ... Mom ... he found the puppies!" I saw all but the shadow of a child jump over me as she ducked and scooped up two little creatures in one fell swoop.
They hadn't trained us on how to handle alligator attacks -- and I was certain that was the cause of the rustling amidst the rubble of the rubbish pile. I decided that that seemed like an oversight, possibly worthy of sending a letter when this was all over -- assuming I survived. Of course, I also wasn't sure how close we were to the water. And, I had to admit, my only other previous alligator exposure was on those ridiculous reality shows.
As I struggled to get up and Matt wrestled with the wasted wall on top of me, I quickly realized that it was simply too late.
I was under attack -- and it was the strangest feeling as it was happening at four different places at once -- my neck, my arm, my ear and my leg -- and the sensation was little cold noses ... and warm wet kisses. I looked my attackers in their eyes -- and melted.
I had screamed and thrashed about because of four tiny pit bull puppies. For this, I had almost soiled myself. My yelling hadn't gone unnoticed, and soon they were joined by the squeals of another.
"Mom ... Mom ... he found the puppies!" I saw all but the shadow of a child jump over me as she ducked and scooped up two little creatures in one fell swoop.
***
Their faces were so intelligent as they looked at me. If only my new found power would have allowed me to read their little minds. I'm sure that they wanted to know where their mother was. And why they had been living in a waste pile. And why I had screamed the way I did when they wiggled their way out of that pile.
"Thank you ... thank you ... I can't believe you found them!" The little girl that came running over when I yelled and thought I was under attack by an alligator (hey -- don't judge -- it was Florida after all) was clearly grateful, and I was counting on her to fill in some of the blanks.
"I knew they had to be close by", she continued. "We found Shelby this morning in the neighbor's back yard." I was unclear if the tears that came next were out of joy or sorrow. "I thought we had lost them too."
"Britney! BRITNEY!" An adult came running full speed from the worksite to join the reunion unfolding in front of me. "You have the puppies?" Then more tears.
She stopped for a moment and introduced herself to me. "Hi ... I'm Laura. And this is my daughter Britney. And these are her dog Shelby's puppies." I had pretty much put all of that together, but I just smiled and nodded my head that I understood. "This is our house -- was our house -- IS our house. They told us that they didn't take pets at the shelter we went to -- so we had to leave her here and Shelby broke free during the storm. We had noticed she had gained weight but didn't know she was pregnant, and then we couldn't find her when we got back. Until this morning -- and that's when we put everything together and realized her family was out here somewhere."
She was talking so fast, and I was just trying to keep up. She took a breath and summed it all up with an "I don't know how I can thank you."
"No worries," I said with a shrug. "It was just luck -- we just stumbled on them. Really."
Matt chimed in -- "He thought it was an alligator." I realized that I must have yelled that out when I fell. I shot him a dirty look in hopes that we could stifle that story from going any farther. Everyone, except me, started laughing. I was expecting someone to say "we're laughing with you, not at you" -- but no such luck.
"Thank you ... thank you ... I can't believe you found them!" The little girl that came running over when I yelled and thought I was under attack by an alligator (hey -- don't judge -- it was Florida after all) was clearly grateful, and I was counting on her to fill in some of the blanks.
"I knew they had to be close by", she continued. "We found Shelby this morning in the neighbor's back yard." I was unclear if the tears that came next were out of joy or sorrow. "I thought we had lost them too."
"Britney! BRITNEY!" An adult came running full speed from the worksite to join the reunion unfolding in front of me. "You have the puppies?" Then more tears.
She stopped for a moment and introduced herself to me. "Hi ... I'm Laura. And this is my daughter Britney. And these are her dog Shelby's puppies." I had pretty much put all of that together, but I just smiled and nodded my head that I understood. "This is our house -- was our house -- IS our house. They told us that they didn't take pets at the shelter we went to -- so we had to leave her here and Shelby broke free during the storm. We had noticed she had gained weight but didn't know she was pregnant, and then we couldn't find her when we got back. Until this morning -- and that's when we put everything together and realized her family was out here somewhere."
She was talking so fast, and I was just trying to keep up. She took a breath and summed it all up with an "I don't know how I can thank you."
"No worries," I said with a shrug. "It was just luck -- we just stumbled on them. Really."
Matt chimed in -- "He thought it was an alligator." I realized that I must have yelled that out when I fell. I shot him a dirty look in hopes that we could stifle that story from going any farther. Everyone, except me, started laughing. I was expecting someone to say "we're laughing with you, not at you" -- but no such luck.
***
I wish I could say that the rest of the day was as exciting as the morning had been. But there would be no more pretend alligator attacks, or found pit bull puppies. Just lots and lots of hard work -- manual labor from all of us.
Matt and Joey and I worked on the demolition crew the entire day, only breaking for lunch back in the church parking lot, where we were able to reconnect with the entirety of our group. You could tell that we were all tired, having grossly underestimated the amount of work that would be necessary.
But even though we hadn't yet learned how to pace ourselves at this project, the early signs of exhaustion that we were feeling were of the rewarding kind. We knew we were making a difference, and we knew that the work we were doing was essential.
Jose must have known what was needed to raise everyone's energy level, because he was making the rounds with Laura. I guessed that her daughter Britney was probably somewhere reuniting the puppies with their mother, so Laura was alone in stopping by each table to personally thank the participants. It was our table's turn.
"Hello everyone -- just checking in with all of the groups, and I wanted to personally thank you for coming out today. Did you get enough to eat? There's still more back on the grill." She pointed to the meat-on-a-stick that was on my plate. "I see you picked up the barbecue. Do you know what that is?" She sure was a fast talker.
"Ummm ... tastes like chicken," I answered.
"Oh no -- that's the alligator ... from this morning. It's a delicacy down here!" The words were accompanied with a wink and a smile, and I knew that she remembered me.
Matt and Joey and I worked on the demolition crew the entire day, only breaking for lunch back in the church parking lot, where we were able to reconnect with the entirety of our group. You could tell that we were all tired, having grossly underestimated the amount of work that would be necessary.
But even though we hadn't yet learned how to pace ourselves at this project, the early signs of exhaustion that we were feeling were of the rewarding kind. We knew we were making a difference, and we knew that the work we were doing was essential.
Jose must have known what was needed to raise everyone's energy level, because he was making the rounds with Laura. I guessed that her daughter Britney was probably somewhere reuniting the puppies with their mother, so Laura was alone in stopping by each table to personally thank the participants. It was our table's turn.
"Hello everyone -- just checking in with all of the groups, and I wanted to personally thank you for coming out today. Did you get enough to eat? There's still more back on the grill." She pointed to the meat-on-a-stick that was on my plate. "I see you picked up the barbecue. Do you know what that is?" She sure was a fast talker.
"Ummm ... tastes like chicken," I answered.
"Oh no -- that's the alligator ... from this morning. It's a delicacy down here!" The words were accompanied with a wink and a smile, and I knew that she remembered me.
***
And ... back to work.
I started to really appreciate that we had three days to make progress, because by the afternoon of day one, it was pretty easy to feel like we had been working for hours but couldn't really grasp having finished anything. But we put our heads down and we pushed through.
Laura stopped by a few times to offer words of encouragement, and I noticed that Magda, the grief counselor, was always nearby, keeping busy but seemingly watching every interaction every time. Someone must have come and taken Britney and the puppies away, as I didn't notice them for the rest of the day.
We took one more hydration break in the middle of the heat of the afternoon, hosing down to cool off in the hot Florida sun. Jose approached our mini work group.
"Great job guys. You are really making progress." Clearly he had done this before, as we couldn't necessarily see that progress we were making, but he knew to make us feel like we had.
Joey passed the hose to me, and replied to Jose. "I used to do some construction work with my dad during the summers back when I was in high school."
"You should have brought him along -- we could have used him!" offered up Jose good-naturedly.
"Well, that's not possible. He lost his business when the economy fell apart, and then his Guard unit got called up overseas. He's not coming back."
I passed the hose to Matt and knocked the water out of my ears. Jose and Joey were staring at each other awkwardly. I wanted to ask what he meant by "not coming back", but I didn't know how to possibly ask a follow-up question to this kid who had shared so little so far on this trip. Somebody had to say something.
"So ... what's next?" was the best I could come up with to get us out of this situation, unasked and unanswered questions still hanging there in the air around us.
I started to really appreciate that we had three days to make progress, because by the afternoon of day one, it was pretty easy to feel like we had been working for hours but couldn't really grasp having finished anything. But we put our heads down and we pushed through.
Laura stopped by a few times to offer words of encouragement, and I noticed that Magda, the grief counselor, was always nearby, keeping busy but seemingly watching every interaction every time. Someone must have come and taken Britney and the puppies away, as I didn't notice them for the rest of the day.
We took one more hydration break in the middle of the heat of the afternoon, hosing down to cool off in the hot Florida sun. Jose approached our mini work group.
"Great job guys. You are really making progress." Clearly he had done this before, as we couldn't necessarily see that progress we were making, but he knew to make us feel like we had.
Joey passed the hose to me, and replied to Jose. "I used to do some construction work with my dad during the summers back when I was in high school."
"You should have brought him along -- we could have used him!" offered up Jose good-naturedly.
"Well, that's not possible. He lost his business when the economy fell apart, and then his Guard unit got called up overseas. He's not coming back."
I passed the hose to Matt and knocked the water out of my ears. Jose and Joey were staring at each other awkwardly. I wanted to ask what he meant by "not coming back", but I didn't know how to possibly ask a follow-up question to this kid who had shared so little so far on this trip. Somebody had to say something.
"So ... what's next?" was the best I could come up with to get us out of this situation, unasked and unanswered questions still hanging there in the air around us.
***
We worked until late in the evening, and there was no way I could find to manipulate the chit-chat back around to Joey's "non-returning" father.
What with the tasks we were completing (destroy something into tiny pieces, pack it in a giant trash bag, drag it out to the rubbish pile, look over my shoulder any time I was outside in case there was a stray alligator playing the role of the irony fairy), I also had plenty of time to get inside my own head and to think about what had happened to me on this trip.
I repeated to myself my mantra from Mario's bar the night of the break-up fight -- once is an aberration, twice is a coincidence. If it happened a third time, then that would have to be a trend. I began to think -- should I force the issue? We were working in close enough quarters that I could easily touch someone without it being all creepy. I could do it accidental like, and I could see if this was indeed some burgeoning ability of mine.
I looked around at all of the people with whom I had interacted that day -- maybe Laura, who had lost all but the frame of her home in the storm. Or Britney, her child who must have surely been through all kinds of emotional trouble dealing with all of this. Jose had internalized and organized this entire project. Our own Joey clearly had secrets -- maybe I could get to the truth about his dad and whatever happened back on campus just by connecting with him in my new way -- tactiley.
My body wandered as my mind wondered ... and I ran smack dab into Magda. She bounced off my bag of trash and grabbed it to steady herself (and, luckily for me, it kept me from dropping it and spilling it all over the lawn).
"Hey -- be careful! Look where you're going!" she admonished, but in a friendly way.
"I'm so sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts." And then I realized I had an opportunity to learn more about those around me from Magda -- the on site grief counselor.
What with the tasks we were completing (destroy something into tiny pieces, pack it in a giant trash bag, drag it out to the rubbish pile, look over my shoulder any time I was outside in case there was a stray alligator playing the role of the irony fairy), I also had plenty of time to get inside my own head and to think about what had happened to me on this trip.
I repeated to myself my mantra from Mario's bar the night of the break-up fight -- once is an aberration, twice is a coincidence. If it happened a third time, then that would have to be a trend. I began to think -- should I force the issue? We were working in close enough quarters that I could easily touch someone without it being all creepy. I could do it accidental like, and I could see if this was indeed some burgeoning ability of mine.
I looked around at all of the people with whom I had interacted that day -- maybe Laura, who had lost all but the frame of her home in the storm. Or Britney, her child who must have surely been through all kinds of emotional trouble dealing with all of this. Jose had internalized and organized this entire project. Our own Joey clearly had secrets -- maybe I could get to the truth about his dad and whatever happened back on campus just by connecting with him in my new way -- tactiley.
My body wandered as my mind wondered ... and I ran smack dab into Magda. She bounced off my bag of trash and grabbed it to steady herself (and, luckily for me, it kept me from dropping it and spilling it all over the lawn).
"Hey -- be careful! Look where you're going!" she admonished, but in a friendly way.
"I'm so sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts." And then I realized I had an opportunity to learn more about those around me from Magda -- the on site grief counselor.
***
"To be honest, I was kind of curious about Laura." I decided to continue my conversation with grief counselor Magda, whom I had almost knocked over with the large trash bag I was hauling out to the curb. "Jose had briefed us that we'd likely be working right next to homeowners, and that they might be dealing with grief ... but she seems pretty 'with it'."
She lowered her voice -- "Well -- if I'm telling you the truth, you might have played a bigger role in that than you realize."
I had a brief moment of panic, as all kinds of thoughts went racing through my mind. Could she see what I can do? Does the same thing happen to her? Is that why she's a grief counselor -- is that just a cover? And wouldn't that be the perfect cover, come to think of it? But wait a minute -- I hadn't had any kind of "exchange" with Laura like I had had with Lee's grandfather and the guy at the bar. I had interacted with her at least three times this entire day -- when she came to get her daughter, when she was teasing me at lunch and when she stopped by to thank us for working in the afternoon -- but in none of those instances had I touched her, or felt that memory download that leaves the other person staring at me blankly. What did Magda think had happened?
"Alan?" Magda cleared her throat and called my name again. "Alan? Are you okay?"
"I ... I ... just don't know what you mean," I stammered.
"Well -- Laura's happiness is so dependent on her daughter's well-being. And finding the puppies today turned the tide for her daughter, whom I don't think had smiled since the storm. Happiness is quite contagious -- particular amongst people who care about each other. It spreads very easily."
Of course. The puppies. My secret, at least for the time-being, was safe.
"Well ... good. I'm happy to hear that. Thanks. I'll take that out to the street now."
I didn't have to turn around to know that Magda was watching me walk away, and I knew that if I had suddenly spun around, I would have caught her watching me walk away with a quizzical and concerned countenance.
She lowered her voice -- "Well -- if I'm telling you the truth, you might have played a bigger role in that than you realize."
I had a brief moment of panic, as all kinds of thoughts went racing through my mind. Could she see what I can do? Does the same thing happen to her? Is that why she's a grief counselor -- is that just a cover? And wouldn't that be the perfect cover, come to think of it? But wait a minute -- I hadn't had any kind of "exchange" with Laura like I had had with Lee's grandfather and the guy at the bar. I had interacted with her at least three times this entire day -- when she came to get her daughter, when she was teasing me at lunch and when she stopped by to thank us for working in the afternoon -- but in none of those instances had I touched her, or felt that memory download that leaves the other person staring at me blankly. What did Magda think had happened?
"Alan?" Magda cleared her throat and called my name again. "Alan? Are you okay?"
"I ... I ... just don't know what you mean," I stammered.
"Well -- Laura's happiness is so dependent on her daughter's well-being. And finding the puppies today turned the tide for her daughter, whom I don't think had smiled since the storm. Happiness is quite contagious -- particular amongst people who care about each other. It spreads very easily."
Of course. The puppies. My secret, at least for the time-being, was safe.
"Well ... good. I'm happy to hear that. Thanks. I'll take that out to the street now."
I didn't have to turn around to know that Magda was watching me walk away, and I knew that if I had suddenly spun around, I would have caught her watching me walk away with a quizzical and concerned countenance.
***
Exhausted.
Beat.
Dead tired.
Ready to drop.
Wasted.
That was us, after the first day. Half of us fell asleep on the van ride back to the resort. I was not in that group, mostly because I didn't want to have one of those nasty dreams like I had had poolside in the middle of this collection of people after working all day as we had.
There was another benefit to not sleeping -- I was awake for the part where we visited the fast food drive-thru. To be fair, we tried to stir the sleeping ones, but they didn't budge. Jackie didn't reply at all -- and her boyfriend Jack just mumbled something about how they were too tired to eat. Well, I know that I heard him say that -- I just couldn't quite comprehend being *that* tired.
But I did understand being wasted. As a matter of fact, that was how I had gotten through the night before -- drinking until I passed out. And, in a much different way, it was also how I was going to get through this night.
We got back to the hotel, I inhaled my burger and fries before anything got cold, and I collapsed on the bed, falling fast asleep. I was too tired to dream ...
Beat.
Dead tired.
Ready to drop.
Wasted.
That was us, after the first day. Half of us fell asleep on the van ride back to the resort. I was not in that group, mostly because I didn't want to have one of those nasty dreams like I had had poolside in the middle of this collection of people after working all day as we had.
There was another benefit to not sleeping -- I was awake for the part where we visited the fast food drive-thru. To be fair, we tried to stir the sleeping ones, but they didn't budge. Jackie didn't reply at all -- and her boyfriend Jack just mumbled something about how they were too tired to eat. Well, I know that I heard him say that -- I just couldn't quite comprehend being *that* tired.
But I did understand being wasted. As a matter of fact, that was how I had gotten through the night before -- drinking until I passed out. And, in a much different way, it was also how I was going to get through this night.
We got back to the hotel, I inhaled my burger and fries before anything got cold, and I collapsed on the bed, falling fast asleep. I was too tired to dream ...
***
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4
To me, it seemed like I had just blinked my eyes. I had closed them when I had gotten home, and, when I had opened them again, it was morning.
Oh -- and I was late.
I rushed to get everything together, and raced out of my room to find the others all gathered around the pool, ready for the second day of our assistance to the houses ravaged by the hurricane.
"Morning, sleepy head," said Preston with a smile. "We were just minutes away from sending Scooter in to wake you up the hard way."
"I beg your pardon?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what that entailed.
"He packed an air horn. He says it was in case more storms came rolling in while we were working --"
Brandon interrupted -- "you know, like they do on golf courses when bad weather arrives."
"Well thanks. Thanks for not doing that, I mean. I just had one of those 'head hits the pillow, and you go instantly asleep' kind of nights. So -- are we ready to go?" I was eager to change the subject, and direct the attention away from me and ideas on how to waken me.
Matt spoke up -- "We're just waiting for Joey, now. He got a phone call and stepped away."
Oh -- and I was late.
I rushed to get everything together, and raced out of my room to find the others all gathered around the pool, ready for the second day of our assistance to the houses ravaged by the hurricane.
"Morning, sleepy head," said Preston with a smile. "We were just minutes away from sending Scooter in to wake you up the hard way."
"I beg your pardon?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what that entailed.
"He packed an air horn. He says it was in case more storms came rolling in while we were working --"
Brandon interrupted -- "you know, like they do on golf courses when bad weather arrives."
"Well thanks. Thanks for not doing that, I mean. I just had one of those 'head hits the pillow, and you go instantly asleep' kind of nights. So -- are we ready to go?" I was eager to change the subject, and direct the attention away from me and ideas on how to waken me.
Matt spoke up -- "We're just waiting for Joey, now. He got a phone call and stepped away."
***
Jenna didn't look like she wanted to sit around the pool hanging out with the rest of us. "Well, while we're waiting for Joey, the first van could leave so that we're not all late."
Just like that -- Taneeka, J.J., Jenna, Brandon, Preston and Scooter were gone.
"Did you guys have breakfast already?" I asked the remaining members of our crew.
"No -- they said it would be set up in the church parking lot, like the other meals were yesterday." I should have known I could count on Matt to have figured out all of the details. He may have been the youngest person on our trip, but he had shown me yesterday that he was the first one to jump in to help. He was only three years younger than I was, but his energy was making me feel so much older. "Hey Matt -- do you want to go see if you can spot Joey?"
"You can call me Mattie. Everyone else does. Matt's my dad." He shrugged his shoulders to accompany the explanation.
"Sure thing. So -- Mattie -- do you want to go see if you can spot Joey?" I made certain to emphasize the name he wanted to hear.
"Yes. Of course. I just wanted to let you know ... I mean that you didn't have to call me Matt ... you know ... 'cause I might not hear it as my name ... since no one calls me that ... and I wouldn't want you to think that I was ignoring you."
Poor kid. I hadn't stopped to think about how he might have been struggling to fit in with the rest of us. No wonder he was so eager.
"Anyway -- I'll go find Joey."
"Thanks."
I tried to give him my best just-woke-up-hadn't-had-br
Just like that -- Taneeka, J.J., Jenna, Brandon, Preston and Scooter were gone.
"Did you guys have breakfast already?" I asked the remaining members of our crew.
"No -- they said it would be set up in the church parking lot, like the other meals were yesterday." I should have known I could count on Matt to have figured out all of the details. He may have been the youngest person on our trip, but he had shown me yesterday that he was the first one to jump in to help. He was only three years younger than I was, but his energy was making me feel so much older. "Hey Matt -- do you want to go see if you can spot Joey?"
"You can call me Mattie. Everyone else does. Matt's my dad." He shrugged his shoulders to accompany the explanation.
"Sure thing. So -- Mattie -- do you want to go see if you can spot Joey?" I made certain to emphasize the name he wanted to hear.
"Yes. Of course. I just wanted to let you know ... I mean that you didn't have to call me Matt ... you know ... 'cause I might not hear it as my name ... since no one calls me that ... and I wouldn't want you to think that I was ignoring you."
Poor kid. I hadn't stopped to think about how he might have been struggling to fit in with the rest of us. No wonder he was so eager.
"Anyway -- I'll go find Joey."
"Thanks."
I tried to give him my best just-woke-up-hadn't-had-br
***
With Mattie off to find Joey, it was Jackie's turn to express her displeasure at the unfolding situation.
"Look," she said with a sigh, before proceeding in staccato oratory style ... "We don't even know him. He's not in our organization. He was forced to come along with us. And now he's making us late to the project. That's. Just. Rude."
Even though I felt like it should have been her boyfriend Jack's job to appease her, my natural instincts to keep the peace kicked in. "It's only been about ten minutes. What's the worst that could happen -- we miss breakfast?"
That's when Jack decided to contribute -- but not in the way I would have hoped he would. "Exactly!". His dramatic proclamation was accompanied by an accusatorial finger poke into the air. "That would be ab-so-LUTE-ly horrible. I don't think I can do all of the work that's expected of us on an empty stomach. Can you imagine?"
I think he was asking me directly instead of being rhetorical -- so I answered. "To be sure -- I like morning bacon as much as the next person ... but what if we just stop and grab fast food on the way over, that way we could eat in the van and make up the lost time."
"I guess," they said --and sighed -- at exactly the same time. I couldn't help but think again how well matched they were.
Just then, Mattie ran nervously around the corner. "Ummm ... I found him. He's on the phone and he doesn't want to be interrupted."
We had reached an impasse. I needed to do something to salvage this day.
"Look," she said with a sigh, before proceeding in staccato oratory style ... "We don't even know him. He's not in our organization. He was forced to come along with us. And now he's making us late to the project. That's. Just. Rude."
Even though I felt like it should have been her boyfriend Jack's job to appease her, my natural instincts to keep the peace kicked in. "It's only been about ten minutes. What's the worst that could happen -- we miss breakfast?"
That's when Jack decided to contribute -- but not in the way I would have hoped he would. "Exactly!". His dramatic proclamation was accompanied by an accusatorial finger poke into the air. "That would be ab-so-LUTE-ly horrible. I don't think I can do all of the work that's expected of us on an empty stomach. Can you imagine?"
I think he was asking me directly instead of being rhetorical -- so I answered. "To be sure -- I like morning bacon as much as the next person ... but what if we just stop and grab fast food on the way over, that way we could eat in the van and make up the lost time."
"I guess," they said --and sighed -- at exactly the same time. I couldn't help but think again how well matched they were.
Just then, Mattie ran nervously around the corner. "Ummm ... I found him. He's on the phone and he doesn't want to be interrupted."
We had reached an impasse. I needed to do something to salvage this day.
***
"Look," I stated. "Why don't you guys just leave in the van. I'll wait for Joey -- and we'll take a cab. And that way only two of us will be late."
Everyone looked at each other, weighing the option.
"Does someone have the address of the church? Was that in our paperwork somewhere?"
Mattie piped up, "I have it. I put it in my phone." Of course he did, I thought to myself. True to form -- well true to the form he was taking in the little bit of time that I had gotten to know him.
I grabbed the information out of his phone and said to Jack and Jackie and Mattie, "Perfect. Then just go, and let folks know we had a little hiccup, but we're on our way. Plus -- if you leave now, then you can probably get the last bit of breakfast."
"Do you want me to put anything back for you?" asked Mattie.
"No -- no worries. We'll probably just grab something on the way over, like I said." Assuming we leave soon, I wanted to add, but felt that would just upset Jack and Jackie more, so I didn't include my concerns.
They shuffled off to the van, and I started looking around for Joey. Based on what Mattie said, I had a feeling that I'd probably hear him before I saw him.
Turning the corner from the pool toward the main office, I jumped out of the way and barely escaped a lounge chair that was being catapulted in my direction.
Everyone looked at each other, weighing the option.
"Does someone have the address of the church? Was that in our paperwork somewhere?"
Mattie piped up, "I have it. I put it in my phone." Of course he did, I thought to myself. True to form -- well true to the form he was taking in the little bit of time that I had gotten to know him.
I grabbed the information out of his phone and said to Jack and Jackie and Mattie, "Perfect. Then just go, and let folks know we had a little hiccup, but we're on our way. Plus -- if you leave now, then you can probably get the last bit of breakfast."
"Do you want me to put anything back for you?" asked Mattie.
"No -- no worries. We'll probably just grab something on the way over, like I said." Assuming we leave soon, I wanted to add, but felt that would just upset Jack and Jackie more, so I didn't include my concerns.
They shuffled off to the van, and I started looking around for Joey. Based on what Mattie said, I had a feeling that I'd probably hear him before I saw him.
Turning the corner from the pool toward the main office, I jumped out of the way and barely escaped a lounge chair that was being catapulted in my direction.
***
"Whoa! WHAT is wrong with you?" I yelled.
Joey came into view, immediately after the lounge chairs that he had thrown hit the ground.
"Leave me alone," he growled in my direction as he sped past me.
"Joey. Joey! JOEY!" It was no surprise that he ignored me. But since I had dismissed everyone else and was waiting for him to head over to the worksite, I couldn't just let him disappear into his room. So I followed him.
"Joey -- hey -- look, I don't know what is going on, and I don't need to know. But you should know that I'm waiting here to ride with you to the project. Everyone else already left. I stayed behind to wait for you."
My explanation was greeted with silence. He just sat there, in the chair in front of his room, staring at his phone. And so, not knowing exactly what to do, I just stood there, a few feet in front, staring at him staring at his phone.
It seemed like minutes, but I'm sure it was just a matter of seconds. I watched his breathing change, and then noticed his one good hand start twitching against his leg. I could see the pressure building in him, affecting every movement -- next the jaw clenching, then the eyes started darting back and forth. I could sense movement everywhere, and realized that he was tensing every muscle. Somehow, even taking that all in, I didn't think to predict his next movement or to move out of the way.
He sprang out of his chair, all coiled energy and anger and came charging at me.
Joey came into view, immediately after the lounge chairs that he had thrown hit the ground.
"Leave me alone," he growled in my direction as he sped past me.
"Joey. Joey! JOEY!" It was no surprise that he ignored me. But since I had dismissed everyone else and was waiting for him to head over to the worksite, I couldn't just let him disappear into his room. So I followed him.
"Joey -- hey -- look, I don't know what is going on, and I don't need to know. But you should know that I'm waiting here to ride with you to the project. Everyone else already left. I stayed behind to wait for you."
My explanation was greeted with silence. He just sat there, in the chair in front of his room, staring at his phone. And so, not knowing exactly what to do, I just stood there, a few feet in front, staring at him staring at his phone.
It seemed like minutes, but I'm sure it was just a matter of seconds. I watched his breathing change, and then noticed his one good hand start twitching against his leg. I could see the pressure building in him, affecting every movement -- next the jaw clenching, then the eyes started darting back and forth. I could sense movement everywhere, and realized that he was tensing every muscle. Somehow, even taking that all in, I didn't think to predict his next movement or to move out of the way.
He sprang out of his chair, all coiled energy and anger and came charging at me.
***
He came right at me, so quickly that I froze. He had his one arm in a sling, and his other fist raised up, certain to strike. I prepared for the hit -- but it didn't come.
Instead he flew right past and crashed his fist into the wall behind me.
"I told you to leave me alone!" he screamed at me.
I didn't move -- still mostly frozen (I did have a little bit of a release since I was thankful that he hadn't attacked me). I could sense he was still behind me, but I didn't want to turn around right away. I let out one long sigh and counted to twenty. Then I heard a new noise behind me. I suspected that he had started crying -- and I figured that deserved another twenty count.
Finishing that slow count to forty, I cautiously turned around and I could see that his back was to me. He was leaning against the wall using his shoulder that was in the sling to support himself, and he was alternately shaking his hand and then clenching his fist. I could see blood on the scraped up knuckles.
I decided to speak in as quiet of a tone as I could. "Joey. I'm not leaving until you're ready to join me. And you don't have to say anything -- just take your time to gather your thoughts."
He didn't acknowledge what I was saying nor did he stop the movements I had just observed. Every now and then I could hear a sharp shallow breath and a sniffle. We both stood there, not changing our actions -- just waiting.
Nearby, I heard the noise of the resort's automatic ice machine, as another batch of ice cubes fell out of the mechanism and crashed to the holding area beneath it. It was the perfect distraction and provided me with a next step.
"Joey -- I'm going to go get some ice for your hand. I'll be right back."
Instead he flew right past and crashed his fist into the wall behind me.
"I told you to leave me alone!" he screamed at me.
I didn't move -- still mostly frozen (I did have a little bit of a release since I was thankful that he hadn't attacked me). I could sense he was still behind me, but I didn't want to turn around right away. I let out one long sigh and counted to twenty. Then I heard a new noise behind me. I suspected that he had started crying -- and I figured that deserved another twenty count.
Finishing that slow count to forty, I cautiously turned around and I could see that his back was to me. He was leaning against the wall using his shoulder that was in the sling to support himself, and he was alternately shaking his hand and then clenching his fist. I could see blood on the scraped up knuckles.
I decided to speak in as quiet of a tone as I could. "Joey. I'm not leaving until you're ready to join me. And you don't have to say anything -- just take your time to gather your thoughts."
He didn't acknowledge what I was saying nor did he stop the movements I had just observed. Every now and then I could hear a sharp shallow breath and a sniffle. We both stood there, not changing our actions -- just waiting.
Nearby, I heard the noise of the resort's automatic ice machine, as another batch of ice cubes fell out of the mechanism and crashed to the holding area beneath it. It was the perfect distraction and provided me with a next step.
"Joey -- I'm going to go get some ice for your hand. I'll be right back."
***
By the time I returned with the ice, he had calmed down considerably. I handed him the bag to put on his scraped knuckles.
"Thanks," he muttered.
I felt like I should try talking with him again. "So I don't know if you heard me say it, but everyone else left on the vans. I said I'd stay behind and we'd head over in a cab. But, if you're not up to it, I can just go by myself if you want to take the day off."
"Yeah, that's not going to work." He rearranged the pieces of ice in the bag.
I decided to tread lightly. "I'm sure people will understand. We should probably have something you want me to tell them ..."
"No -- I mean I can't 'take the day off'. The dean is getting a report on what I do each day."
I wasn't sure how far I could -- or should -- push this. "So -- that was the rumor about why you came along."
"Yeah, I figured everyone knew. I mean it's a small campus, after all."
"Actually, I thought you were going to tell me about it on the van ride over yesterday ..."
I sensed him start to fidget again. Then he spoke up -- "What's there to tell? I broke up with my girlfriend, I got drunk, I got angry and I punched a wall -- that wasn't a wall at all. It was a window. I screwed up my hand ..." He raised his bandaged arm as a testament. "... and I struck a deal with the dean to do public service and pay for the damages as a result."
His story confirmed all of the rumors -- which weren't really rumors at all, but were "truths". Chalk that up to a small campus, indeed. I decided to take a risk.
"Well, Joey -- I really think that you should wait until one hand heals before you damage the other one."
I held my breath for just a moment -- but exhaled when I noticed the barest trace of a smile cross his face.
"Thanks," he muttered.
I felt like I should try talking with him again. "So I don't know if you heard me say it, but everyone else left on the vans. I said I'd stay behind and we'd head over in a cab. But, if you're not up to it, I can just go by myself if you want to take the day off."
"Yeah, that's not going to work." He rearranged the pieces of ice in the bag.
I decided to tread lightly. "I'm sure people will understand. We should probably have something you want me to tell them ..."
"No -- I mean I can't 'take the day off'. The dean is getting a report on what I do each day."
I wasn't sure how far I could -- or should -- push this. "So -- that was the rumor about why you came along."
"Yeah, I figured everyone knew. I mean it's a small campus, after all."
"Actually, I thought you were going to tell me about it on the van ride over yesterday ..."
I sensed him start to fidget again. Then he spoke up -- "What's there to tell? I broke up with my girlfriend, I got drunk, I got angry and I punched a wall -- that wasn't a wall at all. It was a window. I screwed up my hand ..." He raised his bandaged arm as a testament. "... and I struck a deal with the dean to do public service and pay for the damages as a result."
His story confirmed all of the rumors -- which weren't really rumors at all, but were "truths". Chalk that up to a small campus, indeed. I decided to take a risk.
"Well, Joey -- I really think that you should wait until one hand heals before you damage the other one."
I held my breath for just a moment -- but exhaled when I noticed the barest trace of a smile cross his face.
***
"So that was your ex that just called you?" I asked. I was gambling a lot on the fact that he had just almost smiled when I joked a moment ago. In my head, I was thinking "no whammies ... no whammies" as I knew I was pressing my luck (and as, clearly, I had watched a lot of old game shows).
"Umm ... no ... she's not talking to me." And then he chuckled. This was progress. A wan smile and now a possibly mean-spirited chuckle.
"Oh -- right. The dean, checking in," I surmised -- out loud.
"Do you ever ask a direct question?" With that, I couldn't tell if we were bonding or if the mood was shifting. So I didn't answer and just smiled, hoping that I could keep the mood light with only my facial expressions.
He continued -- "It was my moms." This time, I did know better than to push to ask him if he had two mommies, or whether he was just talking all hip-like. And then I remembered the shred of a conversation I had overheard the day before about how his dad went overseas and wasn't coming back. So much for keeping the mood light.
"I'm sorry. I overheard a little yesterday when you were talking to Jose. I can't imagine."
"You can't?"
Uh-oh. Was that a whammie comment? I resorted back to stammering. "Well ... you know ... to have someone go over there ... and ... well ..." I drifted off, not sure what words to use.
"What? You think he's dead? No ... no ... he didn't die -- he met someone new. He's leaving my moms and staying over there with his new girlfriend -- moving to London. And now my moms is heartbroken and I don't know how to help her."
"Good grief," was all I could muster. No wonder this kid was so angry. He had all of *this* to deal with. I struggled to think of some pithy comment that would help him -- but all that came out was a heartfelt ... "that sucks, dude".
And then it struck me -- maybe I could help him, after all.
"Umm ... no ... she's not talking to me." And then he chuckled. This was progress. A wan smile and now a possibly mean-spirited chuckle.
"Oh -- right. The dean, checking in," I surmised -- out loud.
"Do you ever ask a direct question?" With that, I couldn't tell if we were bonding or if the mood was shifting. So I didn't answer and just smiled, hoping that I could keep the mood light with only my facial expressions.
He continued -- "It was my moms." This time, I did know better than to push to ask him if he had two mommies, or whether he was just talking all hip-like. And then I remembered the shred of a conversation I had overheard the day before about how his dad went overseas and wasn't coming back. So much for keeping the mood light.
"I'm sorry. I overheard a little yesterday when you were talking to Jose. I can't imagine."
"You can't?"
Uh-oh. Was that a whammie comment? I resorted back to stammering. "Well ... you know ... to have someone go over there ... and ... well ..." I drifted off, not sure what words to use.
"What? You think he's dead? No ... no ... he didn't die -- he met someone new. He's leaving my moms and staying over there with his new girlfriend -- moving to London. And now my moms is heartbroken and I don't know how to help her."
"Good grief," was all I could muster. No wonder this kid was so angry. He had all of *this* to deal with. I struggled to think of some pithy comment that would help him -- but all that came out was a heartfelt ... "that sucks, dude".
And then it struck me -- maybe I could help him, after all.
***
For the second time in as many days, I was seriously considering forcing the issue. Clearly, Joey was dealing with a lot and maybe I had a chance to help alleviate some of the misery he was facing.
But how would I do it? Should I just launch into a speech? If so, what would I say? Something like ... "So -- there's a new cool trick I learned. Watch what happens when I touch you!" And then what ... would I shake his hand? Poke him in the chest? Could I maybe make that grand announcement in some way that wasn't quite so creepy sounding?
Plus -- there's also the very real chance that nothing would happen. Then I'd look like quite the fool. Maybe it would be best to not say anything until after the fact, just as a hedged bet against whether my new skill was only a fluke -- or that it maybe came attached with rules that I didn't yet understand.
Not to mention the fact that the other two instances were with complete strangers. As much as I was unclear as to exactly how things worked on my side of the "transaction", I really didn't have insight into what happened to the other person. I'd be working with Joey for the next two days -- and it was quite likely that I'd run into him again on campus in the final weeks of school. That might be a new level of awkwardness for which I was in no way prepared.
Just that quickly, I had talked myself out of what I had almost talked myself into. I wasn't ready. I'd have to learn more about what I could do -- if I really could do it under my own control -- before I would proactively try it on someone I knew.
I wasn't sure how long I had been standing there, shaking my head reflexively at the details he had shared with me while deep in my own thoughts. I decided to break the awkward silence -- again. "So ... you want a few more moments before we leave?" I pointed to his hand. "And will you need to get that checked out?"
But how would I do it? Should I just launch into a speech? If so, what would I say? Something like ... "So -- there's a new cool trick I learned. Watch what happens when I touch you!" And then what ... would I shake his hand? Poke him in the chest? Could I maybe make that grand announcement in some way that wasn't quite so creepy sounding?
Plus -- there's also the very real chance that nothing would happen. Then I'd look like quite the fool. Maybe it would be best to not say anything until after the fact, just as a hedged bet against whether my new skill was only a fluke -- or that it maybe came attached with rules that I didn't yet understand.
Not to mention the fact that the other two instances were with complete strangers. As much as I was unclear as to exactly how things worked on my side of the "transaction", I really didn't have insight into what happened to the other person. I'd be working with Joey for the next two days -- and it was quite likely that I'd run into him again on campus in the final weeks of school. That might be a new level of awkwardness for which I was in no way prepared.
Just that quickly, I had talked myself out of what I had almost talked myself into. I wasn't ready. I'd have to learn more about what I could do -- if I really could do it under my own control -- before I would proactively try it on someone I knew.
I wasn't sure how long I had been standing there, shaking my head reflexively at the details he had shared with me while deep in my own thoughts. I decided to break the awkward silence -- again. "So ... you want a few more moments before we leave?" I pointed to his hand. "And will you need to get that checked out?"
***
"Yeah, I'm good," he replied. "I mean, I'll have to keep an eye on it 'cause it might swell -- but we can get ready and go."
I motioned toward his side -- "It looks like you got some blood on your shirt. Do you want to go change it?"
Joey returned to his room -- where he changed his shirt and also his demeanor for the rest of the day. Part of me was hoping that just sharing his story with someone else may have been enough to relieve him of the pressures that he was feeling -- but I also couldn't discount the fact he might have simply been the kind of guy who feels better after punching things.
Either way, it was all small talk in the cab on the trip to the worksite -- a few words about the weather, some statements about stores that seemed Florida specific as we drove past them and talk about the expected tasks we'd have to face in the day ahead of us. When we got to the church parking lot staging area, everyone had already split off into the groups from the day before, and there were just a few volunteers that were cleaning up the last vestiges of the breakfast that had been served. After verifying that there were no morsels left and cursing myself for forgetting to stop for fast food on the way over, Joey and I headed to Laura's house for day two of our project.
Mattie saw us coming and ran over to greet us. "Hey guys -- good to see ya! Everything okay?"
Joey spoke up before I could answer. "Yep ... all good. Just had some important family stuff this morning."
I made eye contact with Mattie and gave him my best all-knowing squint in hopes that he wouldn't push the issue. Unsure if he was picking up on my subtle attempts to communicate, I jumped in with a question. "So -- what did we miss?"
"Not too much -- especially since they didn't have bacon at breakfast today. They blew a fuse this morning and couldn't make any hot food -- so it was all fruit and cereal and yogurt." By the grimace on his face, you would have thought that the word yogurt was painful for him to say. But he powered through and continued -- "They did announce that a reporter would be around today and that there will be a group photo at lunch, so don't be surprised if someone comes around and asks questions while you're working. Magda will be escorting her."
We started to look for where we could be of assistance, but Mattie had one more afterthought of an update. "Alan ..." he yelled over his shoulder at me as we split up. "Laura is looking for you -- she was worried ..."
I motioned toward his side -- "It looks like you got some blood on your shirt. Do you want to go change it?"
Joey returned to his room -- where he changed his shirt and also his demeanor for the rest of the day. Part of me was hoping that just sharing his story with someone else may have been enough to relieve him of the pressures that he was feeling -- but I also couldn't discount the fact he might have simply been the kind of guy who feels better after punching things.
Either way, it was all small talk in the cab on the trip to the worksite -- a few words about the weather, some statements about stores that seemed Florida specific as we drove past them and talk about the expected tasks we'd have to face in the day ahead of us. When we got to the church parking lot staging area, everyone had already split off into the groups from the day before, and there were just a few volunteers that were cleaning up the last vestiges of the breakfast that had been served. After verifying that there were no morsels left and cursing myself for forgetting to stop for fast food on the way over, Joey and I headed to Laura's house for day two of our project.
Mattie saw us coming and ran over to greet us. "Hey guys -- good to see ya! Everything okay?"
Joey spoke up before I could answer. "Yep ... all good. Just had some important family stuff this morning."
I made eye contact with Mattie and gave him my best all-knowing squint in hopes that he wouldn't push the issue. Unsure if he was picking up on my subtle attempts to communicate, I jumped in with a question. "So -- what did we miss?"
"Not too much -- especially since they didn't have bacon at breakfast today. They blew a fuse this morning and couldn't make any hot food -- so it was all fruit and cereal and yogurt." By the grimace on his face, you would have thought that the word yogurt was painful for him to say. But he powered through and continued -- "They did announce that a reporter would be around today and that there will be a group photo at lunch, so don't be surprised if someone comes around and asks questions while you're working. Magda will be escorting her."
We started to look for where we could be of assistance, but Mattie had one more afterthought of an update. "Alan ..." he yelled over his shoulder at me as we split up. "Laura is looking for you -- she was worried ..."
***
I wondered if I should go looking for her ... but seeing as how I was already arriving late to the day's work, and I didn't want to be perceived as even more of a slacker, I decided that Laura would have to find me. Based on the "rounds" she made on the first day, I figured there would be a very good chance that we'd reconnect soon enough.
So it was back to the grind -- and since I didn't have that many construction skills (or any for that matter), I was back on trash duty, cleaning up after others. Once again, temperatures soared -- and once again, the hard work we were doing was taxing on our bodies but rewarding to our souls. I kept my head down and hauled trash, and was actually surprised when everyone said it was time to break for lunch.
The church parking lot was bustling more than usual, and that's when I remembered what Mattie had told us when Joey and I arrived. It was picture day -- in that we were being visited by a reporter and a news story was being prepared. Like everything else on this project, it was very well coordinated and the respective groups were all being given direction to split off and pose for a photo that would accompany the press that was being distributed back home.
This time, I was not the last to arrive. A quick headcount later, and we realized that JJ and Jenna were missing.
Taneeka was taking charge. She climbed on top of the picnic table and shouted in her authoritative voice that she had clearly honed serving on every single committee in every organization back on campus. "Has anyone seen JJ or Jenna? Who was working with them? Who saw them last?"
Scooter jumped up on the table with her, and yelled back at the same volume -- even though he was just inches from her face. "They went to get pretty!" He got even closer to her face. "PRETTIER, I mean".
"Get outta my face!" I thought they were going to have an altercation and embarrass us, but then I noticed that she was smiling. It seemed like Scooter had found a way to contain her outrageous energy by just reflecting it right back at her in full force. Even if they were going to escalate, they wouldn't have had time, because JJ and Jenna came around the corner, somehow looking completely refreshed.
"Did you change shirts?" asked Brandon incredulously.
"It *is* picture day," she replied. Brandon was so upset that he hadn't thought of that and prepared ahead of time -- and the picture that made it into our paper showed that he never did smile for the camera.
The photographer walked up and gathered us around the table. She almost got out her directions -- almost. "Okay, everybody -- say ch-"
"Say gator!" interrupted Laura, who appeared out of nowhere, flashing a big smile my way. I was never going to live down that incident (and soon enough, I would have a very real and very daily reminder of it).
So it was back to the grind -- and since I didn't have that many construction skills (or any for that matter), I was back on trash duty, cleaning up after others. Once again, temperatures soared -- and once again, the hard work we were doing was taxing on our bodies but rewarding to our souls. I kept my head down and hauled trash, and was actually surprised when everyone said it was time to break for lunch.
The church parking lot was bustling more than usual, and that's when I remembered what Mattie had told us when Joey and I arrived. It was picture day -- in that we were being visited by a reporter and a news story was being prepared. Like everything else on this project, it was very well coordinated and the respective groups were all being given direction to split off and pose for a photo that would accompany the press that was being distributed back home.
This time, I was not the last to arrive. A quick headcount later, and we realized that JJ and Jenna were missing.
Taneeka was taking charge. She climbed on top of the picnic table and shouted in her authoritative voice that she had clearly honed serving on every single committee in every organization back on campus. "Has anyone seen JJ or Jenna? Who was working with them? Who saw them last?"
Scooter jumped up on the table with her, and yelled back at the same volume -- even though he was just inches from her face. "They went to get pretty!" He got even closer to her face. "PRETTIER, I mean".
"Get outta my face!" I thought they were going to have an altercation and embarrass us, but then I noticed that she was smiling. It seemed like Scooter had found a way to contain her outrageous energy by just reflecting it right back at her in full force. Even if they were going to escalate, they wouldn't have had time, because JJ and Jenna came around the corner, somehow looking completely refreshed.
"Did you change shirts?" asked Brandon incredulously.
"It *is* picture day," she replied. Brandon was so upset that he hadn't thought of that and prepared ahead of time -- and the picture that made it into our paper showed that he never did smile for the camera.
The photographer walked up and gathered us around the table. She almost got out her directions -- almost. "Okay, everybody -- say ch-"
"Say gator!" interrupted Laura, who appeared out of nowhere, flashing a big smile my way. I was never going to live down that incident (and soon enough, I would have a very real and very daily reminder of it).
***
Our group disbanded just as quickly as we had gathered for the photo. Laura sought me out to reinforce that which I had already been told by Mattie upon arrival that day.
"We missed you at breakfast," she said, as a truly concerned look passed across her face. "I wasn't sure what had happened. I was afraid yesterday was just too much for you."
"No -- no," I protested. "Just something personal with one of our crew and I stayed behind to wait."
"Well -- two quick things. First, there's going to be a get-together tomorrow night at Ruthie's -- a wrap-up dinner for a bunch of the spring break volunteers that are heading home, so be sure to get some rest tonight because tomorrow will be a long day. And second, I couldn't help but tell the reporter about the puppies you found so she wants to get your side of the story -- and a picture with you and my daughter and the dogs."
"Sure -- is your daughter here today?"
"Yep -- I'll find you this afternoon when the reporter is ready."
As she started to walk away, I knew that I had to ask the next question, fearful of its answer but fully suspecting it all the same -- "And did you tell her how I thought it was an alligator crawling out of the trash?"
Laura stopped in her tracks and turned around and flashed that big smile of hers. "Well, sweetie -- you have to admit -- that's the best part." She paused, and then concluded, "... and I'll find you later."
I was so caught off guard by her next maneuver that I wasn't sure it had actually happened. That was, until Mattie came up beside me and asked underneath his breath, "Did she just blow a kiss at you?"
"We missed you at breakfast," she said, as a truly concerned look passed across her face. "I wasn't sure what had happened. I was afraid yesterday was just too much for you."
"No -- no," I protested. "Just something personal with one of our crew and I stayed behind to wait."
"Well -- two quick things. First, there's going to be a get-together tomorrow night at Ruthie's -- a wrap-up dinner for a bunch of the spring break volunteers that are heading home, so be sure to get some rest tonight because tomorrow will be a long day. And second, I couldn't help but tell the reporter about the puppies you found so she wants to get your side of the story -- and a picture with you and my daughter and the dogs."
"Sure -- is your daughter here today?"
"Yep -- I'll find you this afternoon when the reporter is ready."
As she started to walk away, I knew that I had to ask the next question, fearful of its answer but fully suspecting it all the same -- "And did you tell her how I thought it was an alligator crawling out of the trash?"
Laura stopped in her tracks and turned around and flashed that big smile of hers. "Well, sweetie -- you have to admit -- that's the best part." She paused, and then concluded, "... and I'll find you later."
I was so caught off guard by her next maneuver that I wasn't sure it had actually happened. That was, until Mattie came up beside me and asked underneath his breath, "Did she just blow a kiss at you?"
***
Her behavior stuck with me for the rest of the workday, but once again, in the afternoon, we were much too busy and it was much too hot for me to go seeking some additional information about her actions. Besides the occasional re-hydration break, the only other time I stopped was for the picture in the afternoon with her daughter Britney and the pit bull puppies -- and I wasn't about to ask her little girl if she knew whether or not her mommy had blown me a kiss earlier.
Talking with the reporter came first. For the umpteenth time, I relayed the story of how I had seen the rustling at the edge of the trash pile the day before, and how I had incorrectly assumed that an alligator was undoubtedly headed my way -- only to be pleasantly surprised by the fact that it was the puppies that had been missing since the storm had hit.
I so wished that I could have asked for some kind of editorial review, as my fear was that I would look like some unschooled outsider who was gullible to fall for stereotypes about the Florida experience -- which, of course, meant that my fear was actually that the reporter would tell the truth. But alas, I'd have to wait for the story to hit the local paper to see exactly how I was to be portrayed.
Then it was time for the picture -- and it was time for me to have a brief moment of panic.
"Why don't you get down on the ground like you were when you fell and the puppies came at you? I think that photo would be perfect," directed the accompanying photographer.
"I'm not sure. It's kind of muddy now," I replied.
"Have you seen yourself recently?" was her snappy comeback. "You're practically the guy in the comic strips who has a cloud following him."
Such a professional, I thought -- so hyper-aware of copyright laws that she didn't even mention that character's name in simple conversation. And so spot on -- about my spotty appearance, that is.
What she had no way of knowing was that I couldn't possibly explain my real apprehension -- that now that I knew about what must have been the ordeal that the puppies had been through, letting them touch me in any way would transfer their memories to me. That was an experience I would not want photographed, as I suspected that the event would be captured on film.
In the end, it wasn't to be my choice. Britney held out one of the tiny creatures for me to hold. I tentatively reached out and grabbed the squirming ball of cuteness with the so sad eyes.
Talking with the reporter came first. For the umpteenth time, I relayed the story of how I had seen the rustling at the edge of the trash pile the day before, and how I had incorrectly assumed that an alligator was undoubtedly headed my way -- only to be pleasantly surprised by the fact that it was the puppies that had been missing since the storm had hit.
I so wished that I could have asked for some kind of editorial review, as my fear was that I would look like some unschooled outsider who was gullible to fall for stereotypes about the Florida experience -- which, of course, meant that my fear was actually that the reporter would tell the truth. But alas, I'd have to wait for the story to hit the local paper to see exactly how I was to be portrayed.
Then it was time for the picture -- and it was time for me to have a brief moment of panic.
"Why don't you get down on the ground like you were when you fell and the puppies came at you? I think that photo would be perfect," directed the accompanying photographer.
"I'm not sure. It's kind of muddy now," I replied.
"Have you seen yourself recently?" was her snappy comeback. "You're practically the guy in the comic strips who has a cloud following him."
Such a professional, I thought -- so hyper-aware of copyright laws that she didn't even mention that character's name in simple conversation. And so spot on -- about my spotty appearance, that is.
What she had no way of knowing was that I couldn't possibly explain my real apprehension -- that now that I knew about what must have been the ordeal that the puppies had been through, letting them touch me in any way would transfer their memories to me. That was an experience I would not want photographed, as I suspected that the event would be captured on film.
In the end, it wasn't to be my choice. Britney held out one of the tiny creatures for me to hold. I tentatively reached out and grabbed the squirming ball of cuteness with the so sad eyes.
***
Nothing happened.
I mean -- some things happened. I reacted quickly to make sure that I didn't drop the squirming animal. I smiled for the camera -- or at least I think I smiled for the camera. Britney squealed as she tried to corral the other four dogs that were all jockeying for space on her lap.
But nothing happened between me and the puppy. I didn't get all of its painful memories of being born in the aftermath of the storm ... of not having any human interaction in those first few days ... of deciding the day before to strike out on his or her own because the mother had suddenly and seemingly abandoned the group of them.
Was this all a fluke? Were they just too young so that there were no memories to transfer? Was it because they were puppies, after all, and so none of what had come before registered with them as trauma? Or, most likely, was it that I was a human and they were an animal?
To be certain, it definitely had sad eyes -- and I had looked directly in them, which I was suspecting was a requirement of this thing that was happening to me.
I found myself thinking that I was used to the fact that I always easily trapped in my own thoughts ... that was the perfect storm of my overactive imagination, my slightly twisted outlook on things, and my having spent so much time alone in the foster system when I was younger. But this was taken it all to a new level. I was slowly driving myself crazy.
At literally the exact same time, the puppy and I both shook our heads -- for me, it was to clear it of these spiralling thoughts -- I don't know why the puppy did it.
I do know -- *that* was the picture that the photographer snapped -- and *that* was the photo that accompanied the article when it ran in the paper back home.
I mean -- some things happened. I reacted quickly to make sure that I didn't drop the squirming animal. I smiled for the camera -- or at least I think I smiled for the camera. Britney squealed as she tried to corral the other four dogs that were all jockeying for space on her lap.
But nothing happened between me and the puppy. I didn't get all of its painful memories of being born in the aftermath of the storm ... of not having any human interaction in those first few days ... of deciding the day before to strike out on his or her own because the mother had suddenly and seemingly abandoned the group of them.
Was this all a fluke? Were they just too young so that there were no memories to transfer? Was it because they were puppies, after all, and so none of what had come before registered with them as trauma? Or, most likely, was it that I was a human and they were an animal?
To be certain, it definitely had sad eyes -- and I had looked directly in them, which I was suspecting was a requirement of this thing that was happening to me.
I found myself thinking that I was used to the fact that I always easily trapped in my own thoughts ... that was the perfect storm of my overactive imagination, my slightly twisted outlook on things, and my having spent so much time alone in the foster system when I was younger. But this was taken it all to a new level. I was slowly driving myself crazy.
At literally the exact same time, the puppy and I both shook our heads -- for me, it was to clear it of these spiralling thoughts -- I don't know why the puppy did it.
I do know -- *that* was the picture that the photographer snapped -- and *that* was the photo that accompanied the article when it ran in the paper back home.
***
The rest of the workday passed by in a flash -- lickety-split, even (although, let's face it -- that unit of measurement of time had pretty much been retired and/or reserved for old-folks when it came to the actual frame of time related to these events). It didn't take long for me to notice anxiety creeping in about the day ahead -- the last day of our project.
I had booked tickets to fly out early in the morning of the day after the last day we were all working, but since Laura had informed me that we were having a wrap-up dinner after the final day's tasks were completed, I made a mental note to call and get my flight switched so I could sleep in much more comfortably.
After all, I was exhausted the night before when I got home and hit the pillows ... and today felt no differently, so I was expecting a bit of a sleep deficit. But with all of the excitement about wrapping this all up and with my fears about potentially having the kind of dreams that had haunted me by the pool still a very real threat to me, the last thing I needed was a sleepless night going into the end of this trip. These were my thoughts as I got into the van at the end of the day. Until I climbed in and sat next to Joey, that is.
"Hey." I motioned toward the hand that wasn't on the arm that had been in the splint this whole time -- the one he had used to violently punch the wall behind me just this morning. "I see you got it bandaged. I didn't notice that when we all posed for our picture at lunch ..."
"Yeah -- I didn't have it then. It really started throbbing in the afternoon, so Magda hooked me up with an on site medic. Speaking of which, he gave me these pain meds and I should probably take another dose." He stared at my unopened bottle of water. "Can I have a sip of that?"
I passed my bottle to him as he pulled out a packet of pills. "Those should knock you out, eh?" I must have said it longingly, because he seemed to instantly pick up on the apprehension I was starting to feel about the night ahead.
"They probably will. You know what -- I'm glad you said something. I've been taking these sleeping pills since everything in my life fell apart." He paused just briefly to roll his eyes. "Do you want some for tonight? I mean, I probably shouldn't mix these two."
Joey reached into his bag and took out an actual pill bottle, snapped off the lid, and slid two little pink pills into his bandaged hand. For someone who was now doubly wounded, he was actually pretty dexterous.
He held the bandaged hand out to me. "Here you go ..."
I had booked tickets to fly out early in the morning of the day after the last day we were all working, but since Laura had informed me that we were having a wrap-up dinner after the final day's tasks were completed, I made a mental note to call and get my flight switched so I could sleep in much more comfortably.
After all, I was exhausted the night before when I got home and hit the pillows ... and today felt no differently, so I was expecting a bit of a sleep deficit. But with all of the excitement about wrapping this all up and with my fears about potentially having the kind of dreams that had haunted me by the pool still a very real threat to me, the last thing I needed was a sleepless night going into the end of this trip. These were my thoughts as I got into the van at the end of the day. Until I climbed in and sat next to Joey, that is.
"Hey." I motioned toward the hand that wasn't on the arm that had been in the splint this whole time -- the one he had used to violently punch the wall behind me just this morning. "I see you got it bandaged. I didn't notice that when we all posed for our picture at lunch ..."
"Yeah -- I didn't have it then. It really started throbbing in the afternoon, so Magda hooked me up with an on site medic. Speaking of which, he gave me these pain meds and I should probably take another dose." He stared at my unopened bottle of water. "Can I have a sip of that?"
I passed my bottle to him as he pulled out a packet of pills. "Those should knock you out, eh?" I must have said it longingly, because he seemed to instantly pick up on the apprehension I was starting to feel about the night ahead.
"They probably will. You know what -- I'm glad you said something. I've been taking these sleeping pills since everything in my life fell apart." He paused just briefly to roll his eyes. "Do you want some for tonight? I mean, I probably shouldn't mix these two."
Joey reached into his bag and took out an actual pill bottle, snapped off the lid, and slid two little pink pills into his bandaged hand. For someone who was now doubly wounded, he was actually pretty dexterous.
He held the bandaged hand out to me. "Here you go ..."
***
Trust is ... taking drugs from a stranger.
I felt like that could have been one of those single-panel cartoons with the big headed saucer eyed couple that I remembered from back when people still viewed comics in a newspaper.
Perhaps I should clarify -- the drugs were prescription medication (well, allegedly). And the stranger was Joey -- with whom I had started bonding on this trip (well, inthat we had exchanged our first words about 36 hours before I accepted the drugs).
He let the tiny pink sleeping pills slip from his bandaged hand into my outstretched palm, and I decided that it was all worth the risk to have a night of restful sleep without interruption from the images and memories of others that had recently joined my own in my head.
With that transaction completed, we turned our collective attention to the next important decision -- where to grab fast food for dinner, and whether to get it from the drive-thru as we had the night before because that would get us back to our rooms faster. Since we all were exhausted, drive-thru was the sustenance delivery method of choice, and, as expected, that meant we were back to the resort and in our individual rooms in about ten minutes.
The first thing I did -- pop the pills before I took a bite of the food ... that I then proceeded to inhale.
I could hear some of our folks unwinding in the hot tub outside, but I knew better than to attempt that level of socializing while under the influence of sleeping pills -- I had seen enough celebrity biographies to know that that's how those who lived life in the fast lane sometimes met their demise.
Instead, I climbed on the bed and turned on the television and rapidly descended into a state of mindlessness. I had vague memories of flipping though the channels as I feel into a stupor. I was so far gone, that the fact that the drunk guy from the bar two nights ago was somehow interacting in every scene I passed by didn't even give me cause for concern. There he was in the kitchen with Roseanne and Dan, and then again out on a date with Blanche, and now sitting at a kitchen island in the suburbs waiting for the iced tea that some young girl had promised him.
The last thing I could just barely recall -- that guy was sitting in the anchor's chair conducting an interview of some kind. The camera turned to the people on the other side of the table ... and it was a few of the faceless crowd from the night Lee died ... the camera started cutting rapidly between him and them and back to him and then ... one image came on the screen and it was too fuzzy for me to see who or what it was ...and then -- then I blacked out.
I felt like that could have been one of those single-panel cartoons with the big headed saucer eyed couple that I remembered from back when people still viewed comics in a newspaper.
Perhaps I should clarify -- the drugs were prescription medication (well, allegedly). And the stranger was Joey -- with whom I had started bonding on this trip (well, inthat we had exchanged our first words about 36 hours before I accepted the drugs).
He let the tiny pink sleeping pills slip from his bandaged hand into my outstretched palm, and I decided that it was all worth the risk to have a night of restful sleep without interruption from the images and memories of others that had recently joined my own in my head.
With that transaction completed, we turned our collective attention to the next important decision -- where to grab fast food for dinner, and whether to get it from the drive-thru as we had the night before because that would get us back to our rooms faster. Since we all were exhausted, drive-thru was the sustenance delivery method of choice, and, as expected, that meant we were back to the resort and in our individual rooms in about ten minutes.
The first thing I did -- pop the pills before I took a bite of the food ... that I then proceeded to inhale.
I could hear some of our folks unwinding in the hot tub outside, but I knew better than to attempt that level of socializing while under the influence of sleeping pills -- I had seen enough celebrity biographies to know that that's how those who lived life in the fast lane sometimes met their demise.
Instead, I climbed on the bed and turned on the television and rapidly descended into a state of mindlessness. I had vague memories of flipping though the channels as I feel into a stupor. I was so far gone, that the fact that the drunk guy from the bar two nights ago was somehow interacting in every scene I passed by didn't even give me cause for concern. There he was in the kitchen with Roseanne and Dan, and then again out on a date with Blanche, and now sitting at a kitchen island in the suburbs waiting for the iced tea that some young girl had promised him.
The last thing I could just barely recall -- that guy was sitting in the anchor's chair conducting an interview of some kind. The camera turned to the people on the other side of the table ... and it was a few of the faceless crowd from the night Lee died ... the camera started cutting rapidly between him and them and back to him and then ... one image came on the screen and it was too fuzzy for me to see who or what it was ...and then -- then I blacked out.
***
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 5
So, to summarize, these things had been proven to keep the nightmares away -- exhaustion, inebriation and medication.
Thinking through those choices ... despite the fact that I would like to think that I had a very good work ethic, I would not want to be forced to live a life of constant exhaustion, as it was not the 1800's and I was not living in a little house on a prairie. Being young and in my twenties, it was actually somewhat feasible that I could spend a good bit of my time in a constant state of inebriation, but that option, when realistically viewed, could only be a short term and temporary solution at best. By process of elimination, medication seemed like the way to go.
Although, truth be told, I didn't necessarily wake up on the last day of our spring break clean-up project for hurricane victims feeling extra refreshed. Could it be that my body still experienced the nightmares and that I had all of the physical side-effects but wasn't cognizant of them? If so, could I really sustain that trade-off long term? Perhaps I needed a fourth option after all ...
Groggy and tired, I got ready for the work day and joined the others for the van ride over to the neighborhood we were revitalizing. Thankfully, it was a drama free morning (unlike the day before), and everyone in our group had settled in to the routine of the day -- although we weren't prepared for all of the emotions. There was an excitement that we had accomplished so much in just three days -- and a regret that we couldn't do more -- and a relief that others would take our place after we left and continue fighting the good fight.
There was also an urgency in the air to perform our tasks in double-time, as we knew that we'd actually be leaving a little earlier to make it back to Ruthie's Roadhouse for our wrap-up dinner. Making things easier on us, the oppressive heat of the last few days had finally broken, which allowed us to keep more of our energy for our projects.
When we broke for lunch, Jose stopped by our table, and made an announcement. "Hey guys -- just wanted to let you know that we'll have a part of tonight's presentation where you can talk about your experience -- but to keep things moving, we just ask that you talk about it beforehand and pick just a few to speak on behalf of the group. And to be clear, everyone will be there so you can say whatever you want to whomever you want during the dinner -- I'm just talking about the more formal part of the evening."
"Formal? No one told me it was formal. I'm going to have to go back to the hotel for a different outfit." It was Jenna, of course.
"That's not what I meant," countered Jose. "It's casual dress ... I mean it's Ruthie's Roadhouse, for goodness sake -- so ... you know ..."
It was all Taneeka could do to refrain from standing up on the table like she had done the day before when she coordinated the group photo. "I think we should vote. Let's do this competition reality TV show style -- everyone who wants to speak should state his or her case and we'll decide that way."
Thinking through those choices ... despite the fact that I would like to think that I had a very good work ethic, I would not want to be forced to live a life of constant exhaustion, as it was not the 1800's and I was not living in a little house on a prairie. Being young and in my twenties, it was actually somewhat feasible that I could spend a good bit of my time in a constant state of inebriation, but that option, when realistically viewed, could only be a short term and temporary solution at best. By process of elimination, medication seemed like the way to go.
Although, truth be told, I didn't necessarily wake up on the last day of our spring break clean-up project for hurricane victims feeling extra refreshed. Could it be that my body still experienced the nightmares and that I had all of the physical side-effects but wasn't cognizant of them? If so, could I really sustain that trade-off long term? Perhaps I needed a fourth option after all ...
Groggy and tired, I got ready for the work day and joined the others for the van ride over to the neighborhood we were revitalizing. Thankfully, it was a drama free morning (unlike the day before), and everyone in our group had settled in to the routine of the day -- although we weren't prepared for all of the emotions. There was an excitement that we had accomplished so much in just three days -- and a regret that we couldn't do more -- and a relief that others would take our place after we left and continue fighting the good fight.
There was also an urgency in the air to perform our tasks in double-time, as we knew that we'd actually be leaving a little earlier to make it back to Ruthie's Roadhouse for our wrap-up dinner. Making things easier on us, the oppressive heat of the last few days had finally broken, which allowed us to keep more of our energy for our projects.
When we broke for lunch, Jose stopped by our table, and made an announcement. "Hey guys -- just wanted to let you know that we'll have a part of tonight's presentation where you can talk about your experience -- but to keep things moving, we just ask that you talk about it beforehand and pick just a few to speak on behalf of the group. And to be clear, everyone will be there so you can say whatever you want to whomever you want during the dinner -- I'm just talking about the more formal part of the evening."
"Formal? No one told me it was formal. I'm going to have to go back to the hotel for a different outfit." It was Jenna, of course.
"That's not what I meant," countered Jose. "It's casual dress ... I mean it's Ruthie's Roadhouse, for goodness sake -- so ... you know ..."
It was all Taneeka could do to refrain from standing up on the table like she had done the day before when she coordinated the group photo. "I think we should vote. Let's do this competition reality TV show style -- everyone who wants to speak should state his or her case and we'll decide that way."
***
I had no interest in participating in the vote to see whom of us would speak at the closing ceremony later that evening. Let's face it -- if Taneeka was in charge, I knew it was in good hands as there's nothing like stepping back to the shadows to let an over-achiever execute her plan to ... well .. over achieve.
"Hey guys -- I'm good -- I've no desire to speak publicly on this. So ... if you'll excuse me, I need to go check in with Magda." With that, I was out of the situation and away from my group. I searched through the crowds, inadvertently pleased that finding her was so difficult, because that meant that more and more groups were now on site to continue our efforts, this being our last day and all.
I finally did manage to locate her, off to the side of the food line. I stopped in my tracks as I could see that she was comforting someone whose back was turned to me -- but it was easy to read the emotion on her face as she intently listened to whatever story was being told her. I didn't want to interrupt so I pivoted toward the food and grabbed a plate and picked around at the salad and the rolls, trying to buy some time so that she could complete her conversation.
Somewhere between trying to identify the unlabeled salad dressing by sliding the ladle back and forth through the oddly colored liquid and bemoaning the fact that the butter wasn't taken out of the refrigerator in time for it to be spreadable on the buns, I had two epiphanies. One was that I was pretty selfish to still have not learned that if mystery salad dressing and an unsmearable spread were my biggest problems of the moment, I was pretty damn lucky, all things considered (we were in a hurricane zone, after all) ... and the other was that, assuming my new found talents for absorbing strangers' painful memories continued to develop, I might be able to monetize those skills as a grief counselor.
Except, of course, that might be a business model where I wouldn't have return customers -- which wouldn't be sustainable -- which wouldn't make it much of an exciting business model after all. Additionally, the truth was that I still had no idea what happened to the other person who ended up taking part in that mental transaction beyond that blank look they gave me as they walked away devoid of painful feelings.
"Pardon me -- do you need help?" A volunteer interrupted my strategizing session. I blushed, mumbled something under my breath and then realized that Magda had already wrapped her conversation and moved on to somewhere new. I had missed my chance to get free career advice.
"Hey guys -- I'm good -- I've no desire to speak publicly on this. So ... if you'll excuse me, I need to go check in with Magda." With that, I was out of the situation and away from my group. I searched through the crowds, inadvertently pleased that finding her was so difficult, because that meant that more and more groups were now on site to continue our efforts, this being our last day and all.
I finally did manage to locate her, off to the side of the food line. I stopped in my tracks as I could see that she was comforting someone whose back was turned to me -- but it was easy to read the emotion on her face as she intently listened to whatever story was being told her. I didn't want to interrupt so I pivoted toward the food and grabbed a plate and picked around at the salad and the rolls, trying to buy some time so that she could complete her conversation.
Somewhere between trying to identify the unlabeled salad dressing by sliding the ladle back and forth through the oddly colored liquid and bemoaning the fact that the butter wasn't taken out of the refrigerator in time for it to be spreadable on the buns, I had two epiphanies. One was that I was pretty selfish to still have not learned that if mystery salad dressing and an unsmearable spread were my biggest problems of the moment, I was pretty damn lucky, all things considered (we were in a hurricane zone, after all) ... and the other was that, assuming my new found talents for absorbing strangers' painful memories continued to develop, I might be able to monetize those skills as a grief counselor.
Except, of course, that might be a business model where I wouldn't have return customers -- which wouldn't be sustainable -- which wouldn't make it much of an exciting business model after all. Additionally, the truth was that I still had no idea what happened to the other person who ended up taking part in that mental transaction beyond that blank look they gave me as they walked away devoid of painful feelings.
"Pardon me -- do you need help?" A volunteer interrupted my strategizing session. I blushed, mumbled something under my breath and then realized that Magda had already wrapped her conversation and moved on to somewhere new. I had missed my chance to get free career advice.
***
I swear -- I blinked ... and just like that, it was time to leave.
Clearly, I knew this wasn't some new trick where I could jump through space and time, although if I could figure out how to add that to my repertoire, I wouldn't necessarily not try to do so. [Lest you get confused by double negatives, let me reiterate in a more affirmative manner, that I would indeed try to get that power.] However, only being less than a week into exploring this sudden talent of mine that I had experienced -- twice -- and which, at this point in time, I was still considering might simply be some Floridian fluke (a la hanging chads), I had more than enough already in my burgeoning super-hero skill set development plan to pursue anything else.
I blinked again ... and I was in the van.
One more time ... and we were back at the hotel so Jenna could change clothes.
Another blink ... and the sign for Ruthie's Roadhouse came into view.
At least that's how it seemed to be for me.
Blinking over, we arrived at the destination for our closing ceremony dinner, and headed to the special dining room for our catered meal. The mood in the room was a strange mix -- camaraderie and fulfillment and accomplishment were definitely up and center, but there was still a sensitivity to what had been lost by those we were assisting. There were mostly smiles -- and many happy faces. I'm not sure if it was because of my ability to hang back and see all of what was happening in the room, observing as much as possible, trying to take everything in at once -- but I sensed that we were all somewhat on the edge of something, and that we could easily tip the emotional composition of the room to something sadder and darker if we weren't careful.
There was nothing I could do -- I couldn't exactly articulate my concerns to anyone. And I was hungry. I sat down at the very end of a table, unfolded my napkin on to my lap and took a deep breath. The roller coaster evening was about to begin, and there was absolutely no way I could get off of the ride.
Clearly, I knew this wasn't some new trick where I could jump through space and time, although if I could figure out how to add that to my repertoire, I wouldn't necessarily not try to do so. [Lest you get confused by double negatives, let me reiterate in a more affirmative manner, that I would indeed try to get that power.] However, only being less than a week into exploring this sudden talent of mine that I had experienced -- twice -- and which, at this point in time, I was still considering might simply be some Floridian fluke (a la hanging chads), I had more than enough already in my burgeoning super-hero skill set development plan to pursue anything else.
I blinked again ... and I was in the van.
One more time ... and we were back at the hotel so Jenna could change clothes.
Another blink ... and the sign for Ruthie's Roadhouse came into view.
At least that's how it seemed to be for me.
Blinking over, we arrived at the destination for our closing ceremony dinner, and headed to the special dining room for our catered meal. The mood in the room was a strange mix -- camaraderie and fulfillment and accomplishment were definitely up and center, but there was still a sensitivity to what had been lost by those we were assisting. There were mostly smiles -- and many happy faces. I'm not sure if it was because of my ability to hang back and see all of what was happening in the room, observing as much as possible, trying to take everything in at once -- but I sensed that we were all somewhat on the edge of something, and that we could easily tip the emotional composition of the room to something sadder and darker if we weren't careful.
There was nothing I could do -- I couldn't exactly articulate my concerns to anyone. And I was hungry. I sat down at the very end of a table, unfolded my napkin on to my lap and took a deep breath. The roller coaster evening was about to begin, and there was absolutely no way I could get off of the ride.
***
"Ladies and gentlemen ... if I can have your attention, please ..."
Jose had worked his way to the podium that had been set up in the corner of the room. The murmurs in the space subsided, and all eyes turned to him, granting him his request -- the silence only occasionally being interrupted by the sound of a fork scraping a plate as we continued to clean our plates.
"Before I say anything else -- I'd like to say a special thanks to Ruthie and her staff. In addition to providing us this space for our kick off breakfasts and our wrap up dinners, Ruthie donates all of the food and her staff volunteers to serve our groups at these events. She is truly a pillar in her community, and we so much appreciate all that she has done. Please join me in thanking her and her employees for all that they do for this cause in times like these."
The applause started politely enough, but it quickly overtook the small space ... and it wasn't long before sporadic and spontaneous "Here, here!"s and "Hurrah"s and "Huzzahs" broke out. True to my observation that the room was in a unique state of being emotionally charged, the auditory assault was soon accompanied by a groundswell of movement, as everyone pushed their chairs back and stood up. (Scooter, only naturally, did everyone one better and stood ON the chair he had pushed back). I have no idea who started it, but suddenly the sounds of "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow" swelled through the room -- although, amidst the noise, one could hear a person or two pause at the final word in the phrasing for just a beat and then throw out la-dy as an alternative to the gender bias of the classic tune.
Ruthie, who had actually been in the kitchen when Jose had started thanking her, had peeked her head out of the swinging door by this time, and those closest to her could see the tears welling up in her eyes. She waved to the crowd as the song reached its crescendo.
It took a few moments for everyone to calm down enough to resume their seats and for Jose to get control of the ceremony again. Once it did quiet down, he simply stated in a solemn voice as if he were sharing truths given to him by the Gods ... "which nobody can deny" -- only to start the group clapping riotously again.
"Good grief," I mumbled to Magda, who had seated herself beside me. "We're this wired and we're only a few moments into the evening."
She just nodded her head and smiled. I realized later that she probably hadn't even heard what I said, what with all of the cacophony surrounding us.
Jose had worked his way to the podium that had been set up in the corner of the room. The murmurs in the space subsided, and all eyes turned to him, granting him his request -- the silence only occasionally being interrupted by the sound of a fork scraping a plate as we continued to clean our plates.
"Before I say anything else -- I'd like to say a special thanks to Ruthie and her staff. In addition to providing us this space for our kick off breakfasts and our wrap up dinners, Ruthie donates all of the food and her staff volunteers to serve our groups at these events. She is truly a pillar in her community, and we so much appreciate all that she has done. Please join me in thanking her and her employees for all that they do for this cause in times like these."
The applause started politely enough, but it quickly overtook the small space ... and it wasn't long before sporadic and spontaneous "Here, here!"s and "Hurrah"s and "Huzzahs" broke out. True to my observation that the room was in a unique state of being emotionally charged, the auditory assault was soon accompanied by a groundswell of movement, as everyone pushed their chairs back and stood up. (Scooter, only naturally, did everyone one better and stood ON the chair he had pushed back). I have no idea who started it, but suddenly the sounds of "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow" swelled through the room -- although, amidst the noise, one could hear a person or two pause at the final word in the phrasing for just a beat and then throw out la-dy as an alternative to the gender bias of the classic tune.
Ruthie, who had actually been in the kitchen when Jose had started thanking her, had peeked her head out of the swinging door by this time, and those closest to her could see the tears welling up in her eyes. She waved to the crowd as the song reached its crescendo.
It took a few moments for everyone to calm down enough to resume their seats and for Jose to get control of the ceremony again. Once it did quiet down, he simply stated in a solemn voice as if he were sharing truths given to him by the Gods ... "which nobody can deny" -- only to start the group clapping riotously again.
"Good grief," I mumbled to Magda, who had seated herself beside me. "We're this wired and we're only a few moments into the evening."
She just nodded her head and smiled. I realized later that she probably hadn't even heard what I said, what with all of the cacophony surrounding us.
***
Not out of disrespect, but I did "check out" a bit for the next part of the ceremony -- and I just focused on getting through my garden salad and then my main course of fried chicken.
It's not that I didn't appreciate all that had been put into organizing our project, it's just that I looked around the room and realized that there were many more people sitting in the space, eating the meal and joining in the celebration than had been working on the site. And, again, it wasn't so much that I was judging ... just noting that the room was full of people who were strangers to me in respect to the last three days of being on this project.
After Jose congratulated Ruthie, the next phase of the ceremony was to honor the corporate partners -- and that went on for quite awhile. Understandably, there were big box stores that had donated supplies, and grocery stores that had supplied food, and community groups that had provided volunteers. Our little spring break traveling crew was just one small cog in a big machine to address the needs of this damaged community .. and so the speechifying that went on and on ... was mostly justified.
Until the politicians started. Of course, I understood why they'd be there. But I did notice that, whereas cell phones and digital cameras were clicking off all around me throughout the night, it was the professional photographers that appeared out of nowhere in a big flash of ... flash ... to capture those particular moments, destined for a web site or a campaign brochure or a mini movie to be put on the internet. I knew that an election was just around the corner -- mostly because, nowadays, an election is always just around the corner -- but it still came across as slightly inauthentic to me. A little bit of disaster-mongering that was good for the political soul.
I don't know -- maybe I was just tired. Or ready for dessert. Which was on its way, since our plates were being cleared as the final local official said her thanks and congratulations and finished her attempts to take ownership of our collective successes.
As the strawberry shortcake was placed in front of me, I did pay attention again to the podium, when a name caught my ear. Jose had returned, and he introduced the next speaker. "I think it's time for us all to remember why we came -- and for whom we were all really working. I'd like to bring Laura to the stage ..."
I think I led the applause this time. And then I dove into my dessert, because I knew I could multi-task in this situation.
It's not that I didn't appreciate all that had been put into organizing our project, it's just that I looked around the room and realized that there were many more people sitting in the space, eating the meal and joining in the celebration than had been working on the site. And, again, it wasn't so much that I was judging ... just noting that the room was full of people who were strangers to me in respect to the last three days of being on this project.
After Jose congratulated Ruthie, the next phase of the ceremony was to honor the corporate partners -- and that went on for quite awhile. Understandably, there were big box stores that had donated supplies, and grocery stores that had supplied food, and community groups that had provided volunteers. Our little spring break traveling crew was just one small cog in a big machine to address the needs of this damaged community .. and so the speechifying that went on and on ... was mostly justified.
Until the politicians started. Of course, I understood why they'd be there. But I did notice that, whereas cell phones and digital cameras were clicking off all around me throughout the night, it was the professional photographers that appeared out of nowhere in a big flash of ... flash ... to capture those particular moments, destined for a web site or a campaign brochure or a mini movie to be put on the internet. I knew that an election was just around the corner -- mostly because, nowadays, an election is always just around the corner -- but it still came across as slightly inauthentic to me. A little bit of disaster-mongering that was good for the political soul.
I don't know -- maybe I was just tired. Or ready for dessert. Which was on its way, since our plates were being cleared as the final local official said her thanks and congratulations and finished her attempts to take ownership of our collective successes.
As the strawberry shortcake was placed in front of me, I did pay attention again to the podium, when a name caught my ear. Jose had returned, and he introduced the next speaker. "I think it's time for us all to remember why we came -- and for whom we were all really working. I'd like to bring Laura to the stage ..."
I think I led the applause this time. And then I dove into my dessert, because I knew I could multi-task in this situation.
***
"I bet you the rest of your strawberry shortcake that she tells the alligator story yet again!" I whispered to Magda as we sat down and as Laura took the stage. Magda didn't take me up on the wager, and just raised her fingers to her lips to shush me as Laura began to speak.
"Hello again everyone." She paused and smiled at the crowd, taking a moment to find each of us in our group and to make eye contact.
"I've been asked to share my story tonight -- the story of everything that I've had to deal with since storm Celine blew through here about a month ago. I have to start by admitting that I didn't heed the warnings to evacuate. I was here for storms before -- and the fact that this was a rare, never before heard of event, in a window of time where a storm like this had never happened before -- I just heard the beating of the drums and thought the news and weather people were exaggerating."
"I at least knew enough to watch the radar -- I mean, for us to watch the radar. You see, I'm a single mom, raising my daughter here in Florida far away from any family." Laura paused and I thought she was going to bring Britney to the stage with her. I craned my neck to see if I could find her daughter on the periphery of the crowds, but I just couldn't locate her. That craned neck of mine snapped back into place when Laura started up again.
"I'm here because I escaped from an abusive relationship back home -- and so when I realized too late that the storm was for real, and that I was stuck in my little house with my daughter, with no one to call on for any kind of help -- I never felt more alone in my whole life."
The room was silent. No one had expected Laura to share this -- she had always been so happy and cheerful on the work site, just walking around and talking to everyone and showing her gratitude with the biggest smile and most welcoming of words -- delivered in her rapid fire style.
"As the storm first made landfall, I was huddled with my daughter -- and our dog -- in the bathtub, unsure as to whether that would be the place we'd be found after the storm passed."
"Hello again everyone." She paused and smiled at the crowd, taking a moment to find each of us in our group and to make eye contact.
"I've been asked to share my story tonight -- the story of everything that I've had to deal with since storm Celine blew through here about a month ago. I have to start by admitting that I didn't heed the warnings to evacuate. I was here for storms before -- and the fact that this was a rare, never before heard of event, in a window of time where a storm like this had never happened before -- I just heard the beating of the drums and thought the news and weather people were exaggerating."
"I at least knew enough to watch the radar -- I mean, for us to watch the radar. You see, I'm a single mom, raising my daughter here in Florida far away from any family." Laura paused and I thought she was going to bring Britney to the stage with her. I craned my neck to see if I could find her daughter on the periphery of the crowds, but I just couldn't locate her. That craned neck of mine snapped back into place when Laura started up again.
"I'm here because I escaped from an abusive relationship back home -- and so when I realized too late that the storm was for real, and that I was stuck in my little house with my daughter, with no one to call on for any kind of help -- I never felt more alone in my whole life."
The room was silent. No one had expected Laura to share this -- she had always been so happy and cheerful on the work site, just walking around and talking to everyone and showing her gratitude with the biggest smile and most welcoming of words -- delivered in her rapid fire style.
"As the storm first made landfall, I was huddled with my daughter -- and our dog -- in the bathtub, unsure as to whether that would be the place we'd be found after the storm passed."
***
The gravity of the moment hushed the crowd in the banquet room. "The moment" being the moment in Laura's story of her experience in the storm that she just shared. She continued her tale.
"Huddled there as we were in the tub -- me and my daughter and our dog -- with the whining of the winds and the pressure of the storm weighing heavily upon us -- that's when I heard the relentless pounding against the house. Expecting the worst, it took me a few long minutes to realize that the pounding was someone at our front door. I left Britney in the tub and ran to see what was going on -- and that's where I met Jose."
Someone somewhere in the crowd let out a shout -- "Jose!" -- and he smiled and nodded as he acknowledged the cheer from his place near the podium.
"Yep -- Jose -- he greeted me at the door. Through the darkness, I could see the church van he was driving, and he told me that we had to leave right away and get to shelter. I yelled through the noise that I had my daughter and a dog, and he explained that I had to grab her -- but that I had to leave our dog behind."
Laura paused. "Now I'll tell you -- as grateful as I am for everything that happened to save the life of me and my daughter, I also have to say that I was somewhat shocked to learn that we couldn't bring our family pet. By no means am I blaming anyone or complaining about the generosity of everyone who took care of us during this time ... I just have to think, that when we sit back and reflect on the lessons we've learned from tragedies like these, that we have to have some kind of assistance that takes into account that family is more than just people sometimes."
"It was one of the hardest things I had to do to get my young child to grab as much dog food as possible and to fill a bucket with water and to leave our house with our beloved pet locked in the bathroom." Laura started to tear up telling this part of the story, and I could see how much it affected her reliving those moments. "It was hard enough for Britney to cope with the hurricane and its aftermath, but to have her worry the whole time -- and then to return home at the earliest chance we could get and to have discovered that our dog was nowhere to be found -- and that there was nothing I could do ... she was inconsolable, and I wasn't far behind in with those feelings."
"I don't want to dwell on this, because there is a happy ending here -- for everyone that makes up my family."
As if on cue, one of the pit bull puppies that I had found in the trash pile on the first day of the project came scurrying into the dining room, running right past Laura at the podium. Britney came running in after it, and anyone who at first thought that this was staged for effect, quickly realized that the animal was loose and excited and running rampant through the legs -- of people and chairs and tables. Suddenly -- and without warning or notice -- we all were participants in a puppy hunt ...
"Huddled there as we were in the tub -- me and my daughter and our dog -- with the whining of the winds and the pressure of the storm weighing heavily upon us -- that's when I heard the relentless pounding against the house. Expecting the worst, it took me a few long minutes to realize that the pounding was someone at our front door. I left Britney in the tub and ran to see what was going on -- and that's where I met Jose."
Someone somewhere in the crowd let out a shout -- "Jose!" -- and he smiled and nodded as he acknowledged the cheer from his place near the podium.
"Yep -- Jose -- he greeted me at the door. Through the darkness, I could see the church van he was driving, and he told me that we had to leave right away and get to shelter. I yelled through the noise that I had my daughter and a dog, and he explained that I had to grab her -- but that I had to leave our dog behind."
Laura paused. "Now I'll tell you -- as grateful as I am for everything that happened to save the life of me and my daughter, I also have to say that I was somewhat shocked to learn that we couldn't bring our family pet. By no means am I blaming anyone or complaining about the generosity of everyone who took care of us during this time ... I just have to think, that when we sit back and reflect on the lessons we've learned from tragedies like these, that we have to have some kind of assistance that takes into account that family is more than just people sometimes."
"It was one of the hardest things I had to do to get my young child to grab as much dog food as possible and to fill a bucket with water and to leave our house with our beloved pet locked in the bathroom." Laura started to tear up telling this part of the story, and I could see how much it affected her reliving those moments. "It was hard enough for Britney to cope with the hurricane and its aftermath, but to have her worry the whole time -- and then to return home at the earliest chance we could get and to have discovered that our dog was nowhere to be found -- and that there was nothing I could do ... she was inconsolable, and I wasn't far behind in with those feelings."
"I don't want to dwell on this, because there is a happy ending here -- for everyone that makes up my family."
As if on cue, one of the pit bull puppies that I had found in the trash pile on the first day of the project came scurrying into the dining room, running right past Laura at the podium. Britney came running in after it, and anyone who at first thought that this was staged for effect, quickly realized that the animal was loose and excited and running rampant through the legs -- of people and chairs and tables. Suddenly -- and without warning or notice -- we all were participants in a puppy hunt ...
***
"Somebody catch him!"
I think it was Britney who screamed -- although, truth be told, it might have been anyone who suddenly found themselves in the midst of the puppy hunt.
Of course, excitement only fueled excitement. Soon dozens of people were up and on their feet, milling about trying to track down the tiny creature, but unable to locate him under the tables. There were more than a few cries of "I see him" and "I got him" -- but for as many people who yelled out the former, no one actually delivered on the latter.
I stayed in my chair and just observed the unfolding event, especially being in the back of the room as I was. Maybe it was the fact that my area was more still, or maybe that puppy had captured my scent on the first day when he and his littermates "attacked" me with little puppy kisses at the trash pile, but it wasn't very long at all until I felt a cold wet nose at my sock line. I shook my head in disbelief, and calmly reached under the table to claim him.
I raised him to my eye level and I swear that he was grinning at me -- which only caused me to grin back. Together, and just for fun, we watched the fools around us still searching and scattering and screaming, until Britney came running up to me and let out a yelp of her own. "Alan has him! He went to Alan!"
I was tempted to hold him over my head all Simba/Lion King style, but I refrained. Just barely.
A semblance of order began to settle back over the room, and Laura regained the attention of everyone when she got back on the microphone and asked the group to be seated.
"I told you there was a happy ending for everyone in my family. Our pet returned to us (we found her just this past week) -- and your group -- well, Alan specifically -- he actually found her puppies on the first day he arrived."
More applause -- and when that died down, she surprised me with her next statement that was something I just wasn't expecting at all.
I think it was Britney who screamed -- although, truth be told, it might have been anyone who suddenly found themselves in the midst of the puppy hunt.
Of course, excitement only fueled excitement. Soon dozens of people were up and on their feet, milling about trying to track down the tiny creature, but unable to locate him under the tables. There were more than a few cries of "I see him" and "I got him" -- but for as many people who yelled out the former, no one actually delivered on the latter.
I stayed in my chair and just observed the unfolding event, especially being in the back of the room as I was. Maybe it was the fact that my area was more still, or maybe that puppy had captured my scent on the first day when he and his littermates "attacked" me with little puppy kisses at the trash pile, but it wasn't very long at all until I felt a cold wet nose at my sock line. I shook my head in disbelief, and calmly reached under the table to claim him.
I raised him to my eye level and I swear that he was grinning at me -- which only caused me to grin back. Together, and just for fun, we watched the fools around us still searching and scattering and screaming, until Britney came running up to me and let out a yelp of her own. "Alan has him! He went to Alan!"
I was tempted to hold him over my head all Simba/Lion King style, but I refrained. Just barely.
A semblance of order began to settle back over the room, and Laura regained the attention of everyone when she got back on the microphone and asked the group to be seated.
"I told you there was a happy ending for everyone in my family. Our pet returned to us (we found her just this past week) -- and your group -- well, Alan specifically -- he actually found her puppies on the first day he arrived."
More applause -- and when that died down, she surprised me with her next statement that was something I just wasn't expecting at all.
***
Just like that, Laura made the announcement from the podium that changed my life for the next few years. "I've talked it over with my daughter, and we want you to have one of the puppies."
I was shocked -- surprised -- and speechless. Scooter took advantage of the pause and jumped up and started yelling, in his best Oprah impression, pointing to everyone and no one at the same time ... "you get a puppy ... and YOU get a puppy ... and *YOU* get a puppy".
More cheers ... more laughter ... more applause. I held on to the little guy as tightly as I could, what will all the additional noise, and the fact that he had already gotten a reputation for being an escape artist. Laura motioned to me from the podium to head outside, so I took him and followed Britney out of the side door to the parking lot, where Laura soon joined us.
"So ... what do you think? Can you take him home with you?"
"Oh my. I ... oh my." That was all I could say.
Laura continued, "We want to thank you -- I want to thank you. I was so worried about how Britney was dealing with the storm and everything that came after it ... and the fact that you brought her so much joy and refocused her on happier thoughts ... I don't know how to adequately thank you. Other than to try to do the same for you in some way. Like with this puppy ..."
I looked at her, with tears streaming down her face ... and at Britney, wearing the biggest smile I had seen on her this whole trip ... and at the puppy, who was staring back at me with eyes that seemed to see into my very soul. Somehow, in that split second, I knew that all of my secrets -- everything that had happened to me on this trip -- all of he concerns I had about what I thought were my new abilities ... I could share them with this animal and he wouldn't mind. I felt a peace wash over me, wave after wave of comfort, a sense that everything would be all right.
"Of course I will. I mean ... I don't know ... how, exactly. I don't know if I can take him on my flight ..."
"You can figure that all out." Laura leaned in to give me a hug, at just the same time that the puppy squirmed out of my grip and jumped to the ground. I quickly ran after him, eager to claim my new pet, leaving Laura to hug her child instead, now laughing at the situation.
I was shocked -- surprised -- and speechless. Scooter took advantage of the pause and jumped up and started yelling, in his best Oprah impression, pointing to everyone and no one at the same time ... "you get a puppy ... and YOU get a puppy ... and *YOU* get a puppy".
More cheers ... more laughter ... more applause. I held on to the little guy as tightly as I could, what will all the additional noise, and the fact that he had already gotten a reputation for being an escape artist. Laura motioned to me from the podium to head outside, so I took him and followed Britney out of the side door to the parking lot, where Laura soon joined us.
"So ... what do you think? Can you take him home with you?"
"Oh my. I ... oh my." That was all I could say.
Laura continued, "We want to thank you -- I want to thank you. I was so worried about how Britney was dealing with the storm and everything that came after it ... and the fact that you brought her so much joy and refocused her on happier thoughts ... I don't know how to adequately thank you. Other than to try to do the same for you in some way. Like with this puppy ..."
I looked at her, with tears streaming down her face ... and at Britney, wearing the biggest smile I had seen on her this whole trip ... and at the puppy, who was staring back at me with eyes that seemed to see into my very soul. Somehow, in that split second, I knew that all of my secrets -- everything that had happened to me on this trip -- all of he concerns I had about what I thought were my new abilities ... I could share them with this animal and he wouldn't mind. I felt a peace wash over me, wave after wave of comfort, a sense that everything would be all right.
"Of course I will. I mean ... I don't know ... how, exactly. I don't know if I can take him on my flight ..."
"You can figure that all out." Laura leaned in to give me a hug, at just the same time that the puppy squirmed out of my grip and jumped to the ground. I quickly ran after him, eager to claim my new pet, leaving Laura to hug her child instead, now laughing at the situation.
***
At that moment, I gained a little bit more appreciation for all the fools scrambling to catch the puppy dog that I had been mocking just minutes before in the restaurant. This little guy was curious and spry and running everywhere and anywhere that he could.
Complicating matters a touch -- I hadn't named him yet (I mean, after all, he was only officially mine for mere seconds before he jumped out of my arms and all around the parking lot), which means I had nothing to holler out to get him to respond.
And he was so fast. I would catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, but he would be gone by the time I got around to the other side of the car. Clearly he was benefiting from the escape routes underneath the vehicles -- something I wasn't quite able (or willing) to do.
Then -- nothing. No movement that I'd catch in my peripheral vision. No scurrying animal that was just beyond my reach. Could I have possibly lost my new pet before I even had a chance to spend five minutes with him? I scanned the entire parking lot, looking for open car doors or people that might have been a distraction for him ... but saw nothing. Then, it hit me -- there in the corner of the lot, an open corral where the trash was kept.
I had found him in a trash pile once before ... and I just knew that he'd be there again. Sure enough, I ran over to that area and got inside the enclosure to find him pawing at a trash bag someone hadn't thrown in the dumpster since it was too full.
"Come here, you ..." I realized I needed to come up with a name fast so that we could start bonding (and, hopefully, so that there was some future scenario where he would be trained and come when called) ... so I started trying them out ... "... you little escape artist ... you Houdini you ... you trash demon ... you are trouble, aren't you ... you ... you ... who are you?"
Then it hit me -- and I knew what his name would be with a certainty that would allow my time on this trip to be remembered forever.
Complicating matters a touch -- I hadn't named him yet (I mean, after all, he was only officially mine for mere seconds before he jumped out of my arms and all around the parking lot), which means I had nothing to holler out to get him to respond.
And he was so fast. I would catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, but he would be gone by the time I got around to the other side of the car. Clearly he was benefiting from the escape routes underneath the vehicles -- something I wasn't quite able (or willing) to do.
Then -- nothing. No movement that I'd catch in my peripheral vision. No scurrying animal that was just beyond my reach. Could I have possibly lost my new pet before I even had a chance to spend five minutes with him? I scanned the entire parking lot, looking for open car doors or people that might have been a distraction for him ... but saw nothing. Then, it hit me -- there in the corner of the lot, an open corral where the trash was kept.
I had found him in a trash pile once before ... and I just knew that he'd be there again. Sure enough, I ran over to that area and got inside the enclosure to find him pawing at a trash bag someone hadn't thrown in the dumpster since it was too full.
"Come here, you ..." I realized I needed to come up with a name fast so that we could start bonding (and, hopefully, so that there was some future scenario where he would be trained and come when called) ... so I started trying them out ... "... you little escape artist ... you Houdini you ... you trash demon ... you are trouble, aren't you ... you ... you ... who are you?"
Then it hit me -- and I knew what his name would be with a certainty that would allow my time on this trip to be remembered forever.
***
Standing there in the trash corral, outside of Ruthie's Roadhouse, ready to wrap up my public service trip and to get back to campus and my internship and my impending graduation, holding my new puppy dog in my hands ... and pausing to reflect on everything that had happened to me on this trip to Florida ... things felt good.
Looking into his little eyes, not knowing then that I'd be telling this story for years to come, I started to talk directly to my little bundle of pit bull, "You and I met here in Florida. I was hauling out trash to the curb from a house that had been damaged in a hurricane, and you were hiding in the trash pile with your littermates. I heard the rustle of the rubbish and being an idiot, I thought you were an alligator ... and I screamed ... and you came out and you gave me little puppy kisses. And that ... yep, that's how you got your name ... Gator. Yes, you're my little Gator. Oh you're so cute. Gator - Gator - Gator - Gator."
A clearing of a throat interrupted the retelling of this "meet cute" story, which had admittedly degraded into one of those baby-talk-accompanied-by-s
"Hi. This is my new puppy. He had jumped out of my arms and I found him in here." I thought I'd try to explain my actions in hopes that it would seem less awkward.
The employee interrupted me. "Oh yeah -- I heard your story. I'm good. No need to repeat it."
Interestingly enough, I'd also hear that exact same response for years to come from friends and family who would hear me retell this story over and over again -- too many times.
But for tonight, I just blushed and nodded my head. "Gotcha -- I'm with the group in the private dining room."
"Yeah ... you might want to get back in there. I think they're wrapping up."
I grasped Gator firmly, held my head high, and marched past this kid and his judgment. Then I started thinking about immediate next steps -- namely, how I was going to get home with my new companion.
Looking into his little eyes, not knowing then that I'd be telling this story for years to come, I started to talk directly to my little bundle of pit bull, "You and I met here in Florida. I was hauling out trash to the curb from a house that had been damaged in a hurricane, and you were hiding in the trash pile with your littermates. I heard the rustle of the rubbish and being an idiot, I thought you were an alligator ... and I screamed ... and you came out and you gave me little puppy kisses. And that ... yep, that's how you got your name ... Gator. Yes, you're my little Gator. Oh you're so cute. Gator - Gator - Gator - Gator."
A clearing of a throat interrupted the retelling of this "meet cute" story, which had admittedly degraded into one of those baby-talk-accompanied-by-s
"Hi. This is my new puppy. He had jumped out of my arms and I found him in here." I thought I'd try to explain my actions in hopes that it would seem less awkward.
The employee interrupted me. "Oh yeah -- I heard your story. I'm good. No need to repeat it."
Interestingly enough, I'd also hear that exact same response for years to come from friends and family who would hear me retell this story over and over again -- too many times.
But for tonight, I just blushed and nodded my head. "Gotcha -- I'm with the group in the private dining room."
"Yeah ... you might want to get back in there. I think they're wrapping up."
I grasped Gator firmly, held my head high, and marched past this kid and his judgment. Then I started thinking about immediate next steps -- namely, how I was going to get home with my new companion.
***
How *would* I get him home?
I just couldn't imagine flying with a tiny little puppy like this. I mean, sure, he'd easily fit in one of those containers that I could slip under the seat in front of me. However, after the way my flight down to Florida had gone, it just seemed like it might be cruel to subject him to that kind of experience. Were I to take that path, I might be scarring him for life -- creating behavior problems that would only manifest themselves later on.
Plus -- I had cancelled my flight -- with intent to reschedule it at a later time so that I could enjoy tonight and rest tomorrow and not be rushing to the airport under that kind of stress to make my original early morning departure. Maybe flight wasn't the way to go anyway.
Maybe I could rent a car and take my time and drive home to campus. I'd have to extend my spring break vacation with my internship, but they liked me and I hadn't asked for any type of favors like this before. Of course, if I went that route, then I'd have to get puppy supplies down here in Florida for the trip, since that would extend my travel time many fold. Then there's the fact that my driving on the highway all the way back home might be just as traumatic for my little Gator.
After silently debating myself in Ruthie's Roadhouse's parking lot, I decided the ability to stop whenever I wanted -- make that whenever *we* wanted, as I wouldn't be driving alone -- nor would I be doing much of anything alone now that I had this companion -- that ability would make it worthwhile to organize a road trip.
I was just about to go inside to rejoin the others, when an all too familiar sound caught my attention and made me stop in my tracks. Sure enough, around the corner from that side door into the special dining room, there was Joey yelling into his cell phone again.
If there's one skill I had improved upon during this trip, it was my skill at eavesdropping -- and even though it had proven to lead to some odd circumstances -- I decided to hang back and see what new crisis was brewing. Even if he got angry again -- he hadn't hit me that morning when I thought he might, and I felt there was no way he would a guy holding a puppy dog, as that was one-upping the old "you wouldn't hit a guy with glasses, would you". If only I had worn my glasses that day instead of my contacts, I would have been doubly invincible.
I stopped all of this internal conversation, finally stood still and simply listened.
I just couldn't imagine flying with a tiny little puppy like this. I mean, sure, he'd easily fit in one of those containers that I could slip under the seat in front of me. However, after the way my flight down to Florida had gone, it just seemed like it might be cruel to subject him to that kind of experience. Were I to take that path, I might be scarring him for life -- creating behavior problems that would only manifest themselves later on.
Plus -- I had cancelled my flight -- with intent to reschedule it at a later time so that I could enjoy tonight and rest tomorrow and not be rushing to the airport under that kind of stress to make my original early morning departure. Maybe flight wasn't the way to go anyway.
Maybe I could rent a car and take my time and drive home to campus. I'd have to extend my spring break vacation with my internship, but they liked me and I hadn't asked for any type of favors like this before. Of course, if I went that route, then I'd have to get puppy supplies down here in Florida for the trip, since that would extend my travel time many fold. Then there's the fact that my driving on the highway all the way back home might be just as traumatic for my little Gator.
After silently debating myself in Ruthie's Roadhouse's parking lot, I decided the ability to stop whenever I wanted -- make that whenever *we* wanted, as I wouldn't be driving alone -- nor would I be doing much of anything alone now that I had this companion -- that ability would make it worthwhile to organize a road trip.
I was just about to go inside to rejoin the others, when an all too familiar sound caught my attention and made me stop in my tracks. Sure enough, around the corner from that side door into the special dining room, there was Joey yelling into his cell phone again.
If there's one skill I had improved upon during this trip, it was my skill at eavesdropping -- and even though it had proven to lead to some odd circumstances -- I decided to hang back and see what new crisis was brewing. Even if he got angry again -- he hadn't hit me that morning when I thought he might, and I felt there was no way he would a guy holding a puppy dog, as that was one-upping the old "you wouldn't hit a guy with glasses, would you". If only I had worn my glasses that day instead of my contacts, I would have been doubly invincible.
I stopped all of this internal conversation, finally stood still and simply listened.
***
Alas, it was too late.
Something had clearly upset Joey yet again. Or someone -- and almost certainly that someone and something were all wrapped up in that cell phone call that he had just finished.
I wasn't entirely sure whether he had seen me or not, but he practically ran right into us as he stormed back toward the door, looking just as angry as he had by the pool that morning.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound innocent enough even though I knew that I had intended to listen in if he had talked any longer. "Everything okay?"
"I don't want to talk about it." was his quick response. He nodded toward Gator, whom I had somehow managed to hold now for almost ten minutes straight without him squirming out of my grasp. "You keepin' it?"
"I am," I replied. "It' s kind of perfect timing. I don't really have plans for after graduation, other than spending the summer looking for a job. I'll have plenty of time to spend with him when he needs me the most. It kind of works out."
"So what about tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"Do you think the resort will be okay with you having him there in your room? And what about the bar? Are you going to take him there?"
"Actually -- I hadn't even started thinking about that. I was more concerned about how I was going to get him home. I just now decided to drive back instead of flying."
I thought I saw Joey's ears perk up. I wasn't completely sure, as he played so much close-to-the-vest. "Oh yeah?" was all he said. Were those wheels I could see turning in his head?
"Yep. Did you say something about a bar tonight? Is there an after party that I don't know about?"
"I think things are just getting planned. Everyone's riding that high of having completed this project, and I don't think partying in the jacuzzi for yet another night is what they are all looking for -- and it sounded like a bunch were looking forward to a little letting loose and drinking. They were still talking about it when I got my phone call."
"Huh." I didn't have anything else to add -- especially since I was processing about how being an immediate new puppy owner was going to cause me to make some hard parenting choices right away. We all stood there outside of the door for an extra long pause -- I felt like Joey was close to sharing with me what had just happened to him, but he just couldn't find a way to work it into the conversation.
We looked at each other awkwardly and experienced one more long pause -- and then he grabbed the door and held it open so I could walk in with Gator.
Something had clearly upset Joey yet again. Or someone -- and almost certainly that someone and something were all wrapped up in that cell phone call that he had just finished.
I wasn't entirely sure whether he had seen me or not, but he practically ran right into us as he stormed back toward the door, looking just as angry as he had by the pool that morning.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound innocent enough even though I knew that I had intended to listen in if he had talked any longer. "Everything okay?"
"I don't want to talk about it." was his quick response. He nodded toward Gator, whom I had somehow managed to hold now for almost ten minutes straight without him squirming out of my grasp. "You keepin' it?"
"I am," I replied. "It' s kind of perfect timing. I don't really have plans for after graduation, other than spending the summer looking for a job. I'll have plenty of time to spend with him when he needs me the most. It kind of works out."
"So what about tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"Do you think the resort will be okay with you having him there in your room? And what about the bar? Are you going to take him there?"
"Actually -- I hadn't even started thinking about that. I was more concerned about how I was going to get him home. I just now decided to drive back instead of flying."
I thought I saw Joey's ears perk up. I wasn't completely sure, as he played so much close-to-the-vest. "Oh yeah?" was all he said. Were those wheels I could see turning in his head?
"Yep. Did you say something about a bar tonight? Is there an after party that I don't know about?"
"I think things are just getting planned. Everyone's riding that high of having completed this project, and I don't think partying in the jacuzzi for yet another night is what they are all looking for -- and it sounded like a bunch were looking forward to a little letting loose and drinking. They were still talking about it when I got my phone call."
"Huh." I didn't have anything else to add -- especially since I was processing about how being an immediate new puppy owner was going to cause me to make some hard parenting choices right away. We all stood there outside of the door for an extra long pause -- I felt like Joey was close to sharing with me what had just happened to him, but he just couldn't find a way to work it into the conversation.
We looked at each other awkwardly and experienced one more long pause -- and then he grabbed the door and held it open so I could walk in with Gator.
***
For better of for worse, my time spent outside claiming my new puppy dog Gator from Laura and Britney, and chasing after that new puppy when he slipped away from me, and having an awkward conversation with Joey on my way back to the celebration meant that I had missed the end of all of the speeches.
It looked like we were the last group to go -- and although I had known that three of us were voted in to speak, I hadn't stuck around at lunch to find out whom was chosen. It was a pretty safe conclusion that Mattie was the last of the three, as he was just leaving the podium when Joey and Gator and I rejoined the group.
There was a flurry of activity as people got up and out of their seats to say goodbyes and to offer up thanks for the meal -- and the experience. Ruthie had made another appearance from the kitchen, and she had understandably gathered quite a crowd around her.
I noticed Mattie walking toward us, so I figured I'd get the skinny on the plans for the after party.
"Hey Mattie!" Before acknowledging that I had called out to him, he stopped to rub Gator's ears. Funny how puppies will serve as such a distraction. After sufficiently greeting the dog, he looked up at me.
"What's up?"
"Joey said that people were talking about going out tonight instead of going back to the resort. Have you heard any finalized plans?"
"Everyone wants to -- last I heard they're just trying to figure out where. What did you think of my speech?"
"It was great!" I couldn't stop myself from starting to blush. "I mean, I'm sure it was great. I actually was outside chasing him down ..." I lifted Gator up as my voice trailed off. This time I was intentionally using him as a distraction. It suddenly struck me that, if I had the time and the patience, I could learn magic and turn this puppy into an assistant that would focus people away from any tricks I conducted. And then another thought struck me -- Mattie wasn't of age to be hanging out in a bar, what with him being a few years behind us in school. I saw an opportunity that needed to be seized.
"So ... if we all go out, do you want to puppy sit for me?" Parenting problem almost solved, I thought.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I join you?"
"Oh -- are you old enough?" I realized that maybe I had misjudged. Maybe he was one of those kids who was held back in high school -- or took time off before starting college -- or maybe he was a military brat that transferred in and I had never taken the time to ask questions. He certainly looked like a young 'un, all things considered.
Mattie flashed me a mischievous grin. "Well ... let's just say that I have an ID that says I am." He punctuated the reply with a heavy-handed wink.
Laura, who must have been nearby this whole time and who had heard at least part of the conversation, jumped in. "Don't worry, Alan. I have a plan for that!"
It looked like we were the last group to go -- and although I had known that three of us were voted in to speak, I hadn't stuck around at lunch to find out whom was chosen. It was a pretty safe conclusion that Mattie was the last of the three, as he was just leaving the podium when Joey and Gator and I rejoined the group.
There was a flurry of activity as people got up and out of their seats to say goodbyes and to offer up thanks for the meal -- and the experience. Ruthie had made another appearance from the kitchen, and she had understandably gathered quite a crowd around her.
I noticed Mattie walking toward us, so I figured I'd get the skinny on the plans for the after party.
"Hey Mattie!" Before acknowledging that I had called out to him, he stopped to rub Gator's ears. Funny how puppies will serve as such a distraction. After sufficiently greeting the dog, he looked up at me.
"What's up?"
"Joey said that people were talking about going out tonight instead of going back to the resort. Have you heard any finalized plans?"
"Everyone wants to -- last I heard they're just trying to figure out where. What did you think of my speech?"
"It was great!" I couldn't stop myself from starting to blush. "I mean, I'm sure it was great. I actually was outside chasing him down ..." I lifted Gator up as my voice trailed off. This time I was intentionally using him as a distraction. It suddenly struck me that, if I had the time and the patience, I could learn magic and turn this puppy into an assistant that would focus people away from any tricks I conducted. And then another thought struck me -- Mattie wasn't of age to be hanging out in a bar, what with him being a few years behind us in school. I saw an opportunity that needed to be seized.
"So ... if we all go out, do you want to puppy sit for me?" Parenting problem almost solved, I thought.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I join you?"
"Oh -- are you old enough?" I realized that maybe I had misjudged. Maybe he was one of those kids who was held back in high school -- or took time off before starting college -- or maybe he was a military brat that transferred in and I had never taken the time to ask questions. He certainly looked like a young 'un, all things considered.
Mattie flashed me a mischievous grin. "Well ... let's just say that I have an ID that says I am." He punctuated the reply with a heavy-handed wink.
Laura, who must have been nearby this whole time and who had heard at least part of the conversation, jumped in. "Don't worry, Alan. I have a plan for that!"
***
"My daughter can watch your new puppy tonight while we all go out. Jose's oldest girl is coming to get Britney in a bit anyway and they can take him home with them. By the way -- did you name him yet?" Laura did have a plan after all -- and it apparently involved her going along with our group to the bar.
"I did name him ... Gator. I'm sure you, of all people, understand why." I gave her a knowing smile, hoping that she wouldn't start telling the story yet again -- luckily, everyone within ear shot had already heard it.
And then she squealed. There was just no other word to describe the sound. I got the feeling that she had already started drinking -- if not with dinner, then just before it. "That's perfect! Let me go find Britney and Jose and we can make this work."
Sure enough, everything simply came together, just like that. Within fifteen minutes, Ruthie's staff had cleared most of the tables. I had given up Gator to Britney for safe keeping, and made arrangements to stop by the next day on my way out of town.
The dinner participants started to thin out, as those who weren't making after-party plans said their good nights and good byes. Once what was a crowd was down to just our group and a few others, someone found champagne somewhere (I'm sure it was Ruthie making yet another donation to the cause), and there was some good-natured hootin' and hollerin' (initiated by Scooter, of course) and a round of toasting began.
That phase of the evening ended quickly (the bottles weren't bottomless, after all), and soon we were piling into cars and vans before we realized that we needed someone to tell us where to go. Laura came to the rescue, jumping out of her car and waving to get everyone's attention.
"I know a place! Follow me!" she screamed.
So we did -- a caravan of party people, ready to throw off the collective mantle of responsibility we'd been wearing for the three days of this project, and eager to just be college kids in Florida on spring break. As we got closer and closer to the drinking establishment, I couldn't help but think that the surroundings started to look familiar.
All the vehicles in our group found a parking spot in the lot, and we tumbled out and headed toward the back door of the bar. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been here before, and I proved my hunch right once I got inside and looked around.
This was the bar from the other night -- where Mario had been working and where I had witnessed the couple breaking up -- and where I had experienced this new download of the painful memories of a stranger for the second time.
If I had only known what was to come of that evening, I would have turned around and gone and taken my puppy back and settled into my resort room for the night. But I didn't know -- and I couldn't have known -- and so I walked up to the bar with a smile on my face and ordered a beer, and decided to embrace the party atmosphere whole-heartedly.
"I did name him ... Gator. I'm sure you, of all people, understand why." I gave her a knowing smile, hoping that she wouldn't start telling the story yet again -- luckily, everyone within ear shot had already heard it.
And then she squealed. There was just no other word to describe the sound. I got the feeling that she had already started drinking -- if not with dinner, then just before it. "That's perfect! Let me go find Britney and Jose and we can make this work."
Sure enough, everything simply came together, just like that. Within fifteen minutes, Ruthie's staff had cleared most of the tables. I had given up Gator to Britney for safe keeping, and made arrangements to stop by the next day on my way out of town.
The dinner participants started to thin out, as those who weren't making after-party plans said their good nights and good byes. Once what was a crowd was down to just our group and a few others, someone found champagne somewhere (I'm sure it was Ruthie making yet another donation to the cause), and there was some good-natured hootin' and hollerin' (initiated by Scooter, of course) and a round of toasting began.
That phase of the evening ended quickly (the bottles weren't bottomless, after all), and soon we were piling into cars and vans before we realized that we needed someone to tell us where to go. Laura came to the rescue, jumping out of her car and waving to get everyone's attention.
"I know a place! Follow me!" she screamed.
So we did -- a caravan of party people, ready to throw off the collective mantle of responsibility we'd been wearing for the three days of this project, and eager to just be college kids in Florida on spring break. As we got closer and closer to the drinking establishment, I couldn't help but think that the surroundings started to look familiar.
All the vehicles in our group found a parking spot in the lot, and we tumbled out and headed toward the back door of the bar. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been here before, and I proved my hunch right once I got inside and looked around.
This was the bar from the other night -- where Mario had been working and where I had witnessed the couple breaking up -- and where I had experienced this new download of the painful memories of a stranger for the second time.
If I had only known what was to come of that evening, I would have turned around and gone and taken my puppy back and settled into my resort room for the night. But I didn't know -- and I couldn't have known -- and so I walked up to the bar with a smile on my face and ordered a beer, and decided to embrace the party atmosphere whole-heartedly.
***
