American Football
Chapter 9 - sad and lonely
That first time, must have been about the time John was born, back in 1987.
One of those old D.C. dive bars. I remember stumbling through the doorway, almost tripping across the raised threshold, but I caught myself. I scanned the room, slightly embarrassed about my clumsy entrance, and then those hazel eyes from behind that Hermann Hesse novel, Narcissus and Goldmund.
The way her amber hair was pulled back in that messy bun, and as she lowered her book, that Camel cigarette dangling from her lips, her right eye closing ever so slightly, fighting against the upward drifting smoke.
We were both students up in D.C. attending American University.
It was cold and I remember that old leather jacket I used to wear, and kept wearing, even after that bulky zipper broke. I was never what you’d call a ladies man. But that night, something pulled us together.
“You got one I can bum? Camels are my favorite.” That was my pickup line.
That’s what she wrote on the front of that envelope. You got one I can bum?
That was her idea too, that we should write each other a letter to place in that time capsule back in ‘99.
But that night, we sat together at that sticky bar, smoking camels. I drank bottom shelf whiskey while she drank sweating bottles of Budweiser.
First we talked of Hesse and writing, then we talked about everything. Even our eventual marriage. Those eyes felt like home, and I wasn’t afraid to gaze into them, didn’t feel the need or urge to look away.
When I close my eyes now I can see them, like distant galaxies, far far away.
Those middle school years. A time of confusion.
For the first time in a while football wasn’t the only thing on my mind. The female form was suddenly in view and my penis had seemed to awaken, or my curiosity with it had.
It’s when I missed Joey most. Of course I still miss him now. I don’t have any ideas, hopes, or dreams about seeing him one day, but I do keep that picture in my wallet. I still look at it and think about the boy and man he may very well have been.
He was my older brother, but he didn’t make it long, he came too early. Never did know Joey, except for that same picture I keep in my wallet. But somehow I still miss him.
Those middle school years I thought about him a lot. Wished God hadn’t taken him, and I can remember cursing God too.
Never did understand God too much, or religion. Unless you count football.
Those confusing middle school years. I needed him around, if only for the advice, the guidance.
But as it was, I just figured stuff out on my own.
The movie was “There’s Something About Mary.” Ben Stiller and Cameron Diaz. Diaz sort of reminded me of Hope Jensen, blonde hair, great smile, and those long legs.
But it was that scene with Stiller and the “hair gel.”
I was too young and clueless to fully grasp this part of the movie, I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
But one fateful day with that curiosity stirring in my teenage mind, I wandered down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I remember wondering, was he sticking a Q-tip in his pee hole?
So I started rubbing the cotton tip around the head of my penis. Somewhere along the way I tossed the Q-tip aside and soon I had my own hair gel to clean up. I’d figured it out.
Yeah, a masturbator, a pervert, I was one of those from that day forward.
It helped though, at least that’s what I ended up telling myself through the guilt. It cleared my head, helped me get rid of those pesky distractions, those sexual urges. As a guy at that age I’m not entirely convinced you have a choice to make, it simply must be done.
The routine was rushing back to grab one of those Victoria Secret catalogs out of Mom and Dad’s room after school. Mom didn’t get home until about 15 minutes after me. Plenty of time.
Yeah, maybe jerking off is part of life, same way that losing a brother is.
But both of those parts of life still leave me sad and lonely.