I realized I couldn’t count on anyone but myself, and that relationships would only end up causing me grief and disappointment. Grandpa tried to teach me that lesson years earlier, but at the time I didn’t understand what he was talking about.
A few years later, when Mandy and Ted got married and I missed the wedding because I was poaching luck from a lottery winner in Iowa, Mandy called to ream me out.
“Where were you?”
No “Hey” or “How’s it going?” Just right into attack mode.
“Where was I when?”
“Last weekend, asshole.”
“I was in Iowa. Why? What are you so upset about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m upset because you missed my wedding !”
That’s one of those ohhh moments, when you realize no matter what you say it’s not going to make things better.
“Ohhh. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.”
But you can definitely make them worse.
“You forgot?”
“Yeah. I was poaching from a Powerball winner who won three hundred and eighteen million dollars in the lottery.”
It seemed like a reasonable excuse in my head but when the words came out of my mouth, I suddenly realized how petty it sounded.
“Mandy?”
“I can’t believe that poaching luck is more important to you than your own sister’s wedding.”
I tried to explain my actions, but the best I could come up with on short notice was, “It was top-grade soft, though.” Click . “Hello?”
We’ve barely spoken since.
The little boy running around the park’s water fountain races past me and continues his circular journey past an elderly Asian man in sunglasses and a San Francisco Giants baseball cap who has now joined the party and is doing some kind of martial arts exercises. He stands near the bench to my right, swinging his arms back and forth like a monkey. I watch him for a few minutes as the boy runs around the fountain and past the gay, shirtless men and the middle-aged woman reading her paperback.
Now the old man’s rotating his hips.
Now he’s thrusting his pelvis.
Now he’s making gestures that look like simulated masturbation.
It doesn’t seem to faze anyone else in the park, not even the mother of the little boy. Maybe the old man comes here every day and does the same thing, so now he’s just part of the experience. Still, it’s kind of creepy. In a tai chi sort of way.
On my left, a young Chinese woman in a blue bikini top and a pair of denim cutoff shorts walks up and spreads out a towel on the grass, bending over in such a way that I can tell she’s not wearing matching bikini bottoms. I consider going over to introduce myself, but that’s not exactly going to help me figure out what to do about the delivery I’m supposed to make to Tommy Wong. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to offer to rub a little sunscreen on her back.
When I turn to grab my backpack, the old Asian guy is sitting on the bench next to me.
“Nice day,” he says.
I nod. I don’t know how he got over here so fast and sat down without my noticing, but it’s a little weird. Plus he’s sitting right next to me. No buffer. No man space.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
Anyone sitting this close to me, I figure I’ve met them. Or pissed them off. Or attracted them with the bad luck Barry Manilow gave me.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Not officially.”
Other than a slight tingling sensation in my shoulder, I don’t notice anything’s wrong until I try to respond and I realize my lips are numb and weigh about a thousand pounds.
“Blllbb,” I say.
The old Asian guy is on his phone, calling someone for help, saying he has an emergency. At the edges of my fading vision, people are looking at me, coming my way,offering help. I’m surrounded by naked abs and bikini-clad breasts.
“Blllbb,” I say again.
I hear a siren as an ambulance pulls into view and I feel like I’m floating up into the cosmos.
The Earth spins on its axis, the planets revolve around the sun, the universe continues to expand,
A few years later, when Mandy and Ted got married and I missed the wedding because I was poaching luck from a lottery winner in Iowa, Mandy called to ream me out.
“Where were you?”
No “Hey” or “How’s it going?” Just right into attack mode.
“Where was I when?”
“Last weekend, asshole.”
“I was in Iowa. Why? What are you so upset about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m upset because you missed my wedding !”
That’s one of those ohhh moments, when you realize no matter what you say it’s not going to make things better.
“Ohhh. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.”
But you can definitely make them worse.
“You forgot?”
“Yeah. I was poaching from a Powerball winner who won three hundred and eighteen million dollars in the lottery.”
It seemed like a reasonable excuse in my head but when the words came out of my mouth, I suddenly realized how petty it sounded.
“Mandy?”
“I can’t believe that poaching luck is more important to you than your own sister’s wedding.”
I tried to explain my actions, but the best I could come up with on short notice was, “It was top-grade soft, though.” Click . “Hello?”
We’ve barely spoken since.
The little boy running around the park’s water fountain races past me and continues his circular journey past an elderly Asian man in sunglasses and a San Francisco Giants baseball cap who has now joined the party and is doing some kind of martial arts exercises. He stands near the bench to my right, swinging his arms back and forth like a monkey. I watch him for a few minutes as the boy runs around the fountain and past the gay, shirtless men and the middle-aged woman reading her paperback.
Now the old man’s rotating his hips.
Now he’s thrusting his pelvis.
Now he’s making gestures that look like simulated masturbation.
It doesn’t seem to faze anyone else in the park, not even the mother of the little boy. Maybe the old man comes here every day and does the same thing, so now he’s just part of the experience. Still, it’s kind of creepy. In a tai chi sort of way.
On my left, a young Chinese woman in a blue bikini top and a pair of denim cutoff shorts walks up and spreads out a towel on the grass, bending over in such a way that I can tell she’s not wearing matching bikini bottoms. I consider going over to introduce myself, but that’s not exactly going to help me figure out what to do about the delivery I’m supposed to make to Tommy Wong. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to offer to rub a little sunscreen on her back.
When I turn to grab my backpack, the old Asian guy is sitting on the bench next to me.
“Nice day,” he says.
I nod. I don’t know how he got over here so fast and sat down without my noticing, but it’s a little weird. Plus he’s sitting right next to me. No buffer. No man space.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
Anyone sitting this close to me, I figure I’ve met them. Or pissed them off. Or attracted them with the bad luck Barry Manilow gave me.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Not officially.”
Other than a slight tingling sensation in my shoulder, I don’t notice anything’s wrong until I try to respond and I realize my lips are numb and weigh about a thousand pounds.
“Blllbb,” I say.
The old Asian guy is on his phone, calling someone for help, saying he has an emergency. At the edges of my fading vision, people are looking at me, coming my way,offering help. I’m surrounded by naked abs and bikini-clad breasts.
“Blllbb,” I say again.
I hear a siren as an ambulance pulls into view and I feel like I’m floating up into the cosmos.
The Earth spins on its axis, the planets revolve around the sun, the universe continues to expand,
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