Alone With People

Children are not always as predictable as you might think.  At least I wasn’t as a child.  I might have been a bit out of the loop, but from what I understand, this is how parents retain their sanity.  Anyway, we were at some gathering for people that my dad knew from work.  I won’t go so far as to call them friends, because until recently, my parents didn’t really have friends.  Just associates.  Acquaintances.  Co-Workers.  Anyway, we were there.  A big new subdivision with no trees and smooth roads for bike riding and little to no traffic to worry about.  This was a stark contrast to my neighborhood with tree-lined streets and individually designed houses.  If I knew then what I know now, I would have been able to see the lines where fresh sod had been laid down in strips across the front yards. 

I must have been there without my brother because I was interacting with other children.  Usually, if we went somewhere together, it was like Double Dragon.  We fought back to back.  An enemy in most situations became a best friend when we were confronted with other kids.  Unless one of them was cooler than me, and then my brother generally went with him and left me to fend for myself against the kids’ table b-team.  Anyway, I was there by myself with my parents. 

The child of the house had an amazing room.  Bunk beds all to himself.  Those metal framed ones that creaked and popped like they might collapse any time somebody moved.  As I sat on one, I noticed that several marbles were stuck to it.  I verbalized my puzzled face and asked for an explanation.  I may have been a dense little kid, but I knew glass and metal were not attracted to each other.  Hooray gifted classes.  Turns out they were magnets.  My child-brain could not wrap itself around round magnets.  It blew my mind.  I probably thought about taking a couple of them for fear that I would never see anything like that again.  I don’t think I did though.  If I would have, I would probably still have them. 

One of the flaws of my family was our almost gypsy-like quality of hanging on to things.  I inherited it.  Anyway, the child of the house took a liking to me and suggested I spend the night.  This was the first time I had ever met this kid and didn’t know how comfortable I felt spending the night at his house.  When he broached the subject, I politely agreed that it would be fun.  He listed the things we could do and to be honest, none of them really appealed to me.  He suggested a bike ride.  The bike he had to offer me was a girls’ bike.  Maybe it had been his sister’s or something if he had a sister.  Any young boy knows it is a mortal and life-changing offense to ride a girl’s bike.  Anyway,

The evening wound down, apparently whatever we were there for was done.  I was hoping the slumber party idea had faded away.  My dad told me to go thank the hostess for her hospitality.  As I approached her, a look of unease spread across her face.  I opened my mouth to express my appreciation, but before my throat and lips could work together to form the words, she interrupted and told me that her son, whatever the hell his name was had already mentioned my overnight stay.  My heart stopped.  I was afraid I would be sucked into a nightlong awkward situation with no escape.  I hadn’t even mentioned it to my parents because I was afraid they would think it was a good idea. 

“I just think it would be better if we made plans for another night.”

Rolaids.  I mean, Relief.  The last time I remember seeing the kid was earlier that night when he took his bike through the neighbor’s yard.  That never would have flown in my neighborhood, but it was also full of old people and grass that I’m pretty sure had grown there naturally and not been transplanted.  At least not this decade.  I don’t remember his name or his face or what his voice sounded like.  I never saw him again.  Maybe my dad didn’t work with his mom anymore.  Or maybe she thought I was trouble.  Either way, who spends the night on the first date?