There was a time when Thursday night would roll around, and I'd start to look forward to Saturday night. Because Saturday night was alright for...just about anything.
Working at the local party store as "Ol' Easy" would come in early in the evening, grab a sixer of Old Milwaukee, then head on out. He'd be back before closing time, usually to grab three more. Every Saturday.
Hanging out with high school friends, going to football games, chasing after cheerleaders, racing to points on the label of a Miller Lite 40.
Spending time in the summer, chasing fireflies, talking to the neighbors, the glow from the garage seen from the street, a haze of smoke hangs in the air above the car my dad would be working on, smoke mixed with an obscenity just loud enough for those familiar with its tone and intonation to hear, but no one else.
Walking down Grand River Avenue, saying "hey" and stopping for a beer at the Peanut Barrel while gearing up for a fraternity/sorority party, wondering who'd be there, would it be the same old same old, or would tonight - somehow - be different than the previous 51?
Hoping in a cab and blasting North to Wrigleyville to get the Cubby Bear before the game let's out so you could shoot a game of pool and still a seat at the bar after the shark ran the table on you. Or,
Maybe dinner. At that little Italian place you'd go when things were good. And you'd share a bottle of wine, and talk about careers in limbo, or progressing nicely - so you thought - or what would be the topic of class this week? Meisner or that "in the moment" thing Victor always like to see use flail at?
Perhaps the Santa Monica pier is worth walking to tonight, as the sounds of the Strand between Marina Del Rey and Venice mix between loud and soft, English and other, selling and buying.
Formosa Cafe and dreams tonight would be different from the previous 51.
The dog and I see the sunset and keep on going around the big block, past the park - did I just hear that? - and then up the drive, the roses they left behind are coming into bloom early this year.
Main Street is pretty quiet tonight, after the blackout you'd expect that, most people are home trying to salvage what they can, or clean up what they've lost. three days without power will damage melt a lot of ice and ruin a lot of food.
There's a good movie on tonight, grab another slice and glass of wine, tuck the feet under and pull her close, still a blanket's required.
7 am. Right on the money. Up and out of bed wanting to go downstairs for something to eat, and to help with the dog, and to watch TV when it's TV Time.
Wash rinse repeat x 2 now, they both launch themselves at me from the top stair one in each arm, somewhere my age - and their combined weight - will intersect and begin to show a downward trend.
Saturday Night is alright for fighting, but right now I have to get a glass of water for someone who's feet are ensconced by fleece jammies, bearing the mischievous eyes and pointed teeth of a smiley monster. Just like the previous 51.
No comments:
Post a Comment