Back From The Black
It seems as though a couple of my crew have gone and got themselves stuck deep within the Pit of Despair. Now, it falls on me - their ever-faithful Captain - to reach down and pluck them back out. As I'm wont to do, seeing as how a good Captain is only as diligent as his crew. (And with this bunch, I need all the help I can get.)
So, I suppose I should share a story with you good folk, to help liven everyone up. Because, if you're laughing AT me...well, you've got pretty much the whole world on your side. And that can't be bad.
Come now. Gather 'round. This might be a tad longish, so I'd get comfortable if I were you...
***
On several occasions over the years, I've often been prompted by my friends to recall the events surrounding my 21st birthday. Now, I have a number of reasons for not doing so. Chief among them, the fact that, at 21, I was not yet the man I am today. I was still young and raw and fresh and hopeful for the future. More easily persuaded by carnal desires than by moral ones. I was still new, still unmade.
At 21, the world is golden and shiny. Still holden to the romance of the words of Keats and Byron and Kerouac. Even a little Bob Dylan and Tom Waits, if the truth be known.
I could list hundreds of examples of young men doing foolhardy things to appease the trappings of youth. And most would be justified. I could tell you of many a person whose good intentions got the better of them. I could even refuse to tell on the grounds of temporary insanity.
However, the main reason I choose not to share is the fact that it’s so damn embarrassing.
To that end, the only way I’d even consider recanting my tale is my changing the names of those involved. Well, the innocent ones at least. The names of the guilty will remain as they are, if only to ensure humiliations galore.
We begin our story on the eve of 30th December, 1994, the day before my 21st. Oh yeah, I'm a New Year's Eve Baby. You should remember that. It will be important later.
Anyway, I'm on the phone with, oh, let's call her "Melissa." Mainly, because that's her name.
Melissa and I met in art school, and even though we'd both graduated and moved on, we still kept in touch. She was living with her folks, in a little town in up-state Illinois. I was working and living here in Dallas - Another point you'd do well to remember.
Also, I suppose in the spirit of good conscience, I should point out that I may have had a "thing" for said Melissa. Yeah, so there's that...
So we're on the phone and she starts asking about my birthday plans. She goes on to tell me that she misses her friends form Big D, and wouldn't mind coming out and seeing everyone. And seeing as how it IS my birthday...
You can already see where this heading, can't you? Well, you're right. Happy? What? You want a cookie or something?
Now, as it is the end of the year, and I've just been paid, all is well with the plan to arrange a flight for one the following morning. (We'll just pretend that I make enough for this to actually happen. Just go with it. It's a story. Suspend that disbelief a little, would ya?) ((Truth is, I did NOT have the funds to make so outrageous a gesture, but I did it anyway, because, well, she was really cute...))
The morning of the 31st came in gray and overcast. Dallas doesn't get the winters of legend of, say, Colorado or Minnesota, but it can get down-right cold for a city made up of glass and concrete. There was a chill in the air that ate right thru my Blue-Light Special Member's Only wind-breaker as I made my way to DFW at that ungodly hour of 5 and 30. (Yeah, the red-eye was the cheapest flight I could get. I may have been smitten, but I was no fool.)
This was pre-9 Eleven, back when you could actually wait at the gate of an arriving plane. Remember that? I was able to take note of how tall each of the people disembarking from the terminal were. More than a few of them looked familiar, as well. It took a few minutes to realize that I was looking at the entire roster of the then unknown Dallas Mavericks. What amazed me even more was that Melissa was the only female (besides the flight crew) on board.
Now, you'd think getting to spend an entire flight with tall, young basketball players, a flight where YOU were the only member of the fairer sex, that a person would be quite content with that day's state of affairs.
Yeah, you'd be wrong.
Without so much as a "hello" (not to mention a "thank you"), Melissa goes into a rant about having to get up early and having to hire a limo to drive her to the airport because the taxi's would not venture out in the ice and snow, and I really SHOULD have offered to pay for that, and she had to fly all the way here with a basketball team for crying out loud, and all of her luggage better be here or so help me, and where did you park? And so on and so forth...
And this was only the beginning. Had I known how things would have turned out, I would have put her on the next flight back to Illinois right then and there. However, I was young, stupid, and destined to live out the rest of that weekend.
***
To Be Continued...
-Jos
"Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children." ~George Bernard Shaw
So, I suppose I should share a story with you good folk, to help liven everyone up. Because, if you're laughing AT me...well, you've got pretty much the whole world on your side. And that can't be bad.
Come now. Gather 'round. This might be a tad longish, so I'd get comfortable if I were you...
***
On several occasions over the years, I've often been prompted by my friends to recall the events surrounding my 21st birthday. Now, I have a number of reasons for not doing so. Chief among them, the fact that, at 21, I was not yet the man I am today. I was still young and raw and fresh and hopeful for the future. More easily persuaded by carnal desires than by moral ones. I was still new, still unmade.
At 21, the world is golden and shiny. Still holden to the romance of the words of Keats and Byron and Kerouac. Even a little Bob Dylan and Tom Waits, if the truth be known.
I could list hundreds of examples of young men doing foolhardy things to appease the trappings of youth. And most would be justified. I could tell you of many a person whose good intentions got the better of them. I could even refuse to tell on the grounds of temporary insanity.
However, the main reason I choose not to share is the fact that it’s so damn embarrassing.
To that end, the only way I’d even consider recanting my tale is my changing the names of those involved. Well, the innocent ones at least. The names of the guilty will remain as they are, if only to ensure humiliations galore.
We begin our story on the eve of 30th December, 1994, the day before my 21st. Oh yeah, I'm a New Year's Eve Baby. You should remember that. It will be important later.
Anyway, I'm on the phone with, oh, let's call her "Melissa." Mainly, because that's her name.
Melissa and I met in art school, and even though we'd both graduated and moved on, we still kept in touch. She was living with her folks, in a little town in up-state Illinois. I was working and living here in Dallas - Another point you'd do well to remember.
Also, I suppose in the spirit of good conscience, I should point out that I may have had a "thing" for said Melissa. Yeah, so there's that...
So we're on the phone and she starts asking about my birthday plans. She goes on to tell me that she misses her friends form Big D, and wouldn't mind coming out and seeing everyone. And seeing as how it IS my birthday...
You can already see where this heading, can't you? Well, you're right. Happy? What? You want a cookie or something?
Now, as it is the end of the year, and I've just been paid, all is well with the plan to arrange a flight for one the following morning. (We'll just pretend that I make enough for this to actually happen. Just go with it. It's a story. Suspend that disbelief a little, would ya?) ((Truth is, I did NOT have the funds to make so outrageous a gesture, but I did it anyway, because, well, she was really cute...))
The morning of the 31st came in gray and overcast. Dallas doesn't get the winters of legend of, say, Colorado or Minnesota, but it can get down-right cold for a city made up of glass and concrete. There was a chill in the air that ate right thru my Blue-Light Special Member's Only wind-breaker as I made my way to DFW at that ungodly hour of 5 and 30. (Yeah, the red-eye was the cheapest flight I could get. I may have been smitten, but I was no fool.)
This was pre-9 Eleven, back when you could actually wait at the gate of an arriving plane. Remember that? I was able to take note of how tall each of the people disembarking from the terminal were. More than a few of them looked familiar, as well. It took a few minutes to realize that I was looking at the entire roster of the then unknown Dallas Mavericks. What amazed me even more was that Melissa was the only female (besides the flight crew) on board.
Now, you'd think getting to spend an entire flight with tall, young basketball players, a flight where YOU were the only member of the fairer sex, that a person would be quite content with that day's state of affairs.
Yeah, you'd be wrong.
Without so much as a "hello" (not to mention a "thank you"), Melissa goes into a rant about having to get up early and having to hire a limo to drive her to the airport because the taxi's would not venture out in the ice and snow, and I really SHOULD have offered to pay for that, and she had to fly all the way here with a basketball team for crying out loud, and all of her luggage better be here or so help me, and where did you park? And so on and so forth...
And this was only the beginning. Had I known how things would have turned out, I would have put her on the next flight back to Illinois right then and there. However, I was young, stupid, and destined to live out the rest of that weekend.
***
To Be Continued...
-Jos
"Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children." ~George Bernard Shaw
posted by Josh at
8:58 AM
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