Old Fashioned

Chapter 19: I Miss My Friends When They Are Gone…

“There’s something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.”

-Johnny Cash

There’s some truth behind Johnny’s words, evident by the somber mood looming in the Benz. Not much was said during the car ride to the Milwaukee Airport. Was it because the whole night before was spent dancing and sweating out half our body weight, thus lacking any extra energy to move our mouths? That was a good possibility. Could it be that there was still a little disdain felt amongst us, having dealt with a pair of sardonic siblings that stayed up too late raising hell? The probability was high—quite high in fact. Or maybe—not likely, but just maybe, the morbid feelings were simply based off sadness? After all, we were only a few minutes from having to say goodbye.

To be honest, I’ve never been that good at goodbyes. I never say anything until the end, and then it’s like I can’t shut up, blabbering on for 15 extra minutes sometimes, a deficiency in my personality that has annoyed the hell out of my friend Austin Moody for decades, going as far as to coin the term “World’s Longest Goodbye.” And judging by Bill and Gretch’s lack of dialogue, they weren’t very good at goodbyes either.

“So you’re going to see the farm girl tonight?” asked Bill, finally breaking the long period of silence.

“Yea, I think I will.”

“…That’s cool,” he replied, shaking his head while perusing the cityscape, followed by another minute of awkward silence. Although I never saw Bill as a liar, I wasn’t quite convinced that he thought me seeing the farm girl was “cool.”

“Oh man, they have a Cheesecake Factory here too! I wish we could’ve gone there,” I said as we passed the restaurant, an appendage of an upscale shopping center. There was no response, which is typical whenever I favorably mention the Cheesecake Factory in front of anybody for some reason. I don’t know why? They have a great selection of cheesecake, and I really do like their fried macaroni and cheese balls. “…So, how long are you going to be in Montana for?”

“I don’t know. A couple of days maybe. Possibly a week?”

“That sounds fun.” Honestly, there wasn’t really anything said that alluded to “fun,” but the reactionary phrase came out anyway. “What is there to do over there?”

“You know, just hang out and stuff. Go to the bar. Drink beer maybe; go to the river…”

“Oh, right on.” I nodded my head and did a little perusing myself, giving up on the whole talking thing altogether. It would be at least five more painful minutes that were scarcely filled with random comments about the weather, scenery, news, Seattle Seahawks, and a myriad of other topics that nobody cared about until we would reach the airport.

I pulled up to the curbside drop off area and immediately began unloading the luggage from the trunk, as if it were part of an important mission. Bill and I stood a body apart facing each other after all of the luggage had been placed along the side of the curb. “Well, I guess this is it,” I said. “For the most part, it’s been a pleasure.” I stuck out my hand and he extended his, initiating a shake.

“Glad I could be a part of it,” he said as our handshake seamlessly turned into a bro hug.

“Have a safe trip, and take care of yourself.” Gretch stood few steps back form him and to the side. “Gretch, look after him for me.” Gretch sent me a nod, assuring me that she would.

It was the stupidest thing. Right after I said goodbye to Gretch, I got this weird feeling, like somebody had punched me in the throat, making it swell up and all. There was this bump, or lump, or something. It’s not like it hurt, but it kind of made me sad, then kind of made me mad. And to be honest, it kind of pissed me off a little bit! “What’s going on? Why did that happen?”

They waved a final time before turning and walking through the sliding glass doors of the Milwaukee International Airport, disappearing into the wonderment of airline infrastructure, becoming one with the thousands of others taking part in public commerce, each with a story and destination of their own. “I guess this is it, just me, a Benz, and 2000 lonely miles. No more Gretch… no more Bill…” I stood at the edge of the curb, staring through the hectic congregation of travelers, jammed into one solid image of moving, human flesh, an image that Bill and Gretch easily became lost in, one that I feared would consume me in time. “Whatever, I got an organic farm to go to.” I slid back into the car, slammed the door shut, and stepped on the gas without saying another word to anybody.

“Let’s see, Maggie gave me Kassie’s number.” I rummaged through my phone, ignoring the dangers of performing such a maneuver while driving. “Voicemail?” I swiped my finger across the screen and let the message play through the speakers of my car.

“Hey Zack, it’s Cousin Brian. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, I just got back from the lake for the 4th. Anyway, me and Cousin Erin are at the house hanging out. Give me a call back if you need a place to stay. We would love to see you.”

“Oh man, Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin, I remember telling them I’d be in town. I haven’t seen those guys in over a year! But I already had made plans… I’m going to the organic farm, and it’d be unorthodox of me to go back on that. I mean, I confirmed it in my head and everything! But then again, they’re family. What kind of cousin would I be if I didn’t go and see them? The more I think about it though, Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin have always been reasonable people for the most part. They’d understand my dilemma. They have to! It was all thrust upon me out of nowhere! Besides, it’s always been my dream to live on a farm—well, not a “dream” dream, but you know, it’d be fun to hang out on the farm and stuff, especially with a farm babe at the end of the night, watching the sunset on the swing over the cornstalks, thinking about life and the universe… And besides, there’s something about farm babes that I kind of dig. And one day at a farm—heck, that wouldn’t be half bad. They probably have a bunch of good food there too, since they grow it there and all, even if it is just vegetables and stuff. I mean, vegetables aren’t my favorite thing in the world, but I’m sure they’d be all right if I gave them the chance. All of those yuppies at Whole Foods seem to be fond of them. Then again, so do the hippies—oh geez, I bet ya there’ll be tons of hippies there… exactly like Whole Foods. That means no Rockstars for a day—whoa, I haven’t done that in, gosh, I don’t know how long… And man, what would Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin think about that, ditching them for a farm babe and a couple of hippies who don’t like Rockstars? Now that I think about it, I might be a little heartbroken if I was in their shoes. And the disappointment in Bill’s face… I don’t know if I could bear it—wait a minute, why do I even care about that guy? He ditched me for Montana! And if he was around, I’d have to deal with all the crap I’d get from Gretch, and… and—“

Then it hit me, a wave of sense smacking me like a 2×4 to the face. “Ah, who am I kiddin’? I don’t even like organic food! Never have, and probably never will! That stuff’s for freakin’ sissies! Not me though. I like my Slim Jim beef jerky, easy cheese straight from the can, Applebee’s 2 for 20 menu, my daily Rockstar Energy Drink, whether it’s the original 280 calorie—56 grams of sugar kind with a bunch of chemicals or the white cans with all the aspartame. I live off that stuff! I haven’t gone without one in almost five years, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it! I’m half man, half preservative! What can I say? I love my genetically modified foods! I’m not even ashamed to admit it! Always have, and always will…”

“Kassie, you’re the best farm girl I know, and you’ll always have a special place in my heart, but the organic life’s just not for me… Not to go all Bill O’Reilly on everybody, but I just can’t go against my principles—not this time. I sincerely hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me someday…”

I picked up the phone and clicked on the last missed call entry on my phone. “Cousin Brian, it’s Cousin Zack. I’m coming to Wasau. Let’s party!”

***

I walked into Cousin Brian’s house after a grueling three-hour drive from Milwaukee that required a nap at a rest stop, arriving right at the tail end of the US Women’s soccer team’s thrashing of Japan in the World Cup. I mean, I’m not a huge soccer guy, but I love America, and man (or woman in this case) did Japan get womped! Like 5 to 2 or something. Even I know that’s a ridiculous score for soccer! Good moods were flying all around.

“What’s up Cousin Zack?” said both Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin at different intervals. I proceeded forward and delivered a set of hugs before jumping into some customary small talk. “Have you had any dinner? We have a bunch of leftover burgers and brats we need to get rid of from the 4th.”

“Well… uh, what the hey, why not? Let’s have a couple burgers and brats!” My response was a bit hesitant, for it was almost my 3rd dinner in a row that consisted of burgers and brats since my arrival to the motherland, but hey, I’m not going to complain about food that’s offered to me, especially if it’s free! So each of us loaded up a plate with a pile of burgers and brats along with some of the fixin’s on the side and treated ourselves to another good ol’ fashioned Wisconsin feast.

“You should try some of these beers I have. Most of them are brewed locally in Wisconsin!” I grabbed one that said “IPA” on it, opened it with my keychain and took a swig, issuing a nod to show my approval.

“Man, I love how everybody’s getting into microbrews these days. They’re popping up all over the place! People are actually starting to appreciate the taste of good beer now!”

“Really Zack?” butted in Cousin Erin. “After the whole MGD incident?” Of course she had to bring up the time where everybody got mad at me cause I bought “Miller Genuine Draft,” acting as if I had performed a sacrilegious act. One time. I guess it wouldn’t be a Wisconsin trip without its honorary mention.

“That was like 2 years ago!” It didn’t matter, for they still found it necessary (and will for the rest of time) to pummel me with insults for the next few minutes. “But seriously, enough about the MGD talk, you guys should come back out to the Northwest sometime. They’ve got a bunch of great breweries all around. You’d love it!”

“Yea, I’d really like to,” said Cousin Brian. “Actually, the last time I was out there was I think for your Eagle Scout Ceremony, right when I turned 21. I remember hanging out in the hot tub and drinking a beer with your dad. That was pretty rad!”

“Didn’t we go out there when we were younger too?” asked Erin.

“We did!” replied Brian. “I got to ride my bike to another state! It was awesome!” What Brian always forgot to mention whenever he retold the tale (of which he has numerous times throughout his life) is that our house was only a 5-minute drive from another state.

“Yea, you also farted in my face in front of everybody, for no reason!” I had to rudely remind him of the incident. “All I was doing was sitting in the family room playing with Legos, and you came up to me and ripped a huge one!” They all laughed, for it was in fact a pretty silly memory before moving on to more contemporary topics of how I can perfectly push grandma’s buttons, recounting a couple of my more recent successes. Soon after, the sun began its slide beneath the Earth’s horizon, marking my last day spent in Wisconsin. We cleaned up the patio table and moved inside in order to prevent a swarm of mosquitoes from feasting on our flesh. “C’mon in Cousin Zack. You can make us a couple of Old Fashioneds.”

“It would be an honor.”

***

 

Cousin Brian’s liquor table was well equipped: Jim Beam Kentucky Bourbon, Jero Old Fashioned Mix, Angostura Aromatic Bitters, Maraschino Cherries, 7-Up, and olives, an extra ingredient that Cousin Brian liked to add to his old fashioneds; his own unique, personal twist that he swore by. I conjured up two cocktails, heavy on the Jim Beam, and handed one to Cousin Brian (Cousin Erin opted out of having one, being that she had to go home soon). He took a sip and nodded his head in approval. “Not bad… not bad at all.” I sat down in relief, taking a sip of mine as well. I too was satisfied with my creation. “So tell me about your trip so far.”

I told of the tales from Idaho, our journey into the Gran Tetons, and the best and worst of what Wyoming had to offer. They got a little (but no too much) insight on the whole Denver escapade (or debacle, depending on whose opinion you receive) and our travels through flyover country. And of course he was briefed on my 30th birthday experience with honorable mentions of the boundary babes. As I began talking about Wisconsin though, something else suddenly interrupted my train of thought. “So tell me. What exactly is a Supper Club?”

“Oh man, we used to go to Supper Clubs all the time back in the day! There was one we’d go to in Appleton on Thursday’s that served this awesome prime rib. We’d get a couple drinks in us and stay for like 4 or 5 hours sometimes!” He went on about Supper Clubs for a while, seemingly forgetting the true nature of the question. Reminding him of its original intent however seemed inappropriate at the time, thus prolonging the mystery of the Supper Club. “They have a couple of good ones in Neenah by Lake Winnebago. If we have time during the family reunion, maybe we can convince everybody to go to one in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh yea, the family reunion, I almost forgot!”

“Yea, I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll bring the Wave Runner out and we’ll have a good old time.”


 Me and Cousin Brian SurlyCousin Brian and I with our Surly’s – Family Reunion, Lake Winnebago

“Oh man, I do like Waver Runners! It’s crazy that I’ll be in Wisconsin twice in one month. And of course I’ll have to make myself out here for a Packer game before the end of the year. It’s just too bad we couldn’t have it all at the cabin. I would’ve loved to hang out there one last time.”

“I know, I’m going to miss that place. We had a lot of good memories there. Luckily I got to go and visit a few more times before they sold it.”

“Man, the last time I was there, I think around two years ago, Nick made me do the belly flop off the dock in front of a bunch of people, like 50 total—some of which were babes. That sucked, big time!”

“Haha, I remember that, quite well,” added Erin.

“Remember the first time we all went there?” I asked. “It was right before grandma and grandpa’s wedding, and you and soon-to-be Cousin Hans took an old Champaign bottle and filled it with a bunch of soda and started drinking out of it while Cousin Hannah played the piano?”

“Oh geez… yea I remem—“

“And then you went upstairs where all of the parents were at and started stumbling around acting like you guys were all sloshed! That was hilarious!”

“…Yea, yea, I know… we were all pretty crazy back then.”

“And then Grandma got all mad, and mom and dad—“

“Yes, Cousin Zack, I do remember. I remember it all too well…”

“And what about the time you walked through th—“

“C’mon, who doesn’t remember that story?”

I beleaguered Cousin Brian with a few more embarrassing stories, sending his head into a constant shake from side to side. “Haha, well, I better get going,” said Cousin Erin. “Unfortunately, I have work tomorrow. Not really looking forward to going in.”

“Understandable. It was awesome seeing you,” I told her as I stood up and gave her a hug.

“Tell everyone I say hi. See you all in a couple weeks.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” I settled back onto the couch with my old fashioned in hand and took another swig, readying myself to resume our conversation. “Man, I thought you guys were the coolest kids back then. Why, I remember how you and Cousin Kevin each got paid 5 bucks to walk Grandma down the aisle at the wedding! I only got a dollar for being one of the flower boys!”

“And then Cousin Kimmy started dancing up a storm on the dance floor.”

“Dude, she was losing her mind, and she was only like 8 years old, same age as me! She danced so hard she fell on the floor! I was right next to her when it happened!”

“Haha, she was definitely one of the craziest of the cousins back then.”

“Well, I think we all kind of had our moments growing up… like when we were all at the cabin and you couldn’t stop talking about American Pie and how it was the best movie in the world!”

“That was a good movie for the time! When was that, 1999?”

“Yea, the year we drove out there all the way from Washington. That actually became one of my favorite family vacations of all time!”

“Ok, yea, I think I remember now. Cousin Holly and Cousin Kimmy came over with Cousin Kevin, and they were playing Limp Bizkit and stuff. And Cousin Kimmy had a really big potty mouth.”

“Oh my gosh, I know it! She couldn’t stop swearing! It was awful! Speaking of potty mouths and crazy people, Alicia’s coming to the reunion. You’ll finally meet her husband Derek.”

“Oh yea! Do you like him?”

“Well, he’s a little brash, and kind of funny looking. You know, a little deformed around the edges here and there, like a hunchback. But overall, he’s a good guy. So yea, I think you’ll like him.”

“Well good! I bet grandma and grandpa will be happy about that.”

“I know it! It’ll be good to have the family all here again. I love it whenever we have an excuse to come out to Wisconsin.”

“The only thing after that is to just move out here! By the way, when are you moving out here?” His question was delivered in a facetious tone, however I felt the hint of a serious undertone in its framing.

“Man, wouldn’t that be the dream. I got friends trying to get me to move all over the place! Boise Idaho, Minneapolis Minnesota, Nick and Cousin Holly are even trying to get to come out to Milwaukee. Just so many decisions you know!”

“Well, at least you know you’re wanted. I’m sure you can find something anywhere you go. My company has me flying all over the place, and I’ll actually be going to Austin in a couple of months. I’ll have to get together with Emily while I’m down there.”

“Nice, she’d like that! What are you gonna be doing down there?”

“Well, it’s a new region for our company, so we’re trying to expand our client base. You know, doing the usual sales pitch presentation, going out to dinner and schmoozing with the potential customers, giving them the whole spill, that kind of stuff.”

“Do you like it?”

“You know, they treat me pretty well. Every time I let them know I’m think about finding another job, they seem to give me a raise and more responsibility, so I guess it’s good. What about you?”

“Hey, it pays the bills, and I can’t lie, I do get to work on some pretty cool stuff. But man, working for the government can be a pain in the ass sometimes. You gotta deal with inspectors looking over your shoulder for the most minute of details, all the way to the tiniest squeeze of a turd pebble out of your butt crack. It’s drives me crazy! And when you make a mistake, it’s like you just committed a deadly sin! And trying to get everybody together at the right place and right time to get a job done, it’s like it takes an act of God just to get a job certified or something! And man, don’t get me started on signatures on paperwork and material ordering.”

“Well, you probably get good benefits at least.”

“Yea… can’t complain about that. A decent amount of leave each year, good 401k matching… they even send me on travel every once in a while. Like last month, I was in Alabama doing some Quality Assurance and auditing stuff for a sub-contractor of ours. The work wasn’t all that fun, but I liked the traveling part.”

“Well, I guess that’s why they call it work isn’t it?

“You have a point there. Damn, they way we’re talking, it’s like we’re already ready to retire.”

“I mean, we’re pretty much almost there.

“Ha, yea! 7 years down, only about 20… 20 to go…”

A cold chill shot through my veins, shooting thousands of little bumps all over my skin. Something struck me, a ton of bricks slamming down on my chest, leaving me completely breathless. My God, it happened… I’m… we’re… we’re adults now…

“You all right Cousin Zack?”

I thought it’d never get me, but it was the shock of time, the ultimate killer. It finally snuck up on me, the most deadly of physical dimensions, and perhaps the most unforgiving. It doesn’t wait up. It doesn’t stop. And one day, it gets you and rolls over you, leaving you stunned and wondering how to catch up… catch up to a time that is so far ahead, with no sign of slowing; a time that slays you, leaving you with nothing but thoughts… thoughts of purpose, meaning, and the people that make them up…

“Yea, I’m good… I uh… I think… I just… I miss my friends when they are gone…”

There was silence, except for the sips and ice rattles coming from our old fashioneds. Maybe a similar thought had gone through Brian’s head too. “You’ll be alright,” he finally said to me. Remember, you still have family. And that’s above and beyond the most important thing of all.”

“Yea… God, family, and the Green Bay Packers…”

Both of us stared outward and pondered the phrase made famous by Vince Lombardi for a minute. Cousin Brian looked at his watch. “Man, it’s passed 11 now. Better get to bed. Got a full day of work tomorrow.” He took a final swig of his old fashioned, finishing the rest of it off then popping the leftover olive in his mouth. “By the way, if you’re serious, we really should go to a Packer game this year. We have a hook up for tickets. Front Row, near the 50 yard line.”

“Yea, let’s do it. Maybe for Packers and Shi—sorry, Seahawks.”

“Heheh, sounds good Cousin Zack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yea, see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything Cousin Brian.”

“Anytime. We’re family.”

Green Bay Family

We in fact, made it to a Green Bay game.  Packers and Seahawks (PS, we won)

Me at Green Bay

And here’s an extra one of me, just because I look so freaking awesome!

I stayed up a while longer, finishing the last bits of my old fashioned. I took my time with the drink, time that was diminishing with every passing second, thrusting me back to a world I had escaped from what seemed like so long ago… It was time that I desperately needed, but could barely afford.

***

Having found the will to move again, I placed the old fashioned tumbler glasses in the sink and readied myself for bed, knowing it was wise to take advantage of a good nights sleep after such an eventful weekend. After brushing my teeth and slipping into my gym shorts, I slid into the makeshift bed that Brian had set up for me in the spare bedroom. Hoping to squeak a quick run in the next day if the weather permitted, I grabbed my phone to set an alarm for a decent time. “Wait, a missed text?” It was Bill.

“Hey, I was doing some thinking on the plane ride over. If you’re up for it, and/or if it’s on your way, you should meet us in Montana and hang out in Pony for a couple of days. I think you’re going to like it over here…” 

Pony Montana… Sounds like such a peaceful, wonderful place… I laid in bed, imagining a quaint little mountain town tucked away in the rugged landscapes of Montana. I wonder what it would be like, living in the Wild West? I bet they have a lot of cowboy types, being that it’s most likely a small rancher’s town. It probably hasn’t even changed in years either… like a place where time stands still… yea, I think I’d like that. I’d like that a lot… Pony Montana, maybe I still have time… I kept my eyes closed and thought of such a magical place filled with cowboys, friends and family. I thought, and then thought some more, until my mind joined the state of my tiresome body, sending me into a deep slumber.

0 CommentsLeave a comment

Chapter 16: Come Away With Me… To a Packers Game… A Wisco Wedding Part 3

Stephen Jenkin’s angelic voice faded as the cycling of a V6 engine came to a stop.  We climbed out of the Benz at the edge of the mansion’s estate, receiving more sets of impressive looks from arriving guests doing the same. Bill and I gave our suits a few straightening tugs and Gretch did the same with her dress, and with our heads up, posture straight, and each stride hit with perfect poise, we made our way up to the mansion.

A drink accompanied the hands of each of our friends, prompting a visit to the wet bar as to be in conformance with the rest of the party guests. “If you want, I can make you guys an old fashioned to go with your Keystone Light—Oh… hey, Billy…” He stood behind the counter fixing a drink of his own, his presence a surprise to us all.

“Hey what’s up guys?” he said to us. “Man, last night got a little wild. I wasn’t mean to you guys or say anything stupid did I?”

“Well, we kind of got into it over Kanye West…” I reluctantly replied. The reminder was likely to bring up contention, something I was hoping to avoid before the wedding’s festivities began, but nothing less than an honest answer was what he deserved, even if we were fighting the day before. He was a groomsmen after all.

“Oh man, I’m sorry. You know what I say: to each his own. That’s my motto. I’m not a big Kanye fan by any stretch, but if you are, I have nothing against that. You know me, I would never say a mean thing to anybody.” His apology was sincere, and in my book, fully acceptable.

“You know, there was a little drinking going on, and people say things they don’t mean, and it just got a little out of hand I think, that’s all. I tell you what, after the ceremony is over, I’ll make you an old fashioned.” We shook hands and added a smile to console our differences.

“Alright you guys, we’re going to start any minute now,” said Maggie having just ran down the basement stairs. That was our cue, for nobody was allowed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the start of the ceremony, and for good reason too. With drinks in hand and sunglasses over our head, we joined the rest of the guests on the lawn and took our seats for the ceremony.

***

Blake stood at the alter waiting for Billy and Coti to make their way past the rows seated guests and accompany him. The unforgiving humidity set by the red summer sun resulted in large patches of sweat left under the armpits of the wedding party’s dress shirts, a common theme that was to be shared by the rest of the male party guests, including yours truly.

Next came Maggie, the Maid of Honor, escorted by Jordan, Blake’s son. At 9 years old, he performed the important, yet demanding role of best man, and an appropriate title it was, for his manners and maturity were far above and beyond that of the rest of us, and only he was capable and deserving enough to walk a babe like Maggie down the aisle. Thus, he truly was, the best man.

Jordan took his spot next to his father and Maggie stood opposite of him while a classical tune continue to play and spill out over the glistening lake, a most perfect backdrop for a wedding, minus the few passing pontoon boats unaware that such a special occasion was taking place. With Blake standing amongst the company of friends, family, and the most important people in his life, the stage was set. All the required members were present, all except for one, whose grand entrance was only a few, long seconds away.

A jazzy brush drum roll sounded followed by a few strokes of a piano, a rhythm and melody that was instantly recognized, as it was the introduction to one of the most beautiful songs ever written (second only to Jewel’s “You Were Meant For Me, and possibly a couple of Kanye West beats), a song I had listened to every day for months while delving into the literature of Ayn Rand (quite an excellent pairing)—a song of which you can’t help but think about holding close the most lovely of babes among babes. Norah Jones led in with her signature soft and graceful voice, “Come away with me, in the night…” and a procession of guests rose to their feet. “Come away with me, and I will write… you… a song…”

All eyes turned to the bride clad in a stunning white dress, her elegance on full display. Walking side by side with her father, Beth made her way down the aisle and joined Blake. Standing together, hand in hand at the alter, they looked into each others eyes, millions of thoughts rummaging through their heads, a million thoughts that by some miracle of life, may just happen be congruent within the short distance between them, a lifetime of knowledge, memories, and love shared between two individuals. Thoughts of which neither me, Bill, Gretch or anybody else in attendance could possibly know or would ever know… all we could do is sit back and wonder with thoughts of our own…

***

The Palouse was in its typical Fall transitioning period, unsure of whether it was suppose to be warm or cool that early October Tuesday in 2006, much like the young emo kids struggling to find their identity. The day’s events were exceptionally vivid, for The Killers had just released their new album “Sam’s Town,” the much-anticipated follow-up to their debut album “Hot Fuss.” After my purchase from Hastings in Moscow, ID, I immediately rushed over to Connie and Bill’s apartment, for my house in Pullman was far too long of a drive for me to listen to a CD I had been waiting months to get my hands on.

Emily Dokken answered the door and informed me of three important issues. 1: Bill and Connie were still in class. 2: she had to take a massive dump. And 3: I could hang out with her friend Beth until Connie and Bill came back. Little did I know at the time that Emily’s half-hour outing with the toilet would mark the beginning of a friendship, sort of a blessing in disguise if you ask me.

From that forced encounter on that early Autumn day in Idaho, and with the help of a few Chach Chugs, multiple Moscow outings, and a road trip or two, our friendship grew and blossomed, to the point where we eventually discovered a coveted admiration evolving from our family upbringing—The Green Bay Packers.

Fast forward to 2010; a time where Lady Gaga ruled the airwaves, half the country was going nuts over a terrible film called Avatar, the Shi— uh, I mean Seahawks’ (for some reason I mess that up, every time…) fan base was still limited in size, and I was about to take a temporary position working for the Navy in Washington, DC. Before I was to embark across the country however, there was one last important matter to tend to: the Packers were scheduled to come to Seattle to play the Shi—er, Seahawks (there I go again), and being that game tickets were still decently priced at that point in history, Beth and I made it a point to go to the game, even if it was only preseason.

“By the way Beth, I’m going to bring my friend Cambray. I hope you’re not mad, she’s kind of a boundary babe,” I told her through text.

“That’s fine. I’m going to bring my friend Blake.”

“What the… Who the heck is Blake?!?! He better be a cool guy or else!” I threatened. And soon enough, I would meet this Blake fellow and find out just how much of a cool guy he actually was…

Readers note: in an effort to remain factual, upon my writing of this, I just remembered that the Packer game was actually the second time I had met Blake, but the first time I met him involved him running out of the shower in nothing but a towel, and that story’s not as good. Besides, the Packer game is where we actually got to know each other, so if it’s no difference to you, I’d like to talk about that time instead.

Beth brought Blake to the rendezvous point to meet Cambray and I before the game. In my Belltown apartment across the street from the Space Needle, we made our preparations for the evening’s festivities, for it was dangerous territory we were walking into, making it rather imperative that we gather the appropriate supplies for the mission ahead. I made everybody take a few rounds of shots before leaving, but it was Blake who stepped up the game up by convincing Beth to hide a Ziploc bag full of rum in her shirt, a move that encouraged Cambray to follow suit. Although a bit jealous over the fact that he came up with the idea, it was still a strategy I was most impressed with, and from that point on, I had a feeling that Blake and I were going to get along just fine.

The walk to Qwest Field (now Century Link) was filled with dirty looks and heckles. Apparently, not only was having a giant wedge of cheese on my head considered terrible camouflage, but it also wasn’t much of a popular look on that particular day. Lucky for us we were equipped with a sufficient amount of booze and good conversation to keep the two-mile trek fresh.

“Beth tells me you went to Asotin High School. Did you know Danny P?” asked Blake.

“Yea I know Danny P! Me and him go way back!”

“Nice! We went to the Gorge together for Sasquatch a few years back.”

“What?! I love the Gorge, and I go to Sasquatch every year! It’s probably my favorite place to go actually. You probably know Moody too if you know Danny.”

“Oh yea, I know Moody. That guy shreds on guitar.”

“Dude, Moody’s been my best friend since the third grade! That’s awesome!”

Our conversation got a little carried away, for we seemingly forgot about Beth and Cambray who were several strides behind us. For what it was worth though, it looked as though our acquaintance was quickly turning into a friendship. That friendship however, and the respect it garnered came under jeopardy when we heard the singing of the national anthem beyond the stadium walls, a signal that our arrival had been a late one. To add to the dire circumstance, I had to go to the bathroom… really bad.

“Hey, why can’t I relieve myself and show my patriotic support all at the same time?” I asked myself. The question was a valid one, and I couldn’t find any objection within me that told me not to, even though I only took a few seconds to think about it. So in total support of America and all of the blessings she has given me, I entered the porta-potty and belted out the lyrics to the Star Spangle Banner, a song that has always filled me with pride and jubilance every time it’s been played, while all at the same time taking a whiz, a move that further rendered our presence as suspect.

Unfortunately for Beth, Blake and Cambray, that was only the beginning of my obnoxious behavior, as I couldn’t help but notice every passing Packer fan through the halls of the stadium and acknowledging their presence with at least a high-five and a favorable comment. And I do have to say, the Packers had a rather plentiful showing, even though they were in foreign territory. The excitement held deep inside all of us to see Aaron Rodgers and company play in person was evident. With me though, it was just too great to keep bound, and I let it show in the most impudent of ways.

“You know, the University of Washington did a study and showed that those cheeseheads cause brain damage,” the man next to me said as we took our seat. It was the first of many jabs we were to receive from Shi—Sea… Seahawk fans (c’mon man, get a grip on yourself) in the form of curses, raised middle fingers, and a pointed finger slowly sliding perpendicularly across a tensed net, all by gnarly looking dudes who could easily play convincing roles as homicidal maniacs in one of those crime dramas on TV.

“Well, that’s because UW did the study. You have to go to WSU if you want it done right,” I replied, a surprisingly quick and witty response.

“Wait, you went to WSU too?” asked a woman in front of me. She was 38 years old (probably around 43 or 45 now), a Seahawks fan, and she had already fallen in love with me. So naturally I talked to her. I can’t help it! I kind of get a kick out of older babes hitting on me (although she looked babe enough to me, Cambray insisted that she wasn’t, but for all intents and purposes, and for the fact she was flirting with me, we’ll refer to her as a babe anyway). “…I dare ya to stand up, point your arm and yell ‘First Down,’ the next time the Packers get a first down.” Easy. 

“FIRST DOWN!” I yelled, pointing my hand in the direction the Packers were marching after the next play was over, a notion that made my new 38-year-old love laugh hysterically. The move wasn’t exactly well received with the other fans, as two black girls (only calling them black to provide an accurate description that will help differentiate them between the other characters in the story, and that’s it. I know some of you out there get all worked up about that crap, so I figure I’ll add this disclaimer. Gosh, the things you have to do to cover your buns against the PC police these days…) whipped around and shot me dirty looks. “What?” I said, shrugging my shoulders and sending a sheepish look back their direction. “I love my team, what can I say?”

As what happens with every outing where alcohol is consumed, the trips to the bathroom became very frequent, and each trip back included a bunch of high-fives to Packer fans and a beverage in hand that would cause me to repeat the vicious cycle. “I’m getting a beer, what do you want Cambray?”

“I’ll do a Roman Coke.”

“Uh… I don’t think they have those. Are you ok with a regular one? I can’t imagine that they’d be that much better imported.”

“No, you see, you get a Coke, and I’ll make it a Roman Coke when you come back.”

“I don’t get it? You’re not even Italian, let alone Roman. How can you make a Roman Coke?”

“Just… get me a regular coke please.”

“That’s all you had to say! Coming right up!”

A few minutes passed and I returned with a beer for me and a Coke for Cambray. “Here you go,” I said to her while handing her the bottle. Immediately she began taking sips then adding her secret stash of alcohol to it. “Oh, you’re mixing Rum and Coke, why didn’t you say so? Wait, it’s Rodgers, and he’s rolling out. He’s passing and… TOUCHDOWN!” We ripped and roared, but the celebration was short lived. The two black girls whipped around once more to deliver another set of dirty looks. Oh great.

“Zack, those girls really like you,” said Blake. “They’re just acting tough, that’s all.”

“I don’t know man, they look like they’re pretty mad every time they turn around.”

“But that’s the key. They keep on turning around, just for you! Trust me…”

A few series later, the Seahawks scored a touchdown. My 38-year-old lover made me give her a high five and the rest of the Seahawk fans cheered on… all except for two. In an unprecedented move, the two black girls whipped around once again, and with them came the same pair of dirty looks that had disturbed us several times over.

“What? You guys did a good job and I’m clapping for you! I like you guys, and I want to like you! We can be friends, I know we can!” My radiant smile and exuberant personality was just too powerful for them to repel, and a smile began creeping up on their face, growing larger until it turned into a couple of laughs. “See, I knew we would be friends!”

A few seats down Blake nodded his head in approval with a big smile on his face to give me a message. “Told Ya!”

The 4th quarter was nearing an end with the Packers ahead and in total command of the game, drawing an exodus of fans from the stadium in order to beat the traffic rush. The two black girls gave me one more set of dirty looks that quickly turned friendly, each of us sharing a hug before parting ways. And sadly, it was time for my 38-year-old lover and I to say our goodbyes. We were never to see each other again, for the future tension between our two teams would never allow it, but she forever sealed our fate that day with a kiss on the cheek, a kiss I will hold dear to my heart for the rest of my life. I guess not all Seahawks fans are bad after all…

When it was all said and done, it was just Beth, Blake, Cambray and I left to watch our team march onto victory. They stuck with me through my vociferous outbursts, unruly behavior, and took the brunt of dirty language, inappropriate gestures, and heckles delivered on my behalf, all with a smiles on their faces the whole time. Eventually we made an exodus of our own up to Capitol Hill to celebrate with friends, not all of who were Packer fans, but who would certainly recognize and rejoice in the accomplishment nonetheless.

During that walk up the hill, I couldn’t help but look at Beth and Blake and reflect on the day’s events, having just learned a great number of things that night. 1: The Packers were going to win the Super Bowl that year (which they did, beating Pittsburgh 31-25). 2: I had made a new friend, one who had easily earned my respect. And 3: Beth and Blake were the real deal, and I had a feeling that this was going to be one that lasted a long, long time.

Packers Game 2010

My 38-Year-Old Lover even took a picture of us at the game!

***

A great man (but not a particularly wise man) by the name of Forrest Gump once said, “I may not be a smart man, but I do know what love is…”

Love is a funny thing. We see it all around us, written in books, shown to us in movies and TV shows, and sung through beautiful renditions created by the likes of Norah Jones and Jewel. The word itself gets thrown around freely between friends and family all the time!

Yet, I don’t think we truly understand it, or even how to spot it, even if it’s staring us right in the face. Ask a thousand people what love is and you’d get a thousand different answers. But somehow, in that moment where you’re standing next to somebody, that one person out of a million that somehow can read your exact mood as if they have access to your mind, the one who can erase every pernicious thought built inside your head with a simple gesture of a smile, that one person who you would unequivocally travel to the darkest reaches of the Earth for, your body musters up a single feeling that blots out all other possible feelings; a feeling that grinds the brain into a pile of mush, leaving the heart to do the talking, an organ void of rational thought. You’re stuck with a feeling of complete submission, the equivalent to a giant black hole that within a moment’s notice sucks you in and doesn’t allow you to escape, an unconditional emotion that will never falter, no matter what hardship or tragedy arises. It’s an emotion stronger than the rest, one that conquers and endures till the end and whose simple essence by itself nearly proves the existence of God.

You’re left with the feeling of love, a love that’s impossible to understand, but perfectly known. You know, because the person standing next to you is feeling the same exact thing.

It was love that was on display in the heart of the motherland, and it was their love that was shared with us that afternoon through a set of heartfelt vows delivered emotionally. A love expressed not only between them, but also towards Jordan. His presence strengthened their love for one another, created an inseparable bond that would not be broken, a special type of bond called family. And on that day, they would officially become one.

And though that love was shared and celebrated amongst us, it was only a glimpse of what was actually between them. And how could it be anything more with such a complex subject? It’s no wonder that love is the one feeling that’s celebrated with such a grandiloquent occasion like a wedding. But even the most spectacular, Kanye West and Kim Kardashian types of weddings can even come close to providing the justice love deserves. It’s just simply not possible! So as humans, we do the best we can, and celebrate and rejoice at the phenomenon, that for a moment, we are part of something bigger and more powerful than any material object or selfish desire; something bigger than our good looks, Mercedes-Benz, the Gran Tetons, Steel Reserve, punch cards, Bar Tender Babes, Seahawks Babes, Aaron Rodgers and the Green Bay Packers, Packer Babes, Farm Babes, Boundary—uh, I won’t go that far, but the list goes on! And in the end, we get to be a part of love, something well worth traveling 2500 miles for, something we can either look back and remember a time years ago where we were up with the same exact feeling, or something that we can someday look forward to with a wedding of our own.

We watched in delight as Beth and Blake were pronounced husband and wife. Their love was sealed with a kiss, and Bill, Gretch and I joined the rest of the guests with a set of raucous cheers. Each one of us in attendance had a reason for being there, had the honor of being a part of their lives in some special way, to help guide them to this moment. Some were friends who had gained trust and respect from years of sticking together through the best and worst of what life has to offer, never turning their back when terrible decisions have been made, and having the ability to say the difficult things that nobody is willing to say or make the tough decisions that nobody else is willing to make. Others were family, integral people in their lives that spent years helping to mold them into the people they have become, no matter how hard it could be at times.

For me, I was just glad to be that person who could put a smile on their face and consistently make their lives better simply by being the person I was meant to be. That maybe, through the help of a Packer game 5 years prior, I played a part in making love come to life, whether it was love at first sight, or love that was always there, waiting to be discovered.

And who knew that 5 years later, what started with the Green Bay Packers would come full circle and end in Wisconsin, the motherland and rightful home to the greatest football team ever to grace the Earth. That alone was enough to celebrate.

And celebrate we would, for it wasn’t the end, but merely the beginning. It was the beginning of a life of full of adventure, wonderful people, and everlasting memories for each of them. And what better way to start such a celebration than with a reception filled with best friends and family indulging in an overabundance of boisterous dancing, fireworks and alcohol? I don’t know about Bill and Gretch, but that was a plan that I couldn’t wait for; a plan that I was definitely onboard with…

1 CommentLeave a comment

Chapter 13: The Punch Card

“It’s 12:50. She explicitly told us 12:47. Where is she!?”

“I don’t know, baggage claim maybe?”

“Well she’s taking her sweet time then!”

“She’ll probably be out soon. Just circle around one more time.”

“We’ve already done that—three times! We’re going to be late! What are we going to do??”

Bill took a deep, long breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “CALL BETH!”

Thanks to the technology of blue tooth, a dial tone sounded through the car speakers that eventually led to an automated voice telling me to leave a message for Beth’s number. “Beth, it’s Zack. It’s taking a little while longer for us at the airport, and uh… well…” I took a deep breath, then a deeper breath. It’s just… I can’t…” I began hyperventilating.

“Zack, just calm down. Breathe, nice and slow—“

“I can’t! I can’t do it man! I’m sorry, but I’m not going to put up with this. She thinks she can just lollygag about like we’re on her time? She’s already making us late, and now she’s going to ruin the whole wedding for everybody! This is an important weekend, especially for Beth and Blake, and I’ll be damn—I’ll be DAMNED if she spoils it!” I exclaimed, my fist slamming hard on the dashboard. “Look Beth, I’m sorry. I am sorry! We’re trying, we just have some set backs, and we’re getting a little stressed out… We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I ended the call. “What time is it?”

“12:52.”

“GRRRRRRRRETCH!”

“Hold up, I just got a text…”

***

There she stood next to her suitcase, waving excitedly with a giant smile on her face under the concrete overpass that housed the MKE loading zone; the sheer arrogance on display absolutely insulting. “Did she bring her entire wardrobe or something? How are we gonna fit that monster in the car?” asked Bill.

“Hi guys,” She said as we exited the car, her voice sweet and filled with glee. We didn’t fall for it, not for one second. Bill took on the grueling task of loading her suitcase, having to make multiple rearrangements in the trunk and the backseat. A million thoughts scrambled through my mind of things I wanted to say, a log jam of words that couldn’t seem to straighten out, even with the roaring current increasing behind it. I stared and opened the back door, until a lone phrase left the madness in a calm, straight manner. “Step into my office…”

She slipped into the backseat and I shut the door behind her. Bill and I looked at each other from opposite sides of the car, both shaking our heads in disappointment, “Let’s try not to make a big deal out of this; for Beth and Blake’s sake,” he said. I nodded and entered the car.

“So what’s up guys? You ready to party and stuff?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Listen Gretch,” I started, whipping my body around, my eyes impeding and face stern. “This whole trip isn’t about ‘partying’ or getting drunk or ‘blasted’ as you kids say these days, or any of that juvenile stuff. It’s about our friends Beth and Blake coming together and professing their everlasting love for each other. We’re talkin’ the holy sacrament of marriage.”

As a simultaneous act, Bill whipped his body around, his eyes impeding and face stern, and I whipped mine back to the front, a cycle that would continuously repeat itself. It was his turn now.

“This is the big time; sacred vows, powers invested by the Holy Spirit, people in dresses and tuxedos, and definitely not the Canadian kind.”

“That means we’re on our best behavior at all times. No screwin’ around!”

“We traveled over 2,000 miles to pick you up, and already we’re off to a bad start. We’re behind schedule, and we have a lot of work ahead of us!”

“This isn’t like Idaho. You can’t just walk around like you own the place! This is Wisconsin. This is my turf!”

“Your history of tooling out in Boise won’t fly here; not in Wisconsin. Getting 86ed from a bar is not an acceptable practice.”

“I don’t want to get kicked out of another Applebee’s! It’s embarrassing!”

“You can’t just start cussing out the bar tender just because they don’t have Steel Reserve on tap. That won’t be tolerated; not in the Midwest.”

“And no—and I mean absolutely NO Caitlin Jenner jokes! Understood?”

There was a brief moment of silence before her reply. Bill turn his head back around to the front.

“…You mean Bruce—“

“GRETCH!”

The name reverberated through the car like a loud shriek making its way through the depths of the Grand Canyon. Both of us turned, our faces taut, using every muscle in our bodies to keep our mouths shut. We gave her a cold, threatening stare, as if blood was coming out of our eyes—Megyn Kelly style. She stared back, mouth agape and eyes widened and overwhelmed. She remained quiet; a smart move on her part.

“Bill, find the directions to the nearest Wal-Mart. We need some booze.”

***

A giant load of anxiety fell upon Bill and I the moment we entered Wal-Mart on the edge of downtown Milwaukee. So worried was I during the car ride with explaining the delicate process of making an Old Fashioned, that the demographics of the superstore had totally slipped my mind, and mixing Gretch’s behavior in that type of environment—talk about a catastrophe!

“First you add ice to your glass,” I told them. “Then pour some Jim Beam about half way. Next you add a little 7-Up with a few splashes of bitters. Now here’s the most important part—you take your Old Fashioned Mix and you give a good pour into the drink. I ask for these at the bar and they screw it up every time, putting orange peels in them and crushing cherries and sugar and all that crap. You stir it all up, and presto, you got yourself an Old Fashioned. Understand?”

 

Gretch looked at me like I had just tried to explain to her Quantum Physics. Bill didn’t look any better, his countenance not providing any confidence of comprehension. “Ok, let me explain one more time. First, you pour some whiskey…”

 

It was far too late now. We were in the heart of the beast, and all we could do was fervently pray for Gretch to remain on her best behavior. The odds however, were still very much against us, for even that was a tall order way out of the big man’s hands.

“Ok, we came here for one thing, and one thing only. Follow me to the liquor.” Keep em’ on task, that always keeps em’ out of trouble. “Bill, grab some 7-Up. I’ll get the whiskey and the bitters. Gretch, I want you to look for the Old Fashioned Mix. And remember, get the ‘Jero’ brand. It’s the best. Understand?”

“What about beer?” asked Bill.

“Yes, we can get some beer too, but let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”

“But the beer aisle’s right here.” Yes, Gretch did in fact provide a factual statement, if nothing more. It was an aisle, and it had beer, but any store that has six packs of Rolling Rock tall boys in the “Premium Beer” section constitutes grounds for concern.

“Look, we don’t have to get beer here. If we get the liquor now, we can—“

“Are you freaking serious!” blurted Gretch; her eyes brightened as if she had just realized the potential of Kanye West’s rap career. “A 30-bomb of key-light for $11.50??”

“C’mon guys, let’s just stick with the—“

“No way!” interrupted Bill. “You’re practically stealing the beer at that price!”

“You guy’s, we have—“

“Gretch, call mom!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All this hype for an abominable beer substitute called Keystone Light? I tried reasoning with them, but it was no use, and frankly, it was starting to annoy me—big time. “Yes, it’s cheap, but seriously, there’s much better choices for beer out there, especially in Wisconsin—“

“Mom, it’s Gretch. You won’t believe it. They have a 30 pack of Keystone light for guess how much… $11.50! I know right! Hold on… Bill, mom says to send her a picture.”

“Right on it.” Bill whipped out his camera, as if he had only seconds to capture the amazing shot—a price tag that read “KEYSTONE LIGHT – $11.50”. “We gotta call Meagan Mills, ASAP!”

“Dude, screw Meagan Mills, we’ve got to get some—“
“Excuse me?” snapped Gretch with a sass so over the top you would’ve thought I had just poached an animal on the endangered species list. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that!”

“Oh c’mon Gretch! You know I didn’t it like that—“

“Zack, that’s my roommate you’re talking about! I’d appreciate it if you showed a little respect!”   You gotta be kidding me?

It was total bull crap. How dare she use Meagan Mills against me, and what was with Bill, giving me attitude all of a sudden? The Gretch situation was spiraling out of control. I needed a different approach, something big. This could not stand.

“All right look, I’m sorry, it slipped. Can we just grab the beer and go? We can even stop by the sporting goods section on the way out so we can play beer darts later.”

Gretch led the way, focused in on the mission, as I knew she would. Any game that involves shotgunning beer is nearly impossible for her to resist. Bill followed, but his progress was thwarted. I snatched his arm and furiously swung him around to the next aisle out of Gretch’s sight, my pointed finger thrust into his face.

“What’s the big idea? You totally screwed me back there throwing me under the bus like that! It hasn’t even been an hour and you’re already siding with her. What’s wrong with you?” Bill remained silent, staring a blank stare back at me, a combination of anger and shame forcing his mouth shut. “We had a plan. A PLAN! And now you’re willing to throw it all away?”

“Don’t put this all on me. You’re the one that disrespected Meagan Mills! Don’t act like I’m the one throwing everything out the window after careless statements like that!”

“You couldn’t just let that go for once? I mean, c’mon, I’m trying to keep us on task here!”

“Look, you know she’s just trying to pit us against each other.”

“Well it looks like she doing a pretty damn good job!”

“What, you thought this was going to be easy? We’re dealing with a professional here, and suddenly it’s all my fault?”

“Whoa, let’s just calm down and think this through. I’ll admit I was a bit ill prepared, but all we have to do is get her really good tonight.”

A smirk grew on Bill’s face. Whatever it was that was circulating through his mind, had to be good. “Remember that Tim and Eric episode where they go to the haunted house and they keep falling down the steps?”

“You mean the ‘Oops I forgot my suitcase’ part?

“Bingo. We take the stairs, we drop the suitcases, and then we keep falling down the steps.”

“It’s perfect. She’s gonna go nuts! But… I need your word.” A great sense of importance filled the void between our stare, as the next set of spoken words could very well have been among the most significant of our entire lives. “Promise me… on our friendship… that if we do this, we go all the way. No bailing out, under any circumstance. Kapish?”

“You have my word.” He sealed his word with a handshake. a beautiful gesture that nearly brought a tear to my eye. “Just one thing. We can’t act too suspicious. She’ll fish us out at the first sign of suspicion.”

“I have a plan. Just follow my lead…”

***

We drove away that afternoon to meet Beth, Blake and friends with a car full of the essentials: Beer, darts, and all the ingredients to make an Old Fashioned; and miraculously, all in one piece. We tried to convince Beth to let us bring more goods before picking Gretch up from the airport, but she was pretty adamant that we just stick with the booze, no matter how much I insisted.

“BETH, just wanted to give you an old update on the ol’ road trip sitch. We’re about a half hour outside of Milwaukee. Is there anything you need us to bring, food, snacks or anything? How about we bring over a few orders of triple fried pizza dough with a giant can of Velveeta to put in the nacho cheese dispenser? We can grab some appetizers, a container of French onion dip or two—and you have GOT to try my homemade ziti! Just stick in the oven for 40 minutes, get it nice and piping hot and serve it up, ready to go! And if it’s not the same to you, I got some cold cuts that I need to get rid of, maybe a pound and a half of black forest ham, OH, and what about some of those cheese sticks with the marinara sauce? You know what would be a hit with the guys is if we brought over a nice German chocolate cake. I’m talkin’ key lime pie, ‘a la mode.’ That’s what the French call, ‘ice cream on the side.’ And it wouldn’t hurt to get a bag of sour cream and onion, just as long as they’re RIDG-ED chips…”

“You know Gretch, I think we all started out on kind of a rough footing, but I gotta say, you handled yourself well in there.”

“Not a single outburst. I’m proud of ya sis!”

“So here’s the deal. We’re on vacation, we’re here to have a good time, but we know we’re gonna have to make a few adjustments here and there, which means we have a couple slip ups every now and then. Case in point, the Meagan Mills incident.”

That’s why we’re giving you a ‘Punch Card’.”

“That gives you 10 free obscenities to use whenever and wherever; in front of kids, old people, minorities, whoever. If it comes out, nobody can give you a hard time. We just clip a notch in the card, no questions asked. Understand?”

Her head lifted with a jolt of energy running through her body as though she had just been told she could cut to the front of the line for Space Mountain.

“In fact, all of us are getting punch cards, just for the sake of it. I don’t expect us to use them up of course, not even half way! It’s just more of an insurance policy, just in the case of an emergency or an accident.”

“And we’re doing this because we trust you. We’ve come a long way, and we believe you’re ready… for this… this responsibility.

We handed her the card, an emotional moment felt in unanimity. The graceful concord, the sense of belonging—maybe things were going to be ok after all…

***

Bill found himself in a violent shake, unable to control the sweat pouring out from his pale face or the bodily convulsions in the form of dry heaving, barely resisting the urge to vomit and foul the interior of my new car. The Benz was sent to the shoulder of the road, parked diagonally, having barely avoided a head on collision or two as my mind was sent into a sudden shock of paralysis. A heavy dizziness overcame me, overtaking any and all forms of motor control; I swear I could feel a solid stream of blood pouring out of my ears, a dire consequence of the utterly despicable, ineffable anathema they had been subject too…

Gretch had used up every single one of her punches. Not even a minute had passed…

My God. What have we done? What have we done…

0 CommentsLeave a comment

Chapter 8: How about a Cocktail? How about a Conversation?

“So I rushed past the pretty girls, and the prettiest girls in the world live in Des Moines.”

-Jack Kerouac, from “On the Road”

AJ’s dreads swung across his shoulders as his head darted back and forth at each of us, unsure of how to approach the next question. He did his best to remain cool and confident as any young professional in the hospitality business would, but there was no doubt that there was a hint nervousness in his delay, an effect wearing all of us.

“Uh, so… are you guys looking for a single bed for the night?”

“Double,” both Bill and I promptly replied.

Ah… all right, cool,” he said shaking his head up and down as if he were satisfied with our answer. I have to say; he handled the situation rather well, leaving the customer un-offended (unlike SOMEONE we know…), especially during a time where the subject of certain political topics can be a bit touchy.

It was a well-graded first impression of the Econo Lodge, their professionalism fully intact even at such a late hour of the night; one that continued throughout the tenure of our stay. In the morning when I informed the front desk that the waffle maker wasn’t working, not only did they promptly fix the situation, but the lady at the front desk also saw to it to make and serve me a waffle herself! Talk about service! Not to mention our room came equipped with a working air conditioner, flat screen TV, and get this: shampoo, conditioner, AND lotion, of which Bill kept for himself upon our departure. I couldn’t blame him; that stuff comes in handy from time to time.

The Econo Lodge may only have a 2.5 star rating on Hotels.com, but it will certainly hold a 5 star rating in our hearts, preferring it 10-fold over the debacle called Motel 6. That being said however, we were on to bigger and better things, to a little place called Des Moines, Iowa, where according to Jack Kerouac, author of “On the Road,” lived the prettiest girls, a proclamation we were hoping to be true.

The drive started pretty much like all the others, a few hours of ripping on Ben Woodward with a few more of plotting our revenge against Gretch. Bill and I seemed to be in total concert over our thoughts and humorous anecdotes, working and feeding off of each other’s insults like we were shooting fish in a barrel (apparently, according to the old maxim, it’s easy to shoot fish in a barrel, but why you would ever want to shoot a fish after it’s already caught and in a barrel is beyond me). It was as if our minds were in perfect sync, and every thought that went through my head matched his, life, people, wisdom, you name it!

“Oh, it’s 11:00, one of my favorite radio programs is on!” I quickly changed the music playlist to AM radio, Bill eager to find out what was to come, for if I said it was good, it must be good; that he could trust. After an opening drum fill, familiar base line, and a swanky guitar solo, one of the greatest voices on radio came out of the gates swinging. Rush Limbaugh spent little time getting into his intended subject matter, talking up Donald Trump’s game, ripping on Hillary Clinton, and bashing the rest of the Democrat Party along with all of its policies. And man, he was on fire! “Yea, you tell em’ Rush! Bill, you hearing this? Bill?”

Bill all of a sudden became very quiet. His lower lip curled under his teeth and he sat back in his seat, looking forward at the road ahead as if he were basking in a world of fury. I couldn’t figure out what came over him? I mean, he was in such a good mood earlier, and I certainly didn’t say anything that offensive. And I thought the accommodations at the Econo Lodge were beyond adequate. What was the big deal?

Then it hit me. It had to be Gretch. I guarantee she gave him another stupid text that got him all upset. God, what is her problem? I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who enjoys inflicting as much misery on innocent people as she does. It makes me upset just thinking about it! Regardless however, I decided to keep my mouth shut. Talking about it would only infuriate the both of us further. Needless to say, it was a pretty quiet drive the rest of the way to Des Moines from that point forward, thanks to her.

Feeling as though we deserved something with a little more class after Motel 6, we booked a room at the Des Lux Hotel, coined appropriately as the premiere lodging establishment in the city of Des Moines. It certainly caught our eye on the Hotels.com website as a 4-star romantic getaway with a ritzy-looking bar, so of course I thought of it as the logical choice for Bill and I.

First and foremost, the weight room was above and beyond superior, particularly for hotel standards, equipped with a large range of weight machines, treadmills, ellipticals, personal TV’s, a sauna, whirl pool, locker rooms, and a bunch of other crap that nobody else was using except for some sweaty, hairy dude hanging out in nothing but a towel. His choice of outfit was probably considered inappropriate for the setting, given that his towel was borderline see-through, but I couldn’t blame him—he probably felt like he owned the place! The biggest shame in my opinion was that nobody else was taking advantage of such a nice facility, especially Bill! He was all too busy pouting in the room like a sucker! Not my problem though (I still couldn’t understand why he was so bummed out).

After a nice workout and a quick shower, I showed Bill a funny clip on YouTube, which seemed to get him to stop moping just enough to put on a nice collared shirt and join me for a drink at the bar. “Just one,” I told him. We were headed to Minnesota the next day and had a birthday to celebrate, so getting ripped tonight was out of the realm of possibilities.

“What would you boys like?” asked the bar tender serving the dimly lit establishment held together by wood-stained cathedral-like foundations, a rather fancy place, something you’d expect in New York City or one of those places where all the yuppies like to hang out in. Her style was sleek and sophisticated and her poise lean and proper. She was a master of her craft you could certainly tell; a skill set that served her quite well. And I can’t lie, she looked good… damn good, and the black dress she was wearing together with her years of experience only increased her attractive nature.

“I’ll have an old-fashioned,” my go-to drink, one that fuels the passion towards my Midwest bloodlines; a classy selection, one that you can never go wrong with, and that nobody would ever give you a hard time for ordering.

“I’ll have a Martini,” said Bill—wait, since when does he get a Martini? He’s into those bull crap drinks like Keystone light or whatever! I knew what he was doing. He had the hots for the bar tender—I knew it, that son of a B! She was a good-looking babe, especially considering she was at least 20 years older than us, so I can’t blame him, but still… no respect.

“With Gin or Vodka?” Bill froze; he didn’t know what to say!

“Uh, I guess both… or, well… whatever you prefer…” he replied with slight embarrassment. Serves him right!

“Yea, I remember my first one,” I told her. I couldn’t resist the quick little jab.

A growing smile grew across her face as she began prepping the Gin and Vermouth concoction. “Aw, that’s really sweet. I’ll make it extra special just for you.” Are you kidding me? I guess that backfired.

 

“Yea, it’s not my usual, but I just like to try new things every now and then.” Bill turned his head, shooting me a look of dominance. Is he knocking my Old-Fashion? How dare he—whatever, he’s just being stupid right now.

 

We went through the whole small talk routine, each of us hitting the topical questions of “what things are there to do in Iowa,” or “what brings you to Des Moines,” providing a brief tell all of our journey to the motherland and all of our adventures along the way so far.

“So what do you guys do?” she asked.

“Well, I’m an engineer, but also an aspiring writer,” I jumped right in before Bill even had a chance to answer. “I have a long-standing blog, grizzlychadams.com, and I’m currently wrapping up one the last revision of my first book.” Let’s see you top that Bill?

 

“Well, I’m an artist. I do a lot of abstract work that some people don’t always understand,” he said with a quick jerk towards me. Yea, nice try Bill. “But I’m sure you would. If you’re interested in any of my work, here’s my card.” A card? Oh give me a break!

 

She gave his card the nod of approval. I mean, it doesn’t mean much, at least it shouldn’t. It’s what everybody gets, so who cares? “You know, I’m working on a book myself,” she said after her thorough card examination.

“Oh really? By all means, tell me more,” I replied, this time giving Bill my own little look of dominance.”

“Oh, but first, may I have another Martini please?” Really Bill? How rude.

 

“I guess I’ll have another Old Fashioned as well.” If he’s getting another one, I might as well too. “And I would still love to hear all about your book, you know, writer to writer.”

“Why sure. I’m going to call it ‘Cocktails and Conversations,’ about all the bands and supposedly important people I’ve met bartending, you know, politicians, lawyers, doctors, the such.”

“Like, um, which bands?” Bill asked.

“You name them, they’ve been here. As a matter of fact, Dave Matthews band was here last night. I hung out with them for a while. All of those guys are really awesome and down to Earth. A bunch of sweethearts really.”

“Whoa,” pretty much summed up Bill’s and my reaction. This was going to get good. “I think I might need another drink soon.”

“So who was your favorite of all the bands?” Bill asked.

“Well, all of those older rock bands are pretty cool, but the Red Hot Chili Peppers were probably my favorite. Those guys are all pretty chill now that they’re older, a couple of ol’ wine guys for the most part, not so much the partiers I imagined they were. Their driver even let me hang out on Anthony Kiedes’s bus for a couple hours to watch movies. The place was immaculate, nicer than my own house. It even had marble floors!”

“No kidding! That’s pretty rad,” said Bill

“Who were some of the biggest turds you met?”

“Well, Michael Bublé refers to himself as Michael Bublé, and his wife kind of sucks too, always telling him what to do and where to go, expecting the world to drop to their knees and tend to her wherever and whenever.”

“Oh man, I know exactly what you mean.” What are you even talking about Bill? You don’t even have a wife!

 

“And then there was Snoop Dogg. I mean, I guess he wasn’t that bad, if you could ignore all the loud music and pot smoke coming from his room, the endless parties, the crowds of half-naked women hanging all around the hotel and doing greasy stuff with the bus drivers in the back alley, and the members of his entourage who think it’s ok to drop their pants and whip out their ding-a-lings in front of me.”

“Man, I would never do anything like that. I for one, treat women with respect.” God, this was just starting to make me sick. Bill was straight up sucking up now!

“Yea, since then, Snoop Dogg and his crew have been banned from the Des Lux. But as bad as they were, they aren’t as creepy as some of the politicians that stop by from time to time, especially during primary season. They all think they can get away with anything!”

“Like who?”

“Well, I’m not at liberty to say for the policy of the hotel, but you’ve heard of the names I’m sure, definitely some high-level members of congress and such. And you’d be surprised at the number of mistresses some of these people have. This hotel has been known to host its number of scandalous affairs.”

Man were we intrigued, getting the inside scoop into the dirty details of the Iowa elite. Both of us gazed into her lovely eyes as she spoke so eloquently of the high-profile executives who met their lovers in the very same bar stools we were seated in. Inside that slender figure of hers was a maturity foreign to us young adults still stuck in our late 20’s; a maturity that became most captivating combined with the wealth of discreet knowledge locked away under her shiny, golden locks of hair.

“We should exchange information, just so we can keep in touch about each other’s books. I’d really love to read yours when it comes out, and I can send you a copy of mine when it’s finally done.”

But Bill just couldn’t help but butt in. “Oh don’t worry about it man, I already gave her my card. Cheryl, just get a hold of me and I’ll pass on the word.” Oh what in the hell? What does he think he’s doing? Since when are they on a first name basis?

“Haha, sounds good boys. Let me take care of these ladies over here. I have a feeling they’re going to be bad tippers,” she whispered into Bill’s ear with a slight brush of his shoulder. Bill blushed. I sat in silence and pounded the rest of my Old Fashioned. Bill tried to make small talk, but I wasn’t having any of it.

She came back a minute later shaking her head in slight disgust. “Just as I thought. They decide to order the girliest drink they can. Sorry guys, this may take a while.”

She decorated the cocktail glass with stripes of chocolate syrup and poured in a shaken mixture of milk, Kahlua, vodka, and a couple other obscure liquors we’d never heard of from an ice cold strainer, a process that took nearly 5 minutes with all of the preparation and intricate ingredients involved, including shavings of chocolate and whip cream, a drink that no sane person would ever go through the heartache of making. “Isn’t that the same drink you order a couple days ago Bill?”

“Oh c’mon Bill. You’re a bartender’s worst nightmare! Please tell me that’s a lie,” she said in addition with a grin on her face.

“And what’s worse, he even thought those lady’s were ‘hott.’” She threw her head back and let out a giant laugh. Bill suddenly got tense again and his face turned beat red. She grabbed the ladies posh drinks and headed back to the ladies table, but not before she gave my arm a nice little brush. I tried to make small talk with Bill, but all he seemed to want to do is pound his drink. Who knows what his problem was.

“Well, I think it’s about time for us to retire, it’s getting pretty late and we have a big day tomorrow, so I guess we better grab the checks,” said Bill upon her return. Wait, we didn’t discuss this? Sure, it’s getting late, but hold on just a minute— “It’s been lovely meeting you, but we must be on our way.” Well, if he’s going to be all pouty about it, then I guess that’s the end of that.

 

I provided a pretty modest tip for her that evening. What can I say; she deserved it, $10.00 in addition to my $28.00 bill. I took a glance over at Bill’s final tab just out of curiosity. “Huh, $28.00 as well. That’s funny; maybe she gave us both a good deal—wait, are you serious? An $11.00 tip??”

 

We walked into the elevator, Bill still silent from earlier. “You had to one up me, didn’t you?”

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really, an $11.00 tip? Really?”

“What, she did a good job, what can I say, she deserved it.”

“Yea, I’m sure she did deserve the random amount of $11.00, which just so happened to be $1.00 over mine!”

“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about, so how about you just shut up and get over it!”

“Geez, somebody seems a little moody tonight.”

“Dude, you do this every time. Every time!”

 

“What the heck are you even talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Bill quite sarcastically. This was going to blow up, I just knew it. “Look at me, I’m all goody-gumdrops excited. Maybe I’ll tell everybody you thought the old dude’s at the end of the bar were ‘hott’ too, and you can be just as happy as me!”

“Oh calm down, dude. I was just joking around—”

“Dude, you totally Jonesed me back there! You knew I had the hots for her!”

“Dude, she was way out of your league! I was just trying to help you out!”

“Yea, a lot of help that did, dude.”

“Dude!”

“Dude!”

“TING!” The elevator rang and the doors opened, our mouths shut instantly and our angry demeanor ceased. In walked two teenage girls with Dave Mathews Band shirts on.

“Oh, you guys just get back from the concert? Oh cool… who, us? Oh no, we didn’t go, we’re just stopping through town. I hear they play an awesome show though… No kidding, three hours straight? Wow, that’s awesome. I’m glad you liked it. ‘TING.’ Oh, well, I guess this is our floor. Nice meeting you guys, enjoy the rest of your night.”

We exited the elevators and watched the doors close behind us, waving goodbye to our new friends. “Dude, don’t even start all of this talk about ‘Jonesing’ anybody. We were hitting it off just fine back there when you had to butt in with your whole ‘art’ stuff.”

“Yea, at least my ‘art’ is actually worth looking at, unlike some of your blogs.

“Oh that’s a new low Bill. That’s quite the new low you son of a B—”

“Oh please, like you had a real chance with her.”

“Dude, a better chance than you! Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little competition. It makes you stronger. It’s the capitalistic model for success!

“Oh yea, did your friend Rush Limbaugh tell you about that?”

“Wait a minute, you’ve been all pissed off this whole time because we listened talk radio earlier haven’t you? Now it all makes sense.”

“Gee, I glad you finally figured that out, genius.”

“God, I can’t believe somebody would get all that butt hurt over a guy giving his opinion. Here’s an idea, why don’t you grow up and grow a pair?” I swung open the door and stormed in the room. Bill did some storming of his own after me.

“I got an even better idea. How about I just pack my bags, and go home right now. I’m sick of this crap.”

“Ok, and you can listen to your sissy NPR garbage on the way out of here too, because as far as I’m concerned, the way you keep acting, we’re done.”

“We’re done? Let me rephrase that. I’m done. You hear me? I. Am. DONE!”

“Well that’s just great, real great. We’re in the middle of the damn country, and you’re treating me like trash and throwing a fit, and it’s MY BIRTHDAY IN A HALF AN HOUR!”

“Dude, maybe I don’t give two craps about your birthday!”

“Dude, maybe you should shut up right now if you know what’s best for you.”

“Dude, why don’t you make me!”

“Dude, maybe I will with a knuckle sandwich!”

“Yea dude, you would, because you DO THIS EVERY TIME!”

“Oh yea dude!?”
“Yea dude! I’M WALKING HOME!”

“Go ahead Dude!”

“Dude!”

“Dude!”

“DUDE!”

“DUDE!”

“Dude. Dude…”

“…Ok, ok, look, maybe I got a little jealous back there, and I might’ve pulled a Jones or two on you. If I ever did, I’m sorry dude. To be honest, I think she kind of thought that you were cute. Besides, she wasn’t really my type anyway.”

“Look dude, I think I just got a little stressed out back there in the car and I took it out on you and Rush. I mean, we really need to get Gretch good. She can’t get away with what she’s done, and she’s not going to play nice. We know that, and I just want to make sure we bring our A-game when the time comes.” It was true. I knew she was behind this all along.

“I think maybe all of this driving has just gotten us a little worked up. You know how it goes. So how about this dude, I got all of this liquor out just for you. Let’s relax a little bit, and I tell you what… I have some Third Eye Blind on my computer we can listen to, we’ll have a nice Pilsner, some Absolut on Ice, and we can just take it easy for the rest of the night. Like you said, we have a BIG day tomorrow. Because dude, it’s my birthday.”

“Dude…”

“Dude…”

We hugged it out, drank a little more liquor and listened to some Third Eye Blind, just like we said we would. I guess times like these are expected when you’ve spent thousands of miles in a car with somebody, which is ok. It’s healthy for humans to vent from time to time, especially when girls and talk radio are involved.

And maybe there’s some truth to Jack Kerouac’s words regarding the women of Des Moines, Iowa. They certainly had an effect on us that day.

0 CommentsLeave a comment