I Think That Dude is St. Bonaventure

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The entire moving in extravaganza can sort of be summed up like this:

Matt didn't want any one's help anymore and he used cockiness to portray that he was completely on his own now...short of the thousands of dollars he needs...and Kathy walked on eggshells holding off on blubbering in front of him, dropping to her knees and begging him to suddenly need his diaper changed again.

Me?

A lot of envy to be honest.

His room is about ten steps from the rec hall. I remember the endless games of hoops. There was always someone willing to play. 18-year-old me would be on the floor for hours...sweating out the beer.

It didn't matter to me that three trips up and down the hardwood now would render me useless or that my hip started bugging me when we made the ten steps from his room to the rec center. In my mind, I was 18 again.

And a whole slew of freshman girls walked by. Matt closely followed their approach and their stroll by. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. I'd been there.

Just like nearly thirty years ago, they strolled by without even looking up. But still...thirty years ago there was a slight chance!

We had a sandwich in the cafeteria. I distinctly recalled sitting across from Gag as he ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every single day. The school paid for my sandwich yesterday.

It was the worst $20,000 sandwich I ever had.

Back to the room Kathy wanted to help unpack. She wanted to put the television in place, plug in the night light and make sure his toothbrush was in the holder. Matt stopped just short of asking us to leave, but I recognized his angst. I had been in such a hurry too when I was his age.

"Let's get the hell out of here," I said. "See you in ten years."

There were no long drawn-out tearful hugs. By ten o'clock we'd all received text messages from him. He'd put his television where he wanted to put it.

Coincidentally, it was right where his mommy had asked him to put it.

Little bastard is going to have the time of his life.

And here I sit.

Sore leg, weakened liver, bed by ten p.m.

Goes fast, man.

Comments

Larry L said…
It really does not seem like that long ago, but has been. What the hell happened to all those years?
27 August, 2011
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