Big Weekend Plans
“Who’s all going?” “You, me, S, all three kids.” The kids are going to the wedding! I may just have to teach them the Wipe Out dance. Cromwell family tradition.
***
I’m 24, and it’s a cool fall night. The air smells like autumn and high octane gasoline, and the guy I’ve just hustled out of two grand is storming across the parking lot toward me, cursing up a storm. He’s in my face, accusing me of lying and being a deceptive bitch. He doesn’t know the roll of cash I showed him is just a bunch of ones with a 100 dollar bill wrapped around it to make it look like more money. That way if it gets stolen I’m only out around 150 instead of the 2000 in the lock box under my seat. It’s the roll I flash to entice them into racing me.
He’s red faced, angry and yelling, telling me the bet is off because I lied. It takes a friend of his to grab his shoulder and get him to chill. I won, and just because he bought my act doesn’t mean the bet was off. He thought I was an easy mark, and I crushed his ego. I told him he had until Monday to pony up the cash or give me something of value. It’s his friend who drops me 500 and a NOS kit th following week.
***
I’m 28, and my friends are in the bathroom holding back each other’s hair while they take turns throwing up the vast quantities of liquor they’ve consumed. We’re carrying our high heels and they’re half undressed and disheveled. It’s probably 3am and the trains have stopped running, so we’re planning to hunt for a cab. One of them is hanging on me, trying to count her cash and I’m keeping an eye on a group of dudes paying her too much attention. I tug her skirt down a little to get her to put the money away.
How we all make it home safe each night is a mystery, but we keep waking up in our own beds to nothing worse than a hangover and lighter wallet. Maybe a missing shoe. So many times I’ve blinked myself awake in a strange room only to realize I fell asleep in Lu’s bed again, or on her couch, and I feel like hell. Thank god for good friends.
***
I’m 38 and I’m laying against him, watching a movie that I couldn’t help but laugh at even as it was entertaining. I feel a blanket land on my lap and look over, extending my arm. Open invite. Z sails over and nestles against me. Eventually R finds his way into my lap too. I’m surrounded, and I’m grinning. I know I am.
This is more fulfilling than all the crushed egos I’ve ever ground into the dirt. More satisfying than the tightest skirt and highest heels earning me free drinks. This is one of the greatest pleasures I’ve been welcomed into, and I’m thankful. I had always hoped I’d get to experience this, and every time I do it’s a gift greater than anything I could repay.
***
It’s Sunday morning, and his playlist is going. I’ve helped prepare the house for the meeting to happen this afternoon, and the music is taking me back.
I’m 18, jogging out in my cheerleader uniform to play the piccolo solo in You Can Call Me Al on the halftime field. I give a little salute to the crowd at the end and then run back to my squad, handing the tiny silver flute to the band director.
I’m 7, and I’m in my fanciest princess dress and tiara. It’s the Vernon Harvest Festival and I’m it’s junior princess. Main Street is shut down and there are food vendors and a DJ. He’s playing music and my older siblings have all paired off with other kids to slow dance.
I’m sitting on the curb in front of the general store, watching the older kids, moved by music that makes me want to dance with a boy. But I still have cooties and no matter how plaintively Richard Marx sings, no one will hold on to the night with me. I remember the way the lights flashed over the crowd, the way the music thrummed in my throat, and how badly I wanted to be grown up so I could dance endlessly.
Perhaps that’s why I adore weddings so much. They’re the closest thing to those street festivals in the village, and I don’t sit on the sidelines any longer. I’ll dance to my heart’s content and drag anyone and everyone with me. I hope this family is ready!
***
I’m 24, and it’s a cool fall night. The air smells like autumn and high octane gasoline, and the guy I’ve just hustled out of two grand is storming across the parking lot toward me, cursing up a storm. He’s in my face, accusing me of lying and being a deceptive bitch. He doesn’t know the roll of cash I showed him is just a bunch of ones with a 100 dollar bill wrapped around it to make it look like more money. That way if it gets stolen I’m only out around 150 instead of the 2000 in the lock box under my seat. It’s the roll I flash to entice them into racing me.
He’s red faced, angry and yelling, telling me the bet is off because I lied. It takes a friend of his to grab his shoulder and get him to chill. I won, and just because he bought my act doesn’t mean the bet was off. He thought I was an easy mark, and I crushed his ego. I told him he had until Monday to pony up the cash or give me something of value. It’s his friend who drops me 500 and a NOS kit th following week.
***
I’m 28, and my friends are in the bathroom holding back each other’s hair while they take turns throwing up the vast quantities of liquor they’ve consumed. We’re carrying our high heels and they’re half undressed and disheveled. It’s probably 3am and the trains have stopped running, so we’re planning to hunt for a cab. One of them is hanging on me, trying to count her cash and I’m keeping an eye on a group of dudes paying her too much attention. I tug her skirt down a little to get her to put the money away.
How we all make it home safe each night is a mystery, but we keep waking up in our own beds to nothing worse than a hangover and lighter wallet. Maybe a missing shoe. So many times I’ve blinked myself awake in a strange room only to realize I fell asleep in Lu’s bed again, or on her couch, and I feel like hell. Thank god for good friends.
***
I’m 38 and I’m laying against him, watching a movie that I couldn’t help but laugh at even as it was entertaining. I feel a blanket land on my lap and look over, extending my arm. Open invite. Z sails over and nestles against me. Eventually R finds his way into my lap too. I’m surrounded, and I’m grinning. I know I am.
This is more fulfilling than all the crushed egos I’ve ever ground into the dirt. More satisfying than the tightest skirt and highest heels earning me free drinks. This is one of the greatest pleasures I’ve been welcomed into, and I’m thankful. I had always hoped I’d get to experience this, and every time I do it’s a gift greater than anything I could repay.
***
It’s Sunday morning, and his playlist is going. I’ve helped prepare the house for the meeting to happen this afternoon, and the music is taking me back.
I’m 18, jogging out in my cheerleader uniform to play the piccolo solo in You Can Call Me Al on the halftime field. I give a little salute to the crowd at the end and then run back to my squad, handing the tiny silver flute to the band director.
I’m 7, and I’m in my fanciest princess dress and tiara. It’s the Vernon Harvest Festival and I’m it’s junior princess. Main Street is shut down and there are food vendors and a DJ. He’s playing music and my older siblings have all paired off with other kids to slow dance.
I’m sitting on the curb in front of the general store, watching the older kids, moved by music that makes me want to dance with a boy. But I still have cooties and no matter how plaintively Richard Marx sings, no one will hold on to the night with me. I remember the way the lights flashed over the crowd, the way the music thrummed in my throat, and how badly I wanted to be grown up so I could dance endlessly.
Perhaps that’s why I adore weddings so much. They’re the closest thing to those street festivals in the village, and I don’t sit on the sidelines any longer. I’ll dance to my heart’s content and drag anyone and everyone with me. I hope this family is ready!
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