I sat in the solemn confines of Nell Tanner’s office, alone, which flooded me with memories of grade school and the countless times I was sent from one class to another, testing the wills and willpower of teachers who’d never realized the daunting task of trying to control me fell under their public school employment parameters. The nervous breakdown of Miss Carmichael may have been attributed to her husband’s infidelities with her sister, and Mr. Grogan’s massive heart implosion might have had a link to his all sodium, high meat diet, but I am convinced my wild, youthful antics were exacerbating those circumstances greatly, just like how Dr. Roberts eventually lost the god he’d found after giving up the bottle, which I’d drove him back to.
The principal was acutely aware of my existence, moving up the grades and making regular visits to his office to discuss my “troubles”. “Sheldon,” Mr. Firkiss would say, hardly surprised to see me on the other side of his desk, “what brings you back to my office,” which was my cue to hand him the folded note whatever teacher had enough of me. I would watch Mr. Firkiss as he silently read the recounting of what I’d done from the biased viewpoint of the authoritarian figures who felt outmatched and outwitted by a child. After a while, even the most rebellious and obnoxious things hardly raised an eyebrow, and he’d just lower the page and take of his half-moon reading glasses, and look at me curiously.
“You see, Jim, I think ________ has it all wrong,” I would say.
Mr. Firkiss would stare disapprovingly, and use my name in reprimand. “Sheldon.”
“”Oh, sorry…James,” I corrected myself.
And true to our roles, Mr. Firkiss would slip past exasperation immediately to save himself the energy of getting worked up, review the charges and somehow be moved to exonerate me of my actions, which I usually owned up to with pride, but with an explanation for what I’d done.
“Let me understand this Sheldon…he was going to touch your, ah, privates.
“That’s possible, sir. Or touch me which his.”
“I see.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that was before or after you pushed Padraic.”
“That was before.”
“And why did you push him?”
“To distract him while I got away.”
“So when he had his back turned and was using the urinal, you decided to push him.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“He peed all over himself because of that, you know.”
I did, and I had to fight every urge not to laugh. That was the whole point of it, to make Padraic Donnelly piss himself. That little shit was giving me all kinds of grief with his buddy Matithias Evans and all it took was one last remark in the bathroom to make me lose my cool. What was he going to do, tell the angry parents that this piss-covered son was possibly threatening other students with molestation? No, they were already displeased, and he didn’t want the headache of dealing with me any longer than he had to.
“My mother told me not to let anybody touch my special privates,” I told him confidently. Of course, I’d rebel against that whole idea in high school. Shit, I’d even paid a few people to do that in my time. So I’d be sent home for the rest of the day, and Padraic would have to wait for a dry pair of pants to be brought from home.
Nell walked in hurriedly, breaking my daydream of grade school disobedience. She was wearing a red strapless evening gown, though it was hardly past noon. It was an Oscar de la Renta number (a $5700 red duchess satin strapless draped gown to be precise) that clung to her slim frame, exactly how they’d designed it to, and her typically hardened shell gave the ensemble even more of display-like quality, a mannequin with a familiar face. She didn’t address the fact she was completely done up nor bat at my far simpler twill pants and reprinted (and overpriced compared to the original) The Who 1979 tour shirt.
“I have to be brief about this Sheldon, and cover these three things…”
She didn’t bother to sit down, but took some index-sized cards out from a desk drawer and leafed through them rapidly.
“I’ve reviewed your first engagement from last week, and though I regret not being there to observe as I do with most of out new speakers, judging by the response cards, you did better than I’d expected. I would, however, like to see you learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours off the language that teachers and school administrators would find unbecoming of a speaker. Being professional means being precise with not just how you say something, but what you’re saying. Clean it up, please,” she emphasized the request, which was more of a command.
She continued, “I know you’re looking for more than just pep talks with pre-pubescents, and that’s not my plan for you here Sheldon, but you need some minor league experience before I send you up to play with the heavy hitters. We’ll start to get you up there after another positive showing at El Camino.”
She put the cards back, but I caught a momentary glance, seeing columns of check marks and ratings. Nell kept going, “In a few months, there’ll be one of the biggest industry shows and I want you to come to it. It’s called Talking Heads, and every year, we take two or three speakers out to get a chance to deal with our clients face to face. There will be hundreds of speakers presenting, and thousands of companies there, all looking for information on our speakers and potentially using our services. A lot of it is public relations and image, but there have been several clients we’ve managed to acquire, not because our materials have the fanciest font or our booklets are on the glossiest paper. It’s about impressing them when they take a few moments to see us, and standing out from all the faces and business cards they get. And I believe you can do that.”
“Finally,” she said, leaning against her desk in from of me, “there is a small matter with Artie Rosen to address.” I was surprised to hear her mention him and certainly hadn’t been bridging the two worlds. “He seems to think that while you’re - how should I say this, in absentia from your past duties on television, that he is entitled to certain interest in your activities. I do understand your relationship with him is far longer and intimate than you and I, but knowing your situation as I now do, you are still, as you have been, employed by my company at will – your own a much as through mine. I tell you all of this because Mr. Rosen is foolishly thinking about legal action for what he thinks is a cut of your earnings, though a letter from our legal representatives will certainly crush those thoughts. He is, and will remain your agent in the same capacity he has always been, and if you choose to seek employment in other forums and mediums, that is your choice. But as long as you are part of our agency, I will be looking after and taking care of you as I do the rest of my company. I know that you will eventually have a choice to make about your time and direction, and even if you plan to take your career back into familiar territory, it does not necessarily mean our business is complete. I just wanted you to hear it from me before you heard something from him. I’m sure he misses the opportunity to utilize your talents, but had he had the slightest involvement in our business together, he’d have already been handsomely compensated. I do hope that if he does bring this up, you will refrain from discussing it with him, for legal reasons of course.”
That diabolical grin of hers came out again and she have a slight adjustment to a silver stem hair that dared violate her eyeline, neatly correcting it to above her brow. She stood and made her departure. “Best of luck at El Camino next week, Sheldon.”
I couldn’t keep pace with her, but saw the well dressed man waiting for her in the reception area. He must have been half her age, and in contrast to her fair completion, he was bronzed like the beaches in Italy he likely called home. Peter was out there, also admiring Nell’s beautiful companion, envious as hell.
“I wish I could do half the things to him she’s going to,” Peter said staring at the elevator doors after closing with them inside.
I too was staring at the elevators. “Where’s the boss lady off to?
“Dinner. In the Mediterranean.”
“Sure. Of course,” I said marveling at the incredibly decadent yet fitting nature of it. “If I wanted Italian for dinner, I’d do the same as her.”
The principal was acutely aware of my existence, moving up the grades and making regular visits to his office to discuss my “troubles”. “Sheldon,” Mr. Firkiss would say, hardly surprised to see me on the other side of his desk, “what brings you back to my office,” which was my cue to hand him the folded note whatever teacher had enough of me. I would watch Mr. Firkiss as he silently read the recounting of what I’d done from the biased viewpoint of the authoritarian figures who felt outmatched and outwitted by a child. After a while, even the most rebellious and obnoxious things hardly raised an eyebrow, and he’d just lower the page and take of his half-moon reading glasses, and look at me curiously.
“You see, Jim, I think ________ has it all wrong,” I would say.
Mr. Firkiss would stare disapprovingly, and use my name in reprimand. “Sheldon.”
“”Oh, sorry…James,” I corrected myself.
And true to our roles, Mr. Firkiss would slip past exasperation immediately to save himself the energy of getting worked up, review the charges and somehow be moved to exonerate me of my actions, which I usually owned up to with pride, but with an explanation for what I’d done.
“Let me understand this Sheldon…he was going to touch your, ah, privates.
“That’s possible, sir. Or touch me which his.”
“I see.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that was before or after you pushed Padraic.”
“That was before.”
“And why did you push him?”
“To distract him while I got away.”
“So when he had his back turned and was using the urinal, you decided to push him.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“He peed all over himself because of that, you know.”
I did, and I had to fight every urge not to laugh. That was the whole point of it, to make Padraic Donnelly piss himself. That little shit was giving me all kinds of grief with his buddy Matithias Evans and all it took was one last remark in the bathroom to make me lose my cool. What was he going to do, tell the angry parents that this piss-covered son was possibly threatening other students with molestation? No, they were already displeased, and he didn’t want the headache of dealing with me any longer than he had to.
“My mother told me not to let anybody touch my special privates,” I told him confidently. Of course, I’d rebel against that whole idea in high school. Shit, I’d even paid a few people to do that in my time. So I’d be sent home for the rest of the day, and Padraic would have to wait for a dry pair of pants to be brought from home.
Nell walked in hurriedly, breaking my daydream of grade school disobedience. She was wearing a red strapless evening gown, though it was hardly past noon. It was an Oscar de la Renta number (a $5700 red duchess satin strapless draped gown to be precise) that clung to her slim frame, exactly how they’d designed it to, and her typically hardened shell gave the ensemble even more of display-like quality, a mannequin with a familiar face. She didn’t address the fact she was completely done up nor bat at my far simpler twill pants and reprinted (and overpriced compared to the original) The Who 1979 tour shirt.
“I have to be brief about this Sheldon, and cover these three things…”
She didn’t bother to sit down, but took some index-sized cards out from a desk drawer and leafed through them rapidly.
“I’ve reviewed your first engagement from last week, and though I regret not being there to observe as I do with most of out new speakers, judging by the response cards, you did better than I’d expected. I would, however, like to see you learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours off the language that teachers and school administrators would find unbecoming of a speaker. Being professional means being precise with not just how you say something, but what you’re saying. Clean it up, please,” she emphasized the request, which was more of a command.
She continued, “I know you’re looking for more than just pep talks with pre-pubescents, and that’s not my plan for you here Sheldon, but you need some minor league experience before I send you up to play with the heavy hitters. We’ll start to get you up there after another positive showing at El Camino.”
She put the cards back, but I caught a momentary glance, seeing columns of check marks and ratings. Nell kept going, “In a few months, there’ll be one of the biggest industry shows and I want you to come to it. It’s called Talking Heads, and every year, we take two or three speakers out to get a chance to deal with our clients face to face. There will be hundreds of speakers presenting, and thousands of companies there, all looking for information on our speakers and potentially using our services. A lot of it is public relations and image, but there have been several clients we’ve managed to acquire, not because our materials have the fanciest font or our booklets are on the glossiest paper. It’s about impressing them when they take a few moments to see us, and standing out from all the faces and business cards they get. And I believe you can do that.”
“Finally,” she said, leaning against her desk in from of me, “there is a small matter with Artie Rosen to address.” I was surprised to hear her mention him and certainly hadn’t been bridging the two worlds. “He seems to think that while you’re - how should I say this, in absentia from your past duties on television, that he is entitled to certain interest in your activities. I do understand your relationship with him is far longer and intimate than you and I, but knowing your situation as I now do, you are still, as you have been, employed by my company at will – your own a much as through mine. I tell you all of this because Mr. Rosen is foolishly thinking about legal action for what he thinks is a cut of your earnings, though a letter from our legal representatives will certainly crush those thoughts. He is, and will remain your agent in the same capacity he has always been, and if you choose to seek employment in other forums and mediums, that is your choice. But as long as you are part of our agency, I will be looking after and taking care of you as I do the rest of my company. I know that you will eventually have a choice to make about your time and direction, and even if you plan to take your career back into familiar territory, it does not necessarily mean our business is complete. I just wanted you to hear it from me before you heard something from him. I’m sure he misses the opportunity to utilize your talents, but had he had the slightest involvement in our business together, he’d have already been handsomely compensated. I do hope that if he does bring this up, you will refrain from discussing it with him, for legal reasons of course.”
That diabolical grin of hers came out again and she have a slight adjustment to a silver stem hair that dared violate her eyeline, neatly correcting it to above her brow. She stood and made her departure. “Best of luck at El Camino next week, Sheldon.”
I couldn’t keep pace with her, but saw the well dressed man waiting for her in the reception area. He must have been half her age, and in contrast to her fair completion, he was bronzed like the beaches in Italy he likely called home. Peter was out there, also admiring Nell’s beautiful companion, envious as hell.
“I wish I could do half the things to him she’s going to,” Peter said staring at the elevator doors after closing with them inside.
I too was staring at the elevators. “Where’s the boss lady off to?
“Dinner. In the Mediterranean.”
“Sure. Of course,” I said marveling at the incredibly decadent yet fitting nature of it. “If I wanted Italian for dinner, I’d do the same as her.”
---
I wish that I didn’t possess need to care about how I came across to my ex, but I think that it’s unavoidable, even for somebody as cocky and carefree (or is that careless) as myself. For six days I was watching what I ate, getting at least eight hours of sleep, and walking the neighborhood in the morning and evening. Fran laughed at me when I told him my regimen, and then laughed even harder when I mentioned my next talking engagement which would take me in front of Joanie Knapp, who for 27 months turbulently made her way into my heart. And through it. Mother was a little more pleased by my activities, and though I did omit the small part about having to see Joanie, it was satisfying to be taking better care of myself and telling my mother so.
When the day came to head into the San Fernando Valley and conquer the Conquistadors at El Camino Real, I told myself to just treat it like any other day, even though I had been planning for it to be anything but. I followed the directions Sunday had provided and parked in the smaller of the parking lots reserved for faculty and visitors, leaving my black blazer in the back seat until arriving to avoid wrinkling and putting it over my white button down and deep indigo jeans – what is the standard Hollywood-type uniform. Were the jeans and coat dry cleaned before this occasion? Goddamn right they were!
The main entrance was on the boulevard side of the school, where the multi-lane road was bordered only by shrubs and foliage, decorating the cinderblock walls that ran the length of the street. On the other side were a maze of streets and cul-de-sacs, snaking down the slight hills and surrounding the campus with a subdivision of ranch style houses that predated the school itself by a good decade. As I walked into the corridor bridging the administration with a building that I determined housed the arts judging by the choral students practicing, I was not at all gently illuminated with the myriad sporting and scholastic accomplishments the high school had garnered in its 40 years. Rah rah, school sprit!
The first office I saw I entered, and the elderly woman filing papers kindly rang the principal, who in turn sent a student to take me to my destination du jour.
“So,” I asked the young girl who was playing hall monitor for me, “are you in the class I’m talking to today?”
“No, I just have the administrators as an elective this period,” she replied, lisping her S on account of the hardware in her mouth.
“You can take that as a class?”
“Sure, you can do almost anything for credits if you have the open slots. All I had to do is take trig at summer school so I could use the period to do the elective. It’s for my transcript. I do, like two clubs a day to pump it up.”
“I didn’t realize that things got so competitive since I graduated.”
“Oh, when was that,” she asked innocently.
“How old are you?”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Way before you were even born.”
“Yeah, I figured. Okay, you’re here,” she said, stopping in front of a closed classroom door that was up a flight of stairs, a corridor, and a T-intersection from where we’d started. She pulled a sticker off a roll with the school logo on it, offering it up.
“Keep that on so they know you’re a cleared visitor. Otherwise school security could shoot you.”
“This is the Valley, not South Central.”
“Yeah, but you sure don’t look like a teacher. You look like a casting agent.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Duh, it’s the Valley. They make porn movies over in Chatsworth.”
I smiled politely at the warning, and put the sticker on my breast pocket. Through the small window I peered into the classroom, which was empty, but entered anyway, knowing I was a few minutes earlier than scheduled.
---
“Look what the cat threw up.”
Shit. Joanie.
“Dragged in. And I believe it was your cat that constantly turned everything into a puke ball. I see you’re still sweet after all these years. Come to watch me address this class, or planning to incite a riot?”
”I’m sure you’re still able to start a riot on your own. I’m just here to see what’s become of you Sheldon.”
“If only you hadn’t cancelled your fan club membership you’d still receive The Sheldon Quarterly and know my every move.”
“Still charming as ever. Even after almost 10 years.”
“Well, I guess I aged more like wine.”
“No, I think you’re vinegar. That’s what in a douche bag.”
I met her crocodile smile with my own even bigger, beaming false happiness.
“Oh you’re just like a melody…no bitterness.”
A bell rang and the hallways jumped to life with teens swimming through the crowd, stopping to talk or open lockers or navigate from point A to B.
“So, you’re looking well,” I commented to Joanie, who despite looking like an older version of the gal I once dated, wasn’t too different. I figured I’d only have to keep a little small talk going until the first few kids came in and then I could get on with the speechmaking. I was desperately trying to not let all the ugly thoughts and feeling that had been exercised after we split surface, since my plan to be cooler and nicer than she if we crossed paths was now in jeopardy of becoming a plan to take her into the backroom and beat her unconscious with a textbook without being seen.
“I know,” she said with zero trace of appreciation to mask her conceit. She went to the back of the class and opened a transom before pulling a lighter and cigarette.
“Oh, they’re allowing smoking on campus finally,” I prodded her. “Is there a lab where the equipment pulls down into a bed for the students too?”
Joanie took a deep drag and savored it before exhaling out the window. “I always needed a smoke to calm down and deal with you, Shel.”
“I thought you stopped.” That was one of her many plans she made and never achieved. “And I just got here, so I don’t know what you mean by ‘deal with me’, okay?”
I looked towards the door expecting students to show up any moment so I could get out of the death spiral our conversation was locking into, but no salvation came.
She took a few more drags and put out the cigarette gently, preserving half of it for later. “There was a sign up for teachers who wanted to have a guest speaker come to their class, and when I found out it was you, I took it down and turned it back in signed.”
“I’m get the impression that if I’m feeling flattered that that wasn’t your intent.”
The bell rang again and the commotion in the halls was gone. The classroom was empty. Television personality brutally killed by school supplies by delusional ex, coming up at eleven.
“I just wanted to see how you liked it when somebody else changed things on you and made you disoriented.”
“Disoriented? You mean your surprise when you told me you wanted to split up and I agreed it was the best thing to do that I made you take all your things right then and there?”
“That was a whole patio furniture set I had to fit into my car!”
“And clothes and other knick-knacks. But you got it all.”
“You’re an asshole, Sheldon.”
“Yeah, that’s just how I get when my girlfriend decides she’d rather break up with me than work out the nonsense issues she has. You wanted it and I gave it to you, even though you would have probably preferred a big fight. You think I was going to have you come back and get your stuff some other time? Sorry, but that’s a luxury reserved for girlfriends, and that ended when you ended it. And what better way to get the change you wanted by not having you ever need to see me again. You’re welcome isn’t out of line, but I can see you’re not up to that, still.”
She didn’t say anything and gathered up her purse and keys.
“So the point of all this is to make me think I’m going to give a talk and then I’m not?” Was it?
“Nope. You’re not speaking to my class. I signed them up for the assembly this period. You’re going to be talking to about a third of the school. Hope that doesn’t change your plans.”
---
Folks number one fear is public speaking, followed by being attacked by a shark, getting set on fire, and having forced sex in a prison shower. As a person who has already dealt with talking in front of strangers (if not with), going from a few dozen to a thousand is not a big deal, but it significantly alters your approach and direction. Winning a small crowd is far easier than a huge group if for nothing else than that sheer number of failures you have to avoid with a large turnout. One or two disinterested people in an audience won’t disrupt your plans like a few hundred.
Outside the MPR that Joanie took me to was Mr. Thomas, the Dean Of Students, who was half paying attention to our introduction while talking to people involved with the assembly that were checking with him of information or directions as it was getting underway. He would talk to one as another radioed him on his walkie talkie, and he would juggle two more before getting the next call. He looked over at me long enough to tell me that it was going to be a 10 minute segment in the middle, right after the breakdancers, and to wait in the backstage.
It didn’t take long for my turn to come, as the applause died down for the spinning and flipping that proceeded me. Joanie came out on the stage and placed a mic stand dead center of the empty stage.
“Good afternoon, students,” she addressed them in a tone that was lacking when she and I talked. “Coming up right now is a change of pace for what’s been seen so far, and what is coming up, but don’t let that ruin the whole assembly for you. From the program Another Fifteen Seconds, it’s host…please welcome Sheldon.”
The flat introduction garnered a soft, charitable round of applause. I covered the mic slightly. “That’s Another Fifteen Minutes,” I said calling to her as she left the stage.
“You wish it was,” she yelled back, which got a better response than the introduction.
“Okay…well, my name is Sheldon, as Ms. Knapp said, and yes, I have been hosting a program for many years now. I also do speaking engagements like this, where I get to ask how many of you may be familiar with the program I do. Hands?”
It was a weak showing. Good thing there were no advertisers there.
“Ah, not too many. So that means most of you have good taste, or you just want to see me fail and have to spend my time standing in front of students finding out just how few of them know I have a show.”
There was a murmur, but it was a response, and that’s what you need to get right away when fighting for the attention of a big room.
“Thanks to those of you who have seen it, really. And if you can convince everyone else to watch, then you’d actually get less of me up here bugging you.”
Another mild response, but they were responding.
“Yeah, usually do a couple of breakdancing moves too, but let’s face it - it would be hard to top those guys, right? Let’s give them another round of applause!”
They clapped and cheered, which gave way to chants for me to do some moves. I started to do the robot, but after a few swings of the arm I waved the crowd off.
“You gotta have one dollar bills for that, okay?”
There were chuckles and boos, but they were still involved.
“So normally, I’d ask a few of you what you’re interested in and we’d use that as a way to talk about me and what I’ve done so you can apply that to yourselves, but that could be kinda boring with this many people. Instead I want to share something with you that most of you might fight out later in life, or not at all.”
“You’re gay,” shouted a kid in the back, which got the largest response so far.
I smiled and nodded, “My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen,” which kept the spirits light.
“Seriously, I want to tell you about motivation. Real motivation. A lot of people will tell you you need to stay positive, to reinforce your will to achieve through some mantra of positive thoughts. Well, I’m here to tell you about something else. Because that’s bullshit.”
There was a clapping and cheering, but at the swearing, which I quickly tried to recant. “Sorry, bull. It’s bull.”
I took the mic out of the clip and carried the stand off to the side of the stage. I felt more free to move, to work the room.
“I want to tell you that even the worst intentions, the most petty of selfish thoughts, can become excellent ways to achieve your goals.”
That got their attention.
“Who here has an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend? C’mon, let’s see the hands.” There were a lot. “Wow, that’s a lot. When I was your age in 1861 we didn’t date too much. But we did have arranged marriage. Alright, on the count of three I want you to yell that person’s name out loud. One…two…three!”
There was a lot of yelling, but somehow, “Joanie Knapp”, what I yelled, seemed to cut through. Damn proximity to the microphone. The cries melted into a palisade of oohs. In the back of the room, even through the spotlight that was on me onstage, I faintly saw Joanie give me the finger.
“Okay, okay…now how many of you stared working out extra hard to look better after that? Or made sure you put on something a little nicer when you came to class? News flash, you’re not trying to impress them – you’re trying to depress them by improving yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with that. See what makes you eat better to fit into that pair of jeans or keeps your gut from poking out – that or ‘doing what’s healthy and best for you’. It’s that desire for a little revenge by making them jealous. Never mind if you should or shouldn’t be hung up on why you care what they think, just use that to make it happen.”
It didn’t entirely hit home with them, so I immediately tried another approach.
“Here’s a little concept called ‘the secret war’. You can’t lose a battle with an enemy if they don’t know that you’re attacking them. Right? For example, I was bowling a while back and on the lane next to me, a whole biker gang showed up. There were about 14 of them with their biker mamas, a couple of cute ones too, and they were starting to make a lot of noise and basically intimidate people just by their presence. Now I could have called my gang out there, but you can imagine what a dozen more of me would look like, right?”
They laughed at that image.
“Not that scary. So instead, I was secretly waging war on them, focusing on knocking those damn pins down and out-bowling that tattooed, leather clad bozos. After the fourth or fifth strike in a row, they started to take notice that some serious bowling was going down, and their wild whooping subsided. A couple of them even chatted me up to get some pointers. In fact, I actually found them to be decent folks, but it took being fixated on bowling the crap out of those frames to diffuse the situation, and they had no idea I of me secret agenda. Having the upper hand by showing that they were not going to be disruptive and being badass, even at something like bowling, gave me control of the situation. You all may not have an interest in bowling, but it’s that concept, that plotting and planning and desire to covertly achieve a goal to use to your advantage is that can be an asset.”
“Another thing you can do, and I guarantee you will do it, is to fail. I’m not talking about your classes – you gotta do well in those. I mean at new things, by taking risks. That is the only way you can make things better and your experiences count. I made a huge mistake at my job, but it turned out to be good because I really got a lot out of realizing my mistakes and the scale of my failure. It was epic. Let me see, how many of you have a crush on somebody and they don’t know about it?’
There were a good amount of hands.
“Okay, y’all yell that name of that person on three. One…two...three!” This time I refrained from blurting something out.
“From what I heard, everybody likes Mijenkimalianasisca Wilgrufamtriblucrant? Is that right? Looks like there’s going to be some competition getting that date…”
There were laughs, but an even bigger one followed another jokester who yelled “your mom, dude”.
“You’d better rethink that…picture me with longer hair, 30 years older, and with a moustache.”
They laughed and were back on my side..
That person, they may or may not be into you, but if you don’t try, you won’t know. And if you don’t fail when you do try, you won’t take anything from the experience. I mean, unless you’re lucky enough to succeed, in which case, you’re welcome. But regretting the things you don’t do is worse than failing at the things you do. If I could go back and be your age again, to have the chance, I would have totally asked Jennifer McGrath to prom. And I really wish that I had, just so I wouldn’t be disappointed in not trying. Go out for that team, try and get a role in the play, ask that girl out who sits in front of you in 3RD period. And don’t worry if you fail, because you certainly will. Get used to it, but sometimes you’ll get lucky and be rewarded.”
I glanced over to the side of the stage where Mr. Thomas was frantically motioning to his watch and trying to keep his assembly from falling but even a second out of synch with his schedule.
“You’ve got some plate spinning or something else coming up, but go ahead and fail and do the right things for the wrong reasons, and have secret goals to dominate others. You can do a lot of good for yourself even if you’re trying to take advantage of a situation by controlling it. Thanks for your time…”
It was a solid response, and far better than when I was introduced, even though I took a negative swing at what should be a positive framed topic, but fuck it, that’s really how I approach things, and what works for me should be goods for others. I ducked backstage and made a beeline for the front entrance, and jumped into my car – anything to keep from Joanie for even one second.. I didn’t even take my coat off until I’d already hit the freeway onramp at Valley Circle. As the lights cycled, and I had a moment to undo my belt and take off my coat. My phone was in the pocket, with a text message.
Cami was insistent on dinner and said she was planning to resort to dubious methods if I didn’t agree to it. No time to enjoy my small success, but at least one hurdle at a time. I drove home feeling good about firing off the cuff, and making a tiny bit of sense not only to them but to myself.
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