I'd like to recount for you a conversation between my friend Jon and I. It could've turned into a little girly fight, but didn't. And it's one of those things that funny to me, but not to you. I just thought I'd share. So you can not laugh.
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As I exited the bowling alley - still drunk on the glory of two of three game scores over one hundred - I turned the corner. Did Jon and Sarah acutally literally run so to avoid giving me a ride to the train stop. Well fuck them, then. I will take the bus. Just like I did to get there.
Then a giggle. Sarah was around the corner.
I went to see what all the fuss was about and saw Jon standing there. I would've mistaken him for lighting a cigarette, his posture the same as when he used to light 'em up for a smooth finish to any occasion. But it's been a year since he last habitually smoked. It was gum.
I looked at him and said "You didn't put your ball away."
He looked at me, my commentary obviously guff to whatever he was momentarily thinking. "Why didn't you put mine away?"
"Because I had my hands full with my shoes and my ball." Flashbacks of sanitary differences in communinal living ran through my head. I'm sure there was a crooked smile on my face.
"It would've taken you another two seconds."
My eyes thinned. "What are you doing?"
Momentary pause. Jon whirled past me to put away his own crap. The guilt of not putting it away myself could've oh so quickly consumed me in petty self-dispute. Instead, my defenses were up. I had, afterall, been the son of a mother in a catholic family.
I rolled my eyes and watched Sarah conclude her phone call. Her date for the evening had called to cancel.
"Why do I always meet the weirdos or people with issues?"
Jon, Ally, and I just stood there and stared at her, each waiting to receive their own accusation.
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Song of the Day: "Waiting for a Girl Like You" by Foreigner.
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