The guys in the locker room were amazed. They couldn’t believe how big it was. Some of them refused to look his way but others seemed mesmerized by it and the fact that he was captain of the swim team made it impossible to hide. He learned to accept the shunning and the staring and glaring because his mom was right, joining the team was a great idea. He’d been an avid swimmer since early childhood and the coaches and fans loved him. Truth be known, his teammates loved him too, but most of them were, admittedly, jealous. Timmy’s father gave him pep talks frequently and during those talks he was always sure to mention his own accomplishments. He was proud of the fact that his only son had seemingly inherited his athletic ability and his personality, not to mention his physical build and appearance. As a young swimmer Timmy’s dad embraced and showcased every aspect of himself no matter the audience and he was often reminded of those days when looking at his son.
During the last swim mete of the season Timmy walked out of the locker room wearing his team uniform; Speedo swim trunks and his favorite extra-long swim shirt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of reporters moving in his direction. Timmy immediately grinned while simultaneously removing his swim shirt. When the reporters were in close proximity Timmy swirled around and gave them a perfect view of his full – faced boyish grin and his beautiful six pack. Those were actually only two small pieces of the beautiful “man pie” that made him the eye candy that he was… and he knew it!
His ego was enormous!
(This is the third chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)
http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox chapter 1
The den (as only I remember it)
Obviously, I survived that little accident (incident). My eyes began to adjust to light much better, but only after the bandages from the second surgery were removed. That first pair of cadaver eyes were no match for those boiling hot, steam baths mama gave me the first time I was released from the hospital. She felt really bad about the way my head and hair smelled since she’d tried to clean my eyes. The judge added a “no contact with hot water” clause to the paperwork the next time I went home, so my skin stopped peeling off and I was able to stop drooling so much, too. I remember the doctor saying that my tonsils were darker than the other parts of my throat. That was probably because of all that hot ass funny, sweet, frothing tea they were giving me. Oh, well, believe me, it gets even more interesting as I look back even further into my own mind. Let’s take a walk into and through the den.
Picture this if you can, burnt orange, thin, carpet with flicks and flakes of some colors I don’t remember. Being a smart ass isn’t a very cute attribute. Yes, I forgot the colors, so what? That’s not the important part of this memory… again, you get what I give you and you know the rest…
Now this was the room that was most lived in. It had a long chocolate colored leather couch that sat facing north, which was where the sliding glass patio door was. Through it, we had a picturesque view of the cinder block fence that daddy and his friend, Mr. Dunston, built with their own hands. I would have said with their own four hands but Mr. Dunston had a hand and a hook so technically that wouldn’t have been a true statement.
On to the memory:
I think I mentioned earlier that the utility room was just off the kitchen, which connected to the den. I always, always followed my mom around. When I was half blind (from the black pepper incident) for that year and a half or so, I discovered that her scent was easiest to follow early in the morning. I had fewer trip and fall and walk into wall accidents before 11 a.m., which is probably how I became the morning person that I am today. I know it’s how I almost got run over by my own mother. No, not in the car, she was running… from a mouse. See, she was in the utility room doing laundry and I was standing next to her. She (apparently) saw a mouse and without any warning whatsoever, she bolted out the door into the kitchen and through the den—and this is where it gets tricky— she leapt,over that chocolate ass couch, lengthwise, with my country ass daddy sleeping on it. She never checked up. She moved at warp speed, and I, running as fast as my little braced legs could carry me, threw up everything I’d eaten for at least the last week. I would imagine my screaming is what woke daddy and when he got mama’s shoe dislodged from between my shoulder blades the lurching finally subsided. Oh, yes, I realize this is the first mention of, my braces but they were of no real consequence. Mama was moving so fast I couldn’t have caught her if I’d had jets tied to my shoes. I eventually crawled down the hall where I fell asleep knocking on her locked bedroom door.
Memories, memories, memories… where shall I start?… Ok, how about this…The playroom… the time my dad and his friends hired a “hit man from Detroit” to come down and “take care of a situation”. To this day, I still remember wondering how the hell “Uncle John” was gonna take care of anything without ever opening his mouth. He never uttered a single word. He just sat there with an oversized Stetson on his head and an extra long trench (Godfather looking overcoat) with his hands hidden deep inside his pockets. Wait…I guess he had hands… to be honest I never saw them so he could very well have been handless… which would make the fact that he never spoke even more of an anomaly for a man hired to “take care of a situation”.. Shit… was this real life? It had to be. I can still see those damn near thigh high, shiny, black boots he was wearing in my mind’s rear view mirror.
Unfortunately, I have no further recollection of what ever came of “Uncle John” and his silent self. However, I have vague memories of sipping that sweet, fruity tasting, warm tea with the funny smelling froth on top and my granddaddy’s old pocket watch swinging from side to side in front of me as I dozed off.
(up next: Chapter 2– The Kitchen)
I had a conversation with a friend in which we were discussing relationships. We talked about the ins and outs, the goods and the bads and everything in between. We even talked about what I refer to as the “er” factor. You know the feeling you get or have when the relationship ends and the smoke clears.
We talked for several hours and when the conversation finally ended we decided to take a poll (for fun) just to see how many different “ers” there actually were.
So go for it— share your “er” with us…
It doesn’t have to be the “er” from a break up… it just needs to a relationship related “er”.
Here I’ll start us off-
I once dated a guy I’d met at a friend’s pool party. He wasn’t really my type but I wasn’t seeing anyone and he seemed nice so I agreed to go out with him. We’d only gone out four times when he popped the question. Talk about a desperate weirdo, I mean how else could I describe a guy who, on the fourth date, asks if he could borrow a cd from my “Jackson 5 Greatest Hits” collection? My “er” word for Mr. “I wish I had a Michael Jackson bobble head like yours”?—
ABSOLUTER– Expressing finality with no implication of possible change
Why? Because I knew he had an absoluter snowballs chance in hell of seeing me again —absolutely no way—
Hi Everyone, In all of our day to day ripping and running, I just realized we are in our sixth month of blogging! It’s hard to believe we’ve been at this for a whole half a year!
In honor of this great accomplishment and because we’ve gained so many new blogger friends, I’ve decided to re-share some of the things we’ve posted since our humble beginning. (I plan to re-post in a series with the first one being posted within the hour) Enjoy, and by all means, feel free to comment, share and or re-blog!
My little “Tinker Toy” (no, that’s not really her name) is a budding young entrepreneur. Tonight she decided to open her very own doggie adoption business.
Yes, that’s the name of it and yes, she knows that the word “hug” has only one -g- even when the plural form is used. She told me that she wanted the name of her business to stand out. She also told me that she had to use a bandaid to attach her sign to the wall outside her bedroom/office because she couldn’t find any tape… yes, that’s creative and yes, I told her where she could find a roll of tape for future use.
Okay, so this is the sign she posted for her potential customers.
I was contacted and told that I should visit her place of business.
Upon arrival I found this…
My precious little brainchild made name tags and information cards for each of her two little dogs and tied them on with a piece of ribbon. (No, she did not have to use a kitchen knife to cut the ribbon- yes, she found scissors; right next to the box of band aids!)
Question: Do these poor little dogs look as pitiful to you as they do to me?
I laughed until tears rolled down my face.
P.S. Laughter is the best medicine!