Authors: Patricia Orvis
There are some men playing a card game, probably euchre, maybe poker, at a table
a few yards away. I guess my pals are boring, because we’re just sitting here, taking
every thing in. The food is all inside, I’m sensing, except for coolers out here
with beer, soda, the keg, and one table with some desserts for people to grab as
they please. There’s some pudding, it looks like, in a huge bowl with plates and
spoons next to it and an assortment of frosted cookies, which look delicious! We
all know kids and treats. This is located prettily under one of the apple trees,
and a few guys are manning some pretty nice-sized grills near the garage opening;
I can see the large flames. Can’t wait to taste what comes off those!
A few kids from my class and I are just chilling. While they aren’t really my crowd,
as I guess my only crowd, really, was Spud, they seem pretty okay. Tim Brenner, a
sports guru who also is a star wrestler at school and whom I’ve been to school with
since kindergarten, is here, and we get along pretty well. Knowing I’m a huge Sox
fan, he’s teasing me about their recent loss in a cross-town classic against the
Cubs, which would usually piss me off, but not today, when Deena arrives.
“What’s the big conversation?” After tossing the Coke, she sits next to me on the
picnic table, like we’re all doing. I’m not sure why people do that. It isn’t any
more comfortable, that’s for sure.
“Oh, just telling Jacks here about how the Sox are suckers, and the Cubs are gonna
be the big winners come the end of the season.” Tim takes a sip of his own soda.
“You wish, punk,” I say, teasing and looking at my tanned knees. I’m not sure where
to look.
“Oh, how about we have a little contest, and the loser must admit the winner’s team
is king?” He jabs me in the arm.
“What kind of contest?” I ask, looking up, then around the yard again. Deena is looking
at us with interest.
“Hmm, more like a dare, and who can last longest?”
“At what?” This kid can make me nervous.
“Ummm, not sure. No, wait. I got it! Duh. Perfect.” He grins. “Keg stand. See who
can last longest.” And he’s proud of this idea? Last time I did a keg stand, I puked.
Last summer at Spud’s buddy’s house. I never planned to try it again. I really don’t
want Deena to see me puke.
“Dude, it’s a bit early for that. People will think we’re wild loonies. We gotta
wait ‘til more people get drunk out here. The parents would never let it go.” I’m
hoping by the time this crowd is drunk enough to allow keg stands, Tim will have
completely forgotten this dumb idea.
“You’re probably right, but I’m gonna try to practice soon, as long as I don’t get
caught. Deena, don’t let your folks see us at the keg. Better warm up, Jack boy,
you and the Soxers goin’ down!” With this, he takes my Sox cap and hops off the table,
leaving my hair a mess.
“Yo, give my hat.” Getting up to go after him, this doesn’t make me too happy. I
was wearing the prized possession along with a plain White Sox tee shirt and khaki
shorts with some black flip flops.
“How much it mean to ya? Want to swim for it?” And he laughs his way running toward
the pool. Dang. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Deena and her clan.
At first, just walking quickly, I’m now jogging, if I ever want
to catch him. At
least my hair’s been freshly cut and isn’t all messy. I was just wearing the hat
to catch some sweat, show my liking for the Sox, and block some sun. But it’s a favorite
hat, and I don’t want Tim tossing it in the pool. Especially making me look like
a dork in front of all these rich people.
I’ve had this hat for five years. My dad got it for me at a Sox game he treated the
family to that summer. That was the best day. We stopped at Colonel Sanders for a
bucket of fried and greasy, but delicious wings and legs on the way up to Comisky
Park, ate our chicken while we watched the Sox win an exciting, but roasting game.
We all had so much fun that at the seventh inning stretch, he bought me the hat and
Zoë a snow cone, as that’s all she cared for.
I wore the black hat with white lettering of “White Sox” the rest of the game and
the rest of the week. Refused to take it off until Mom forced me to wash my hair.
Yep, until that point I was taking baths, not showers, so I wouldn’t have to wet
my head. She got so frustrated that it’s funny to think about. That same night after
the game, we wanted to keep the feeling high and stopped back at Colonel Sanders
for more chicken to eat as a late dinner when we got home. It so rocked, and I’ll
never forget it. So this hat, it’s like a part of my life.
Anyway, Tim races toward the pool, climbs up on the deck, and calls at me, “Jacko,
here goes” and fakes a throw in the water. How childish. He better freaking not.
As I climb up after him, careful not to slip on the wet steps leading to the deck
and begging for the hat back, he turns to fake again, slips on a wet spot and careens
right into the water, landing on some very heavy chick friend of Deena’s! This girl’s
on a cheesy Barbie raft, and with Tim’s weight and awkward landing, the raft slips
out from them, flops up out of the pool, flies high up through the yard
and lands
in the little bonfire across the way!
Not only are Tim and Cassie wrestling to get out of the water, embarrassed about
their collision, but she’s holding her eye that is likely blackened by his elbow
landing in it and calling him a pervert! But the raft catches fire, pops very loudly,
it’s plastic sizzling, and the people near the fire are screaming and backing up
awkwardly to avoid getting burned. Tim is soaked in his clothes, and the hat, which
he threw as he slipped, luckily has landed right at my feet. What luck. Well, for
me. Laughing, I bend down to save it. Tim is standing there, now, eyes wide, speechless,
and completely embarrassed!
What’s not lucky, however, is that Deena’s fat Uncle Joe, in his tight Cubs shirt,
khaki shorts and rugged tennis shoes and no socks, has been roasting two hotdogs
by the fire, minding his own business. At the raft’s landing in the fire, he flinches
so much that he trips backward and lands onto her mom’s friend, Jane, sitting behind
him. So, now, Jane has Uncle Joe in her lap, has a look on her face like she’s just
crapped her pants, and he wastes no time kissing her! Kiss her, all smothering and
gross! She screams, then twists her face in disgust, screams again, and struggles
to get up, shaking her body like she’s got the heebie jeebies! Yet, Joe shouts he’s
loved her all his life and, please, come back.
Flustered, poor Jane staggers toward the house, but, yes it get worse! She trips
on a garden hose and falls face first into the dessert table. You can imagine the
mess and the chaos. She’s now yelping about that, her pink sundress covered in chocolate
pudding. Yikes! My god. What a spectacle.
All the adults are gasping, “Oh, My,” and “Oh, Dear” and rushing to help, while the
teens are yelling “Go Uncle Joe” and laughing their asses off. I look at Deena, who
has followed me to the deck, and we’re both speechless now. Her eyes wide open, she
grabs
my hand, pulls me down the steps and around the side of the house, away from
the commotion. Both of us are out of breath.
“Whew! I’m so sorry you had to see all that mess. Let’s just wait here ‘til the chaos
cools. I was just about to introduce you to my ‘rents, but now they’ll have to settle
things down for a bit, and if they see me, I’m sure I’ll get some cleaning up job
or asked to entertain or offer explanations to the increasingly drunk adults, and
I so am not in the mood.” She’s rambling quickly, shaking her head, laughing, a bit,
too.
All of a sudden, we both start laughing, hysterically.
Then, catching our breaths, she says, “Oh, my poor, Aunt Jane!” laughing again, shaking
her head.
“Jane?” I ask. “Poor Uncle Joe,” I laugh.
“Poor Tim!” She continues.
“Poor Barbie float!”
We can’t stop laughing. We’re bent over, hands on knees, trying to stop laughing
and catch our breaths. That was awesome.
She pauses, looking at me, then out at the house next door, the side of another immense
white house, another of the largest in town, separated from hers by a white picket
fence that has those purple and yellow flowers along its base. Perfect.
“Jack,” she says, “My goodness. That was funny, but I’m sorry you had to see that.
We aren’t always like this, the drinking and stuff. Usually, things are much classier.
This is embarrassing.”
“Deena, no. It’s cool. People are having a good time, and I got my hat back! Why
should you be embarrassed? God, you’ve certainly not met my relatives, then! At least,
yours are mostly getting drunk on wine! Mine drink the beer that’s on sale and drink
it out of plastic cups and coffee mugs if that’s all there is. My Uncle Ned’s favorite
is Old Milwaukee beer in the can, cuddled by one of those can holders,
and it reads
‘You might be a redneck if…’ Plus, that was really funny. God, I’ll be able to hold
that over Tim for awhile. Classic. I needed that laugh.”
“True,” she agrees. Then, before I know it, Deena is kissing me! Kissing me! On the
lips!
“You’re so sweet, Jack. Making me feel so okay. You’re great. Mike, he always put
down my family, saying we shouldn’t say this or that or play such and such game or
eat certain foods. One time he was over, and my dad was grilling hot dogs, and Mike
said that was hillbilly food, told me I better serve something decent next time,
and as a punishment, I could spend my evening without his good company. Then, he
left and didn’t call for two days, until he needed me to be his date for his parents’
anniversary dinner. My parents may have money, but they aren’t stuck up. He always
made me feel like I did everything wrong, and he was so possessive. God, I’m sorry.
I don’t mean to ramble. I guess I’m just so grateful you’re here.” She’s still standing
oh so close, smells so good; I want her to kiss me again.
She does, that strawberry flavored lip gloss tastes like heaven, better than any
meal ever! I have a new love for strawberry lip gloss! Wait, I don’t mean it like
that; you know what I mean. Sweet lips, beautiful girl….
She pulls away, looks me in the eye, “I like you, Jack.”
“I’ve always liked you, Deena.” I choke out.
She smiles. “What you say we give this a try?”
“I say you’re on.”
“Come on, sounds like things have calmed down. We’ll talk more later,” and she leads
me back to the party. She could lead me into a pit of snakes or wild bulldogs, and
I’d follow. Her hand in mine feels so soft, such a perfect fit. I’m floating, I’m
not even on earth. Deena has kissed me! Me! And wants to be with me. Me! Oh my. This
is turning out quite nicely. Let’s just hope, hope, hope, Tim forgets about that
keg stand.
Now that all the chaos has settled, but has given the conversation some interesting
turns, it’s now time to grab some grub, the men grilling yell out, so we head into
the garage area to where Deena’s mom has set up the table of food. We fill our plates
with hamburgers, topped with pickles and fresh tomatoes, and a variety of pasta and
potato salads, chips. I can’t stand mayonnaise, so I avoid any of those salad-like
things and stick to Doritos. Top it all off with a fresh can of soda and fresh chocolate
chip cookies. Sweet.
Yet, I am sticking to Sprite. Since Spud’s death, beer just hasn’t appealed to me.
It’s not that I’ve thought so much about it, but maybe if they hadn’t been drinking
that day, they would have decided that jumping off that damn bridge wasn’t such a
terrific idea. I don’t know. Probably would have done it anyway. In fact, the death
was ruled an accident, because there was no proof of the drinking or any foul play.
Sure, I know none of the guys were truly at fault, but still. Shouldn’t have let
him jump. Still, the whole beer thing is truly on my mind, and many people are talking
about imposing strict guidelines and penalties against people who jump from the bridge.
If only there had been some barriers before.
Come on, Jack, think about the party and Deena, not sad stuff
, I tell myself.
Meeting Deena’s parents isn’t stressful at all, and they ask me all about things
I like to do as we sit by them at the table they’ve occupied when they weren’t cooking
or serving. One, that I’ve not mentioned much, but found myself quite excited and
energetic to talk about was joining the school baseball team late this summer. Even
though it was something Spud and I were planning to tackle together, and lately I
have been debating it, suddenly, it really seems like a chance, a smart idea, and
Mom would be happy.
I have been following the White Sox on and off but haven’t gotten into baseball as
much as I normally would, due to other things on my mind. I have played in the town
leagues every summer since I was five. Now that I’m too old for that, joining the
school team should be my next step. I used to love playing second base for Big Dave
and Mike, the fun-loving, muscular and tattooed coaches whose team I always seemed
to land on. From the Pee Wee League Giants to the Little League Indians, Dave and
Mike always ended up being the coaches. They were like second dads to me.
I remember when Zoë and I were on the same Pee Wee team. What a riot looking back
at those team pictures on our living room wall, where we all looked so dorky in our
over-sized hats and team shirts! Zoë always got stuck as an extra in the outfield,
as she was only five and a girl. Second base was where I always played, or next to
Coach Dave on the pitcher’s mound. Those were the days, and I’m hoping to stay at
second base with the school team!
Each summer, we also have a family reunion, which is supposed to be held next Sunday.
So, Deena’s parents and I talk
about that, too. I’m not even sure it’s taking place
this year, because the family isn’t talking about it. Too much happened with Spud’s
accident. And the entertainment was usually provided by his dad, who’s having such
a difficult time dealing with the death and is taking some kind of calming pills
and seeing a shrink dude. I really doubt this reunion. Now, our reunion is always
on a Sunday in July, and this party of Deena’s was already well-planned ahead, so
hers is kinda ok to go ahead with. Not really with ours.