“What’s the big conversation?” After tossing the Coke, she sits next to me on the picnic table, like we’re all doing. I’m not sure why people do that. It isn’t any more comfortable, that’s for sure.
“Oh, just telling Jacks here about how the Sox are suckers, and the Cubs are gonna be the big winners come the end of the season.” Tim takes a sip of his own soda.
“You wish, punk,” I say, teasing and looking at my tanned knees. I’m not sure where to look.
“Oh, how about we have a little contest, and the loser must admit the winner’s team is king?” He jabs me in the arm.
“What kind of contest?” I ask, looking up, then around the yard again. Deena is looking at us with interest.
“Hmm, more like a dare, and who can last longest?”
“At what?” This kid can make me nervous.
“Ummm, not sure. No, wait. I got it! Duh. Perfect.” He grins. “Keg stand. See who can last longest.” And he’s proud of this idea? Last time I did a keg stand, I puked. Last summer at Spud’s buddy’s house. I never planned to try it again. I really don’t want Deena to see me puke.
“Dude, it’s a bit early for that. People will think we’re wild loonies. We gotta wait ‘til more people get drunk out here. The parents would never let it go.” I’m hoping by the time this crowd is drunk enough to allow keg stands, Tim will have completely forgotten this dumb idea.
“You’re probably right, but I’m gonna try to practice soon, as long as I don’t get caught. Deena, don’t let your folks see us at the keg. Better warm up, Jack boy, you and the Soxers goin’ down!” With this, he takes my Sox cap and hops off the table, leaving my hair a mess.
“Yo, give my hat.” Getting up to go after him, this doesn’t make me too happy. I was wearing the prized possession along with a plain White Sox tee shirt and khaki shorts with some black flip flops.
“How much it mean to ya? Want to swim for it?” And he laughs his way running toward the pool. Dang. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Deena and her clan.
At first, just walking quickly, I’m now jogging, if I ever want to catch him. At least my hair’s been freshly cut and isn’t all messy. I was just wearing the hat to catch some sweat, show my liking for the Sox, and block some sun. But it’s a favorite hat, and I don’t want Tim tossing it in the pool. Especially making me look like a dork in front of all these rich people.
I’ve had this hat for five years. My dad got it for me at a Sox game he treated the family to that summer. That was the best day. We stopped at Colonel Sanders for a bucket of fried and greasy, but delicious wings and legs on the way up to Comisky Park, ate our chicken while we watched the Sox win an exciting, but roasting game. We all had so much fun that at the seventh inning stretch, he bought me the hat and Zoë a snow cone, as that’s all she cared for.
I wore the black hat with white lettering of “White Sox” the rest of the game and the rest of the week. Refused to take it off until Mom forced me to wash my hair. Yep, until that point I was taking baths, not showers, so I wouldn’t have to wet my head. She got so frustrated that it’s funny to think about. That same night after the game, we wanted to keep the feeling high and stopped back at Colonel Sanders for more chicken to eat as a late dinner when we got home. It so rocked, and I’ll never forget it. So this hat, it’s like a part of my life.
Anyway, Tim races toward the pool, climbs up on the deck, and calls at me, “Jacko, here goes” and fakes a throw in the water. How childish. He better freaking not.
As I climb up after him, careful not to slip on the wet steps leading to the deck and begging for the hat back, he turns to fake again, slips on a wet spot and careens right into the water, landing on some very heavy chick friend of Deena’s! This girl’s on a cheesy Barbie raft, and with Tim’s weight and awkward landing, the raft slips out from them, flops up out of the pool, flies high up through the yard and lands in the little bonfire across the way!
Not only are Tim and Cassie wrestling to get out of the water, embarrassed about their collision, but she’s holding her eye that is likely blackened by his elbow landing in it and calling him a pervert! But the raft catches fire, pops very loudly, it’s plastic sizzling, and the people near the fire are screaming and backing up awkwardly to avoid getting burned. Tim is soaked in his clothes, and the hat, which he threw as he slipped, luckily has landed right at my feet. What luck. Well, for me. Laughing, I bend down to save it. Tim is standing there, now, eyes wide, speechless, and completely embarrassed!
What’s not lucky, however, is that Deena’s fat Uncle Joe, in his tight Cubs shirt, khaki shorts and rugged tennis shoes and no socks, has been roasting two hotdogs by the fire, minding his own business. At the raft’s landing in the fire, he flinches so much that he trips backward and lands onto her mom’s friend, Jane, sitting behind him. So, now, Jane has Uncle Joe in her lap, has a look on her face like she’s just crapped her pants, and he wastes no time kissing her! Kiss her, all smothering and gross! She screams, then twists her face in disgust, screams again, and struggles to get up, shaking her body like she’s got the heebie jeebies! Yet, Joe shouts he’s loved her all his life and, please, come back.
Flustered, poor Jane staggers toward the house, but, yes it get worse! She trips on a garden hose and falls face first into the dessert table. You can imagine the mess and the chaos. She’s now yelping about that, her pink sundress covered in chocolate pudding. Yikes! My god. What a spectacle.
All the adults are gasping, “Oh, My,” and “Oh, Dear” and rushing to help, while the teens are yelling “Go Uncle Joe” and laughing their asses off. I look at Deena, who has followed me to the deck, and we’re both speechless now. Her eyes wide open, she grabs my hand, pulls me down the steps and around the side of the house, away from the commotion. Both of us are out of breath.
“Whew! I’m so sorry you had to see all that mess. Let’s just wait here ‘til the chaos cools. I was just about to introduce you to my ‘rents, but now they’ll have to settle things down for a bit, and if they see me, I’m sure I’ll get some cleaning up job or asked to entertain or offer explanations to the increasingly drunk adults, and I so am not in the mood.” She’s rambling quickly, shaking her head, laughing, a bit, too.
All of a sudden, we both start laughing, hysterically.
Then, catching our breaths, she says, “Oh, my poor, Aunt Jane!” laughing again, shaking her head.
“Jane?” I ask. “Poor Uncle Joe,” I laugh.
“Poor Tim!” She continues.
“Poor Barbie float!”
We can’t stop laughing. We’re bent over, hands on knees, trying to stop laughing and catch our breaths. That was awesome.
She pauses, looking at me, then out at the house next door, the side of another immense white house, another of the largest in town, separated from hers by a white picket fence that has those purple and yellow flowers along its base. Perfect.
“Jack,” she says, “My goodness. That was funny, but I’m sorry you had to see that. We aren’t always like this, the drinking and stuff. Usually, things are much classier. This is embarrassing.”
“Deena, no. It’s cool. People are having a good time, and I got my hat back! Why should you be embarrassed? God, you’ve certainly not met my
relatives, then! At least, yours are mostly getting drunk on wine! Mine drink the beer that’s on sale and drink it out of plastic cups and coffee mugs if that’s all there is. My Uncle Ned’s favorite is Old Milwaukee beer in the can, cuddled by one of those can holders, and it reads ‘You might be a redneck if…’ Plus, that was really funny. God, I’ll be able to hold that over Tim for awhile. Classic. I needed that laugh.”
“True,” she agrees. Then, before I know it, Deena is kissing me! Kissing me! On the lips!
“You’re so sweet, Jack. Making me feel so okay. You’re great. Mike, he always put down my family, saying we shouldn’t say this or that or play such and such game or eat certain foods. One time he was over, and my dad was grilling hot dogs, and Mike said that was hillbilly food, told me I better serve something decent next time, and as a punishment, I could spend my evening without his good company. Then, he left and didn’t call for two days, until he needed me to be his date for his parents’ anniversary dinner. My parents may have money, but they aren’t stuck up. He always made me feel like I did everything wrong, and he was so possessive. God, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ramble. I guess I’m just so grateful you’re here.” She’s still standing oh so close, smells so good; I want her to kiss me again.
She does, that strawberry flavored lip gloss tastes like heaven, better than any meal ever! I have a new love for strawberry lip gloss! Wait, I don’t mean it like that; you know what I mean. Sweet lips, beautiful girl….
She pulls away, looks me in the eye, “I like you, Jack.”
“I’ve always liked you, Deena.” I choke out.
She smiles. “What you say we give this a try?”
“I say you’re on.”
“Come on, sounds like things have calmed down. We’ll talk more later,” and she leads me back to the party. She could lead me into a pit of snakes or wild bulldogs, and I’d follow. Her hand in mine feels so soft, such a perfect fit. I’m floating, I’m not even on earth. Deena has kissed me! Me! And wants to be with me. Me! Oh my. This is turning out quite nicely. Let’s just hope, hope, hope, Tim forgets about that keg stand.
Now that all the chaos has settled, but has given the conversation some interesting turns, it’s now time to grab some grub, the men grilling yell out, so we head into the garage area to where Deena’s mom has set up the table of food. We fill our plates with hamburgers, topped with pickles and fresh tomatoes, and a variety of pasta and potato salads, chips. I can’t stand mayonnaise, so I avoid any of those salad-like things and stick to Doritos. Top it all off with a fresh can of soda and fresh chocolate chip cookies. Sweet.
Yet, I am sticking to Sprite. Since Spud’s death, beer just hasn’t appealed to me. It’s not that I’ve thought so much about it, but maybe if they hadn’t been drinking that day, they would have decided that jumping off that damn bridge wasn’t such a terrific idea. I don’t know. Probably would have done it anyway. In fact, the death was ruled an accident, because there was no proof of the drinking or any foul play. Sure, I know none of the guys were truly at fault, but still. Shouldn’t have let him jump. Still, the whole beer thing is truly on my mind, and many people are talking about imposing strict guidelines and penalties against people who jump from the bridge. If only there had been some barriers before.
Come on, Jack, think about the party and Deena, not sad stuff, I tell myself.
Chapter 15
Meeting Deena’s parents isn’t stressful at all, and they ask me all about things I like to do as we sit by them at the table they’ve occupied when they weren’t cooking or serving. One, that I’ve not mentioned much, but found myself quite excited and energetic to talk about was joining the school baseball team late this summer. Even though it was something Spud and I were planning to tackle together, and lately I have been debating it, suddenly, it really seems like a chance, a smart idea, and Mom would be happy.
I have been following the White Sox on and off but haven’t gotten into baseball as much as I normally would, due to other things on my mind. I have played in the town leagues every summer since I was five. Now that I’m too old for that, joining the school team should be my next step. I used to love playing second base for Big Dave and Mike, the fun-loving, muscular and tattooed coaches whose team I always seemed to land on. From the Pee Wee League Giants to the Little League Indians, Dave and Mike always ended up being the coaches. They were like second dads to me.
I remember when Zoë and I were on the same Pee Wee team. What a riot looking back at those team pictures on our living room wall, where we all looked so dorky in our over-sized hats and team shirts! Zoë always got stuck as an extra in the outfield, as she was only five and a girl. Second base was where I always played, or next to Coach Dave on the pitcher’s mound. Those were the days, and I’m hoping to stay at second base with the school team!
Each summer, we also have a family reunion, which is supposed to be held next Sunday. So, Deena’s parents and I talk about that, too. I’m not even sure it’s taking place this year, because the family isn’t talking about it. Too much happened with Spud’s accident. And the entertainment was usually provided by his dad, who’s having such a difficult time dealing with the death and is taking some kind of calming pills and seeing a shrink dude. I really doubt this reunion. Now, our reunion is always on a Sunday in July, and this party of Deena’s was already well-planned ahead, so hers is kinda ok to go ahead with. Not really with ours.
Spud is certainly in the air of the get-togethers. Adds a bit of solemn touch. Anyway, Spud’s dad and another uncle always play music with their guitars and stuff at family parties, and Spud always joins for a song or two. They play all sorts of Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Alan Jackson, Garth Brooks, some Beach Boys, lots of oldies. It’s great every year, except this one.
Deena’s parents listen with a great ear. Her pop, a tall, strong man with the same blond hair, clean-shaven, dressed proudly in his khaki shorts and white polo shirt talks a bit about his days playing ball.
“Was even offered a contract to play with the Mets my sophomore year of college, but I wanted to settle, you know, back here in Illinois, where our family business was, so I turned it down. Sure, would have been a lot of fame and money, but there’s more important things in life.”
When he says that, he squeezes his wife’s hand and smiles at her. Probably a lot more to that story, then. Deena’s mom, a picture of health, is a grown-up version of Deena: long, sleek, blond hair tossed into a perfect ponytail, glittering blue-eyes, with a hint of a joke or humor always twitching on her lips. She smiles a lot, laughs even more, and always seems to have witty, cute remarks. A great hostess. And her knee-length pink sundress highlights her cheeks perfectly. If she’s any indication of what Deena will look like in the future, I’m sticking around! What a family. Deena also has a little sister, seven, who is actually on a vacation as a guest with one of her friends to Disney World. Can’t beat that.
Of course, our chat dwindles as they express their delight in meeting me and me in meeting them, though I don’t see how exactly I came across as delightful, and we let them get back to their grown up friends, and we head back to ours, Deena and I feeling the sweet success of that meeting. “They totally adore you. Much more than Mike. My pop said more to you just now than he has to Mike total!” She’s smiling, swinging her arms. So light, so pretty.
“Thanks. Your parents are really cool.”
As the evening rocks along, the music still humming, people loose and chatty and carefree, playing card games and flirting, the sun has set, and the temperature has become quite bearable, and Tim doesn’t forget. Yep, his keg stand challenge. The drunker he gets, the more he freaking remembers.
“Jacko!” He sees me as Deena and I are dancing to the Beach Boys’ “California Girls” on the lawn, as several people are. I hate to dance, as I always feel as if everyone’s staring at me, and I look like some dork swatting insects away, but maybe I just imagine that.
Deena moves like an angel, soft, sweet, perfect, and she’s not giving me weird looks, so I must be doing okay. “You’re a great dancer, Deena. Wish I looked half as graceful.”
She smiles.
“Jacko! Tim hops, rather unsteadily, between us. “Kegger time! You like them Soxies or what?” He tries to grab the hat again, but considering he’s much drunker off keg beer than he was earlier, and I’m sober, I can easily dodge him and quicken away.
“Jacko, let’s go.” He forgets the hat and heads toward the keg, and I wish he’d quit calling me Jacko. It sounds kind of perverted or something. The music is loud, adults really quite plastered, talking in their own little groups and laughing and getting animated about politics and such. Sounds like there isn’t much appreciation for our federal government from one group. And another seems to be debating the price of gas. Is that an issue? It’s like what, eighty or ninety cents a gallon. So what?
Anyway, nobody’s paying attention to us. In fact, I see, near the keg, the second keg tonight, that there are several of our classmates hanging out, just standing around and talking about how the summer goes too quickly. Yep, sure does. One poor fool is drenched in sticky beer as a result of his own keg stand. I so do not want to do this.
Spud Page 10