This could have happened, but it didn’t.
The night was chilly but the sky was clear. We were headed back to crash after a night of video games, bubble tea, and a crap load of car trips. We had just left a friend’s house after spending a good four hours playing catch phrase. SO much shenanigans!
“Team Awesome kicked ass!” I said getting in the car, “I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”
“You mind if I call my girlfriend? I haven’t called her since I got here.”
“No…why would I care?”
“I was just asking.”
“Well…I’m just saying.”
Eyes rolled as the phone moved to the proper up right possession. The phone call had to do with the backing up of a type of bodily fluid, and was not a conversation I wanted to hear. To drown out the mushy talk I started singing to myself.
People are talking, talking ‘bout people.
I hear them whisper’n, you won’t believe it darlin’.
They think we’re lovers, stuck under cover.
I’ll Just ignore it, but they keep saying,
we laugh just a little too long,
we stand just a little too close.
We stare just a little too long… maybe they’re seeing something we don’t darlin’
“I’m done now, you can stop singing.”
“Lets give them something to talk about
“Nope stuck in my head now I got to get it out”
A little mystery to figure out.
Lets give them something to talk about,
How about
LooooOOOOOOVE?”
Silence then, “Wow.”
“I don’t think I could do that again if I tried.” I laughed, going along with the mood. “Sorry if I interrupted your call, damn song been stuck in my head all night.”
“No worries. I love your voice.”
This could have happened, but it didn’t.
The fire pit was more of a wire basket, but it was warm and real fire. Tony and Sam were cuddling on the one side of the fire while I was trying to read from the book.
“Being dyslexic sucks.”
“Oh?” Sam asked.
“I’ve trained myself to flip things, and then if I need to make it backwards, I don’t know which one is backwards, or which way to flip it.”
Tony laughed, “Well, I’m not having you help me with my taxes this year.”
“You wouldn’t be all that smart for asking an English major to help with your taxes anyway.” I dropped the book. “Look a squirrel!”
“Don’t!” Tony whispered loudly, “I’ve been trying to get them to come down to me for a week… I’ve gone through three bags of peanuts.”
“I’m the biggest nut you got, buddy. Let me try.”
Never taunt a squirrel with a bag of chocolate covered peanuts. Period. You’ll only get wired squirrels. As Tony went inside to get garbage bags to clean up the mess the squirrels had made, I waved Sam over.
“I just want you to know that if you do anything to hurt my friend, I will find you and there is no place you can hide.”
Sam’s eyes got really big and then migrated towards the door. “I wouldn’t…I couldn’t…”
“Then there is no problem.” I responded, turning around smiling as we heard the door open.
This could have happened, but it didn’t.
I hadn’t paid too much attention in the locker room, the pain was that bad. I don’t know how I managed it but I jammed all my fingers on my right hand during the first half. Usually not a big deal to me (getting hit was part of the game) but apparently the nerve endings in my hand weren’t as use to hurting as my head was. The combination of them had me a little off balance.
The others either didn’t care I was hurt or I was better at hiding it than I thought, because they went on like it was any other half time in the locker room. Half-hearted plans and laughs were thrown about at half time, while I tried to get my hand back into working order. Finger dancing and air piano playing could only do so much. I figured as long as I used it as little as possible, I’d forget about the pain while playing. It would hurt like crazy later, but such was life.
Yells cheers and hoots greeted us as we ran out of the locker room. I kept to my left hand while warming up the fifteen minutes before the second half started, which worked because I was better with my left, anyway. I thought it was great a right hander that worked could work the left side of the court. Unfortunately the only other lefty on the team was JV and there was no way the coaches would bring’em up for this game.
I don’t know how, but the southpaw JV noticed.
“Hey! Are you ok?” Number thirty-six asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Why you going left so much?”
“I’m good with my left. You know that.”
“Ya, but your messing with the guards, they’re not comfortable over there.”
I was quiet at that. Their comfort wasn’t my problem, and they should past it around to shift the defense anyway. Free shooting was starting and it was time to help educate the shorter, less strong posts on how to rebound. As I shifted to move away, pain shot up my arm and my head swam. I looked back to see my hand clasped in Number thrity-six’s hand. “your fine…right?...” I heard “Keep up the good work…” through gritted teeth. I yanked my hand out of the uncomfortable grip.
The coach said we weren’t supposed to be overly emotional on the court, so anything that happened on the court stayed on the floor. Performance pressure, the loving support of my fellow teammates, and of course pain cut through my control as soon as the second-half whistle blew. We didn’t win that game, and I don’t remember much else about it. The next time we played that team, they flinched around me.
This could have happened, but it didn’t.
I’ve come to understand that memories are fickle things. How one person puts together a series of events in an attempt to recall the past. Stories that have been retold over and over can become collective memories. It is said that, to the brain, only stores the things most vivid in a way that we can recall. WE choose what is highlight before the information is packed away in the long-term storage. What do memories say about the people remembering? What would happen if these imperfect recordings were all we had to live by?
It could have happened like that, but it probably didn’t.
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