Sunday, August 20, 2006
Saturday In the Park.
My brother James calls up, impatience coloring his voice, "Where are you? We're downstairs."
"I'm halfway down the steps now." I forget how close he lives by automobile, and I always think I can run back and get one more thing, and oh! I forgot my Carmex, do I have my glucometer, I should bring some sunglasses. He's always downstairs waiting before I'm ready.
I hit the front door, and there's the car full of boys. It's Mike's car. Mike is James' high school buddy, he's a Spaniard. Call him anything else, and he might cut ya. But, he's a cool kid, if a bit quiet. He'd come to visit and stay for hours, not saying more than a few words the whole time. It's not a big deal, that's just Mike. He married his high school sweetheart. It would be sweet if they weren't so miserable.
Then there's Joe. Joe is James' roommate and he pisses me off. A lot. He's Korean, adopted by white parents. He's a conspiracy theorist. It's strange because he and I started out asking the same sorts of questions. Where's god? Does he give a crap? Why are people so fucked up? He went the conspiracy, fucked up government route, I went the scientific, cultural studies approach. He's a smart guy, but sometimes I want to punch him. Of course the government lies to us. There are some thing outside of your control, and I figure you should do the best you can to live life within those constraints. Or, at the very least, if you feel that strongly about it, do something! Crimeny, get involved in Amnesty International, or politics or something.
I hop in, and make my apologies. Mike is blasting some choice 80s music. Caribbean Queen to be precise. I laugh and the four of us start singing. Mike gets heated talking about how today's music sucks so much ass and sometimes he needs to go back to the fuckin' music he grew up with. He's 23. I laugh at how he already sounds like an old man, talking about kids these days. No wonder he and James are such good friends. They're both old souls. I can see them at 40 yelling at kids to get off their lawns.
I've never been a passenger to Mike's driving. He's not so quiet when he's on the road. I heard all manner of profanity delivered in the dulcet tones of a man on a murderous rampage. The freeway system is destroyed by construction, has been and will continue to be for a couple of years. Mike can't understand why people can't fucking drive when there's fucking construction on the goddamn road. It's not that fucking hard, it's too bad you can't just ram stupid motherfuckers. Like that idiot on the motorcycle in shorts and no fucking helmet. Jesus Christ.
We're heading to another city for Nate's party. He's moving to Alabama in a few weeks for work. This is another of James' friends that I've come to know over the years. It's about an hour drive, so we share a joint and sing. Mike and the Mechanics. Eddie Money. Dire Straits.
We pull into a public park. His family had rented the entire park, it seemed. They had two baseball diamonds, basketball courts, as well as the clubhouse available for us. They had all manner of outdoor games set up, footballs, frisbees and a beer pong table.
I'm excited for the beer pong. I've never seen it, only read about it. All I really knew was that it was a drinking game that may or may not involve ping pong balls.
It's amazing how complicated it all is. And disgusting. So, they have a table set up, with three triangles on either end. These triangles are the traced outline of the thing you use to rack pool balls. There are two teams of two, and two ping pong balls, which are to be bounced in the direction of opposing team's beer cup. If it lands therein, you must drink. When you lose, you drink all the beers left. There are some more rules pertaining to bouncing and catching, but it's a lot of extra effort to drink lots of beer.
Mike and I exchange the 'white people are so weird' glance that will become the theme of the afternoon.
Neither he nor I drink, so we sit off to the side to watch the first of many beer pong games. I gross out at how the ball bounces all over the ground, the guys pick it up, rub it all over their sweaty shirts, and throw it again. They fish the ball out of their cups with their grubby hands and drink! Guys are nasty.
On one toss, James grabs his cup, lifts it to his lips and stops suddenly to dig around in it. "There's a spider in here," he announces. He doesn't even take the spider out, he pushes it off to the side, drinks the brew, then whips the spider out afterward.
Later on some girls play. One girl gets a cup filled with water to wash the balls off after she pulls them out of her beer. This cracks me up. It just bounced all over the ground before it landed in your beer! Kids these days.
After the game, James announces he's not chugging anymore Pabst, and we go check out the other games.
There are several pitching games set up. A few with the bean bags that you have to underhand onto a platform. You make more points if the bag goes in the hole. We were meh on that one.
We get wrapped up in a ladder game. That's what I'm calling it, anyway. So, there are bolo like things, basically two rubber balls connected with a cord. You whip those across the field onto a ladder. If it wraps around the top, 3 points, middle is 2, bottom is one. We just whip the balls and laugh. Mike and I discuss how we feel like we're at carnival. All we needed were some stuffed animal prizes. A drunk and disheveled looking bear for the beer pong champions. A Brewers bear for the softball champions.
"It's so organized!" He exclaims, "Any other party in a park I've been to, the fuckin' kids run around all wild and the grown ups stand around getting hammered."
Then Nate shows us the game that would occupy us the rest of the day.
Washers. Great googly moogly this game is fun!
Two boxes placed about 20 feet apart. In the middle of these boxes is a cup. You have three 2 inch washers that you have to pitch into the box across from you. You cup your hand backwards like a chimp and lay the washer against your fingers, then whip them up and over. 1 point in the box, 3 in the cup. I know it sounds silly, but damn if the four of us didn't spend hours playing.
Nate briefly explained the exceedingly complicated rules and hurried off. We were playing kinda silly at first, throwing the washers, then walking across to retrieve them, then throwing them back. Joe suggested each team stay on one side, and we'd just throw the washers back and forth. Leave it to the Asian to find an efficient way to play Washers. Turns out, we were still doing it wrong, but who cares. James even tried throwing it overhand, basketball style.
I loved it because I get easily frustrated with games, and end up quitting after a while. I get entirely too pissed off and it's no longer fun. Then I whip the controller/ball/paddle whatever across the room and storm out screaming "I hate this game." But not with washers, oh no, this made me want to keep going. I must get that washer in the cup! I did feel kinda crappy that James and I were teamed up and I was stinking up the joint. He was a good sport about it, though. We decide that we need to take this game to the city! This is a game that should be shared with everyone, not just the suburban people who go camping.
James and Joe decide to play another game of beer pong. They ask if Mike and I are going to come.
"Nah dude, I'm about to hit up that playground," Mike says.
"Hell yea!" I chime in, "I love swings!"
James and Joe laugh at us as we scurry to the swingset. We hop on silently, and swing up and out. The swings are creaky and annoying, so we slow to a stop, marveling at how much playgrounds have changed since we were kids.
There is a nice squishy surface beneath the woodchips. The chains on the swings are coated in thick plastic. No more pinched skin between chin links. No more rust stains on your hands. There's a gazebo like building, which is an enormous sandbox, complete with fixtures for sifting the dirt. There's a jungle gym, set up to look like a ship, with periscopes, ramps, steering wheels and rope ladders. There's a monkey bar section with a handle that you can zip across from one end to another. A loop with circles for you to climb on to and across. There are three wheels mounted to the underside of the bar, so you can hang and spin. We lament that fact that there isn't a merry go round.
"Not enough fucking opportunities for kids to hurt themselves anymore." Mike declares. He swears a lot around the kids. I feel bad for them, but I'm sure they heard it before. I wonder, though, as the parents start shuffling their kids away from us and towards the pirate ship. I figure if it was that big of a deal, the moms would have spoken up, right?
Mike and I settle into our swings and commence to chat.
I get into how my last relationship ended. He's shocked and disgusted at how easily people are willing to let relationships go. Then we talk about his marriage. It's scarily similar to my first relationship. I was with him from 16-26. The difference is, I didn't marry him. Other than that, it's almost a rerun of my life. Slowly, he lets out that he doesn't know what to do. He's unhappy, and he's still at that point where he doesn't want to give up, but he's realizing that maybe that's his only choice. I know how hard it is for him to say it. It took me years to admit that to myself, and more years to make the choice to end the relationship.
That's a fucked up place to be. For years, this person is a part of your life. You essentially grow up together. Then you start to wake up to the fact that all you have left is familiarity. You don't have anything in common, you don't even really talk anymore. You just exist together. And you wonder if this is all there is. Is this how relationships turn out? It's sad, and it's a letdown, especially if you believed in romantic ideals when you started out.
Eventually we lapse into silence, swaying on our swings, lost in thought. James walks up, with a plateful of food.
"Lunch is here, fools!" He gives me a quizzical look.
"We were talking about how I ended up back in Milwaukee. He didn't know I moved back."
"That's what you were talking about this whole time? Ha. I thought you fuckers were over here falling in love or some shit."
Nate's dad asks me if I'd like to go for a motorcycle ride. Of course I would. Motorcycles are awesome. He tells me he'll be right back, and hurries away. I look at Mike and we laugh.
"It really is like a carnival! We have rides and everything!"
While we wait for Nate's dad, we talk about all the terrible motorcycle accidents we've heard about. Road rash and totaled bikes. But we all agree that we still think about getting a motorcycle someday.
Nate's dad comes around the corner on a BMW cruising bike. With smooth jazz blaring from the speakers. I'm suddenly embarrassed. It looks like I'm the only one going for a ride. I look at James and Mike, momentarily terrified.
"Is that Sade? Is Nate's dad hitting on me?!" I run off towards my ride. Turns out, he just loves his bike and jumps on any opportunity to make someone ride with him.
I feel like I'm in a movie, cruising around this subdivision with laid back saxophone as our soundtrack. We fly past wooded areas and well manicured lawns. While on our cruise, I decide I need a boyfriend with a motorcycle. It would be so much more fun if my driver was a hot guy for me to wrap my arms around.
As we come back around to the park, I see a Black fellow coming out to bring his puppy back inside. I smile and wave. He grins broadly and waves back. I love the instant camaraderie that comes from being the only brown people in an area. I think he was just as surprised to see me as I was him.
Back at the party, the family is bringing out dessert. Cake and watermelon. "Ice cold watermelon!" Nate's mom hollers.
As she walks past people, they take yummy slices off the plate. Everyone is slurping happily, going on and on about how terrific the watermelon is. And I want some, but I decline. I can't eat watermelon in public! How stupid is that? Every single person there had some, but I just couldn't do it. I'm an idiot. I really need to get over this racial fixation I have. It's summertime, everyone eats watermelon. Why would they be snickering, "look at the black girl! They really do love watermelon" when they're eating it too?
We then decide to play some more Washers. After a while, Nate comes around to get in a game with us. He and Joe were on one team, and Mike and I were another. James decided to be the photographer. The way it's set up, one person from each team is on one side, so Nate and I were paired up. I decide to tell Nate he has pretty eyes, because he does.
Nate has played countless games of beer pong at this point, so he stumbles a bit and says, "Really?"
Then he walks up, two inches from my face and stares at my eyes.
"Aren't my eyes just like yours?"
"Ha! No...Nate, my eyes are brown."
"So're mine! Look!" He opens them wide.
"Your eyes are green, babe." I say, laughing.
"Nuh uh!" He protests. He gets a bit closer. "Look! Brown, like yours."
"No, yours are green AND brown. You have a rim of brown by your pupil and then some green and then another ring of brown."
"Wow! Really?! I didn't know that, I'm gonna have to look in the mirror later."
At this moment it occurs to me we're standing two inches apart and the other three guys are 20 feet away wondering what's happening. I look over and Mike and Joe are confused and snickering. My brother doesn't seem to be amused.
He yells out, "Hey man! Back up off my sister!"
Now I'm flustered and blow my first three washer pitches. James abandons his photographer post and comes to stand by Nate and I. He's not saying anything, just standing there. He walks off to grab one of the bolos from the other game. He stands, watching Nate and I, flipping the bolo like some nunchakus. (I had no idea until today that it wasn't spelled nunchucks.)
"You can fuck somebody up with one of these things," he says offhandedly. He's 6'3 to mine and Nate's 5'5. And he has a second degree blackbelt. Very casually, he whips the bolo back towards the ladder.
I'm a little nervous, because I can't really tell if James is pissed off. At the same time, I think it's sweet that he's subtly threatening bodily harm to a dude he's been friends with for years.
Mike and I rally for the win. I am awesome at this game! I figure it's Nate's inebriation, not my brother's martial arts demonstration that ruins the game for him. Either way, victory is sweet.
I apologize to Nate. I tell him I hope my brother doesn't give him a hard time because I was flirting with him.
He stares at me for a second. "Wait. You were?!"
I laugh really long and hard. I hope James doesn't say anything to him. Poor guy didn't even know what was happening.
In the end, we all wish Nate luck, say to keep in touch. I give him a nice hug. I hope he realizes it means, "call me. Don't tell James."
"I'm halfway down the steps now." I forget how close he lives by automobile, and I always think I can run back and get one more thing, and oh! I forgot my Carmex, do I have my glucometer, I should bring some sunglasses. He's always downstairs waiting before I'm ready.
I hit the front door, and there's the car full of boys. It's Mike's car. Mike is James' high school buddy, he's a Spaniard. Call him anything else, and he might cut ya. But, he's a cool kid, if a bit quiet. He'd come to visit and stay for hours, not saying more than a few words the whole time. It's not a big deal, that's just Mike. He married his high school sweetheart. It would be sweet if they weren't so miserable.
Then there's Joe. Joe is James' roommate and he pisses me off. A lot. He's Korean, adopted by white parents. He's a conspiracy theorist. It's strange because he and I started out asking the same sorts of questions. Where's god? Does he give a crap? Why are people so fucked up? He went the conspiracy, fucked up government route, I went the scientific, cultural studies approach. He's a smart guy, but sometimes I want to punch him. Of course the government lies to us. There are some thing outside of your control, and I figure you should do the best you can to live life within those constraints. Or, at the very least, if you feel that strongly about it, do something! Crimeny, get involved in Amnesty International, or politics or something.
I hop in, and make my apologies. Mike is blasting some choice 80s music. Caribbean Queen to be precise. I laugh and the four of us start singing. Mike gets heated talking about how today's music sucks so much ass and sometimes he needs to go back to the fuckin' music he grew up with. He's 23. I laugh at how he already sounds like an old man, talking about kids these days. No wonder he and James are such good friends. They're both old souls. I can see them at 40 yelling at kids to get off their lawns.
I've never been a passenger to Mike's driving. He's not so quiet when he's on the road. I heard all manner of profanity delivered in the dulcet tones of a man on a murderous rampage. The freeway system is destroyed by construction, has been and will continue to be for a couple of years. Mike can't understand why people can't fucking drive when there's fucking construction on the goddamn road. It's not that fucking hard, it's too bad you can't just ram stupid motherfuckers. Like that idiot on the motorcycle in shorts and no fucking helmet. Jesus Christ.
We're heading to another city for Nate's party. He's moving to Alabama in a few weeks for work. This is another of James' friends that I've come to know over the years. It's about an hour drive, so we share a joint and sing. Mike and the Mechanics. Eddie Money. Dire Straits.
We pull into a public park. His family had rented the entire park, it seemed. They had two baseball diamonds, basketball courts, as well as the clubhouse available for us. They had all manner of outdoor games set up, footballs, frisbees and a beer pong table.
I'm excited for the beer pong. I've never seen it, only read about it. All I really knew was that it was a drinking game that may or may not involve ping pong balls.
It's amazing how complicated it all is. And disgusting. So, they have a table set up, with three triangles on either end. These triangles are the traced outline of the thing you use to rack pool balls. There are two teams of two, and two ping pong balls, which are to be bounced in the direction of opposing team's beer cup. If it lands therein, you must drink. When you lose, you drink all the beers left. There are some more rules pertaining to bouncing and catching, but it's a lot of extra effort to drink lots of beer.
Mike and I exchange the 'white people are so weird' glance that will become the theme of the afternoon.
Neither he nor I drink, so we sit off to the side to watch the first of many beer pong games. I gross out at how the ball bounces all over the ground, the guys pick it up, rub it all over their sweaty shirts, and throw it again. They fish the ball out of their cups with their grubby hands and drink! Guys are nasty.
On one toss, James grabs his cup, lifts it to his lips and stops suddenly to dig around in it. "There's a spider in here," he announces. He doesn't even take the spider out, he pushes it off to the side, drinks the brew, then whips the spider out afterward.
Later on some girls play. One girl gets a cup filled with water to wash the balls off after she pulls them out of her beer. This cracks me up. It just bounced all over the ground before it landed in your beer! Kids these days.
After the game, James announces he's not chugging anymore Pabst, and we go check out the other games.
There are several pitching games set up. A few with the bean bags that you have to underhand onto a platform. You make more points if the bag goes in the hole. We were meh on that one.
We get wrapped up in a ladder game. That's what I'm calling it, anyway. So, there are bolo like things, basically two rubber balls connected with a cord. You whip those across the field onto a ladder. If it wraps around the top, 3 points, middle is 2, bottom is one. We just whip the balls and laugh. Mike and I discuss how we feel like we're at carnival. All we needed were some stuffed animal prizes. A drunk and disheveled looking bear for the beer pong champions. A Brewers bear for the softball champions.
"It's so organized!" He exclaims, "Any other party in a park I've been to, the fuckin' kids run around all wild and the grown ups stand around getting hammered."
Then Nate shows us the game that would occupy us the rest of the day.
Washers. Great googly moogly this game is fun!
Two boxes placed about 20 feet apart. In the middle of these boxes is a cup. You have three 2 inch washers that you have to pitch into the box across from you. You cup your hand backwards like a chimp and lay the washer against your fingers, then whip them up and over. 1 point in the box, 3 in the cup. I know it sounds silly, but damn if the four of us didn't spend hours playing.
Nate briefly explained the exceedingly complicated rules and hurried off. We were playing kinda silly at first, throwing the washers, then walking across to retrieve them, then throwing them back. Joe suggested each team stay on one side, and we'd just throw the washers back and forth. Leave it to the Asian to find an efficient way to play Washers. Turns out, we were still doing it wrong, but who cares. James even tried throwing it overhand, basketball style.
I loved it because I get easily frustrated with games, and end up quitting after a while. I get entirely too pissed off and it's no longer fun. Then I whip the controller/ball/paddle whatever across the room and storm out screaming "I hate this game." But not with washers, oh no, this made me want to keep going. I must get that washer in the cup! I did feel kinda crappy that James and I were teamed up and I was stinking up the joint. He was a good sport about it, though. We decide that we need to take this game to the city! This is a game that should be shared with everyone, not just the suburban people who go camping.
James and Joe decide to play another game of beer pong. They ask if Mike and I are going to come.
"Nah dude, I'm about to hit up that playground," Mike says.
"Hell yea!" I chime in, "I love swings!"
James and Joe laugh at us as we scurry to the swingset. We hop on silently, and swing up and out. The swings are creaky and annoying, so we slow to a stop, marveling at how much playgrounds have changed since we were kids.
There is a nice squishy surface beneath the woodchips. The chains on the swings are coated in thick plastic. No more pinched skin between chin links. No more rust stains on your hands. There's a gazebo like building, which is an enormous sandbox, complete with fixtures for sifting the dirt. There's a jungle gym, set up to look like a ship, with periscopes, ramps, steering wheels and rope ladders. There's a monkey bar section with a handle that you can zip across from one end to another. A loop with circles for you to climb on to and across. There are three wheels mounted to the underside of the bar, so you can hang and spin. We lament that fact that there isn't a merry go round.
"Not enough fucking opportunities for kids to hurt themselves anymore." Mike declares. He swears a lot around the kids. I feel bad for them, but I'm sure they heard it before. I wonder, though, as the parents start shuffling their kids away from us and towards the pirate ship. I figure if it was that big of a deal, the moms would have spoken up, right?
Mike and I settle into our swings and commence to chat.
I get into how my last relationship ended. He's shocked and disgusted at how easily people are willing to let relationships go. Then we talk about his marriage. It's scarily similar to my first relationship. I was with him from 16-26. The difference is, I didn't marry him. Other than that, it's almost a rerun of my life. Slowly, he lets out that he doesn't know what to do. He's unhappy, and he's still at that point where he doesn't want to give up, but he's realizing that maybe that's his only choice. I know how hard it is for him to say it. It took me years to admit that to myself, and more years to make the choice to end the relationship.
That's a fucked up place to be. For years, this person is a part of your life. You essentially grow up together. Then you start to wake up to the fact that all you have left is familiarity. You don't have anything in common, you don't even really talk anymore. You just exist together. And you wonder if this is all there is. Is this how relationships turn out? It's sad, and it's a letdown, especially if you believed in romantic ideals when you started out.
Eventually we lapse into silence, swaying on our swings, lost in thought. James walks up, with a plateful of food.
"Lunch is here, fools!" He gives me a quizzical look.
"We were talking about how I ended up back in Milwaukee. He didn't know I moved back."
"That's what you were talking about this whole time? Ha. I thought you fuckers were over here falling in love or some shit."
Nate's dad asks me if I'd like to go for a motorcycle ride. Of course I would. Motorcycles are awesome. He tells me he'll be right back, and hurries away. I look at Mike and we laugh.
"It really is like a carnival! We have rides and everything!"
While we wait for Nate's dad, we talk about all the terrible motorcycle accidents we've heard about. Road rash and totaled bikes. But we all agree that we still think about getting a motorcycle someday.
Nate's dad comes around the corner on a BMW cruising bike. With smooth jazz blaring from the speakers. I'm suddenly embarrassed. It looks like I'm the only one going for a ride. I look at James and Mike, momentarily terrified.
"Is that Sade? Is Nate's dad hitting on me?!" I run off towards my ride. Turns out, he just loves his bike and jumps on any opportunity to make someone ride with him.
I feel like I'm in a movie, cruising around this subdivision with laid back saxophone as our soundtrack. We fly past wooded areas and well manicured lawns. While on our cruise, I decide I need a boyfriend with a motorcycle. It would be so much more fun if my driver was a hot guy for me to wrap my arms around.
As we come back around to the park, I see a Black fellow coming out to bring his puppy back inside. I smile and wave. He grins broadly and waves back. I love the instant camaraderie that comes from being the only brown people in an area. I think he was just as surprised to see me as I was him.
Back at the party, the family is bringing out dessert. Cake and watermelon. "Ice cold watermelon!" Nate's mom hollers.
As she walks past people, they take yummy slices off the plate. Everyone is slurping happily, going on and on about how terrific the watermelon is. And I want some, but I decline. I can't eat watermelon in public! How stupid is that? Every single person there had some, but I just couldn't do it. I'm an idiot. I really need to get over this racial fixation I have. It's summertime, everyone eats watermelon. Why would they be snickering, "look at the black girl! They really do love watermelon" when they're eating it too?
We then decide to play some more Washers. After a while, Nate comes around to get in a game with us. He and Joe were on one team, and Mike and I were another. James decided to be the photographer. The way it's set up, one person from each team is on one side, so Nate and I were paired up. I decide to tell Nate he has pretty eyes, because he does.
Nate has played countless games of beer pong at this point, so he stumbles a bit and says, "Really?"
Then he walks up, two inches from my face and stares at my eyes.
"Aren't my eyes just like yours?"
"Ha! No...Nate, my eyes are brown."
"So're mine! Look!" He opens them wide.
"Your eyes are green, babe." I say, laughing.
"Nuh uh!" He protests. He gets a bit closer. "Look! Brown, like yours."
"No, yours are green AND brown. You have a rim of brown by your pupil and then some green and then another ring of brown."
"Wow! Really?! I didn't know that, I'm gonna have to look in the mirror later."
At this moment it occurs to me we're standing two inches apart and the other three guys are 20 feet away wondering what's happening. I look over and Mike and Joe are confused and snickering. My brother doesn't seem to be amused.
He yells out, "Hey man! Back up off my sister!"
Now I'm flustered and blow my first three washer pitches. James abandons his photographer post and comes to stand by Nate and I. He's not saying anything, just standing there. He walks off to grab one of the bolos from the other game. He stands, watching Nate and I, flipping the bolo like some nunchakus. (I had no idea until today that it wasn't spelled nunchucks.)
"You can fuck somebody up with one of these things," he says offhandedly. He's 6'3 to mine and Nate's 5'5. And he has a second degree blackbelt. Very casually, he whips the bolo back towards the ladder.
I'm a little nervous, because I can't really tell if James is pissed off. At the same time, I think it's sweet that he's subtly threatening bodily harm to a dude he's been friends with for years.
Mike and I rally for the win. I am awesome at this game! I figure it's Nate's inebriation, not my brother's martial arts demonstration that ruins the game for him. Either way, victory is sweet.
I apologize to Nate. I tell him I hope my brother doesn't give him a hard time because I was flirting with him.
He stares at me for a second. "Wait. You were?!"
I laugh really long and hard. I hope James doesn't say anything to him. Poor guy didn't even know what was happening.
In the end, we all wish Nate luck, say to keep in touch. I give him a nice hug. I hope he realizes it means, "call me. Don't tell James."
// posted by jess @ 6:13 PM 
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Hahaha, that was a fun day. By the way, you're reading into the Nate thing too much. I was just trying to embarrass him. No intentions of beating anyone with ladder golf balls. You should go for it. Alabama could use more interracial couples.
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# posted by 
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