Alicia liked the ostriches best, kinda liked chocolate but hated caramel “like it’s a meteor coming to destroy earth” and wanted to be professional soccer player when she grew up.
Darren had a whole Alicia file in his head, because Alicia’s mom, Shari , in two weeks, vaulted to the top of Darren’s favorite things list. Rappelling and blackjack had barely crossed his mind and the regional manager found him “less than engaged” at the support staff quarterly review.
Even when she was just leaning in the hallway talking to Alicia with her back to Darren, he thought Shari was the most exotically beautiful woman ever.
Shari turned, walked down the hallway toward him.
She could read the look in his eyes. Anyone could have read him. The feeling was edging toward mutual.
Shari broke Darren’s gaze.
“Alicia is in a bad mood over something I don’t entirely understand, so I’m gonna tuck her in and then-”
“I know a really funny bedtime story,” Darren said. “My oldest brother told it to me when I was younger.”
Shari shrugged, looked a little skeptical, then said “C’mon. Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work.”
Shari rubbed Alicia’s hair while Darren recited the story, from memory.
For the first minute or so, Alicia just looked confused, like she was struggling to politely pay attention.
Then Darren said something that coaxed a giggle, then a few lines later a string of giggles, then Alicia’s full bore wheezy asthmatic laugh.
Without warning Darren stood and said,in a deep tone reminiscent of a cartoon elephant “Terberhorn Ploink!”, then bent and pressed his thumb to Alicia’s nose and said “Goodnightness!”
Darren spun and left the room, the seven year old giggling under the covers behind him.
Shari walked into the living room a few minutes later and motioned for Darren to join her on the porch.
“Ummm…that was amazing, ridiculous, I’m pretty sure the story was utterly pointless, and my kid loved it.”
Shari smooched Darren on the mouth, pulled back and said “Your brother used to tell you that story when you were Alicia’s age?”
Darren climbed onto the second floor railing of the apartment, let his legs dangle and patted next to him.
Shari straddled the railing, looking at Darren.
“I wasn’t her age. I…I was older. Seventeen.”
Shari exploded with laughter and almost lost her balance.
“You did not sit through that bedtime story when you were seventeen,” she said. “No way.”
Darren kind of smiled, but it was tight, slightly uncomfortable.
“I swear my oldest brother told it to me. I mean…it wasn’t a bedtime story, but it was late at night.”
“What does it mean? All those nonsense words, and …and how in the world did you remember it all?”
Darren moved his feet back and forth over the railing as though he was walking.
He stopped, folded them, looked at Shari.
“My brother came home one night, all excited, like he had discovered gold in Stoepel Park, and told me and my sister that story. We knew he was high, because he was always high.But it was funny, at least that night. He repeated it the next day. Maybe not word for word, but the same basic thing. We kept laughing at it, so we taped him doing it. I memorized it…because…I don’t know. I’m just glad it made Alicia laugh.”
“It’s so sweet. Thank you. Making my daughter laugh is…totally amazing.”
Shari snuggled up to Darren, looped a finger in his belt loop, just a bit of assurance that he wouldn’t fall off the railing.
“I’d love to meet your siblings.”
“My sister moved to Juneau with some guy she met at a concert.”
“I met Alicia’s dad Sean at a concert. Bob Mould. Great show.”
“I’m glad he didn’t move you to Juneau.”
Shari smiled. “What about your brother?”
When she felt Darren tense she wished she could suck the words back in her mouth.
In the long pause Shari noticed Darren’s legs had stopped the whimsical dangle and were crossed.
“You take Plymouth to work, right? Darren asked. “West of the freeway?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah…ummm…”
Darren untensed slightly.
He looked at Shari. He smiled, but it was the slowest developing smile she had seen from him.
“Ever see the guy in the red hoodie throwing rocks at the Tormeaux Transmission sign?”
Shari bit her lip as she nodded, slowly.
“He still tells me the story sometimes, when I stop by to visit.”
***
WOW.
These stories coming from inside you are very real.
They cannot be easy to release, but are fantastically human.
What I love about your stories, Jimmy, is that I’m always pulled into the story from the first sentence. Right away, I can’t wait to see what’s going to happen.