Hawaiian outfits, however, are a nonstarter thus far, at least in any typical beachy type setting. We have set this concept simmering on the back burner for deployment elsewhere. Mostly, anyhow – one advantage that I seemingly have which Dylan does not, at his good and proper state job, is nonetheless available to me at my much less respectable vocation. As in, suddenly realizing that I can wear these monstrosities to work. They want us in collared shirts back there at the meat counter, underneath these ridiculous smocks, sure. But they haven’t specified just how garish these garments can be.
“What’s happ’nin, captain!” Marvin calls out, with a hearty guffaw, the first time I stroll onto the premises dressed in such.
“Uh…nothing but the rum?” I speculate.
Truth is, though, Helena aside, the summer has far proven a little less than radiant. Almost nothing has gone right, although this has less to do with the props losing their magic than slowly forgetting to deploy them. The sun has even seemed to shine far less than typical during these warmer months, ordinarily one of the few joys we can reliably look forward to in this locale. Itself just a side effect of too much attention mislaid as we navigate some mighty dark alleys. And these seas are just as turbulent as mine, connecting Dylan and his exes, although the exact route taken never looks the same.
In the wake of our lake fiasco, it’s perhaps only inevitable that he gives Jodie another legitimate shot. Greasing the skids was a trial run of sorts, I guess, early last winter, just after my Jenna breakup, whereby with my brother in town for a visit, he and I round out a highly unlikely trio of Dylan, Jodie, and Cassie for a night that begins at the nearest movie theater, a mindless sex comedy that is surprisingly better than expected. Followed by many pitchers of beer at some dingy pit across the street, then a run to an all-night diner. Most notable again perhaps for a quite wasted Jodie, which finds her thankfully more in the frisky and flirtatious mode than anything else. Although Dylan might use different adverbs to describe her behavior, as this evening progresses.
Addressing my brother from out of nowhere, near the end of our run here, she smiles over at him and suggestively asks, “would you and your cock fit in my bed?” To which he rubs his chin, as though seriously pondering the matter, and replies in neutral academic fashion, “I don’t know…” A little later, as we are preparing to make our midnight food run, meanwhile, Jodie is merely throwing her arms around Cassie and me, smooshing us together and declaring, “you two need to hook up! If you haven’t already. It’s totally obvious you like each other.”
That first comment found Dylan wincing in his seat, the second, if he’d even fully heard it, looking merely nonplussed. We’ve all been here, however, semi-embarrassed by a drunken current or ex-girlfriend and her over the top antics on certain isolated nights, ones which might even involve making half joking advances on our friends. I know I’ve certainly been there with Jenna, whose behavior in these spots does often remind me of Jodie. It’s a minefield to tiptoe across, to say the least, and yet another situation where you get the feeling that if the tables were turned, you being wasted and hitting on her friends, you would rightly expect a swift excommunication. In our shoes, though, you’re expected to play the good sport and offer a gritted teeth grin, lest you come across as a humorless wet blanket. As you plot your exit strategy for this outing and wonder how much more you would tolerate before putting a kibosh on festivities.
Regarding this evening, perhaps the most amazing aspect is we still went out for a meal together after this, after which there were no amorous interludes whatsoever, in any combination. Chalk it up perhaps to drunkenness, with Jodie for example far too wasted for Dylan to contemplate anything except dropping her off at her house. Prior to that lone excursion, though, he hadn’t really mentioned Jodie in at least a couple years. And it’s been twice as long since they’ve seriously dated. Which is why I’m caught so off guard when he confesses to me, over drinks one night at Pardners, “I have to admit I really don’t see myself settling down and marrying anybody else but Jodie.”
“Really?” I question, more sharply than intended.
“Oh yeah,” he nods, “I just have this feeling that we’re gonna end up back together at some point. Or maybe I just want to believe that. Because if it’s not her than I seriously can’t even imagine who else it would be.”
And so after the improbable Lake Erie encounter, he’s making some small token attempt at keeping this flame alight. Yet even this attempted reunion lasts just one date, an outing to our city’s annual fair, after which she drops him off without even leaving her car. The door isn't totally shut on further developments, maybe, but for now nothing else transpires between them.
Dylan will later relate, however, that she does deliver, while driving him home, exactly one noteworthy observation. I would classify it as odd, though possibly not entirely off the mark, either, when he relates to me later that she said, “I worry about you guys. You and Sid can't keep burning both ends all the time like you do. It’s gonna catch up to you.”
By this she presumably means how we both work full-time day jobs, then are quite often found not only joining the happy hour crowd, of which our older coworkers are prime examples, but thereafter also attempting to kick it with the rest of our friends, who typically don’t even arrive anywhere until 11pm. If I’d heard this, I might have replied that of course we can, at least for a while, considering our ages. This lifestyle has led, however, to tremendous discussion and deliberation about who is or isn’t a quote unquote Big Dog, on many a night for untold months now. In Pete Ravage parlance, that is, for he is usually originating and always at the center of these discussions.
“He kills me when he gets on a kick about this Big Dog shit,” Dylan recently said to me, “it’s like, yeah, motherfucker, I had to get up and go to work the next day. What did you do? Oh yeah, you slept in until noon, went to one class, then came back and chilled out at my house until I got home. Now I’m supposedly not a Big Dog because I wanna take a nap before we go out? I don’t fuckin think so, dude.”
This is all cut and dried, however, as far as I’m concerned, in mine and Dylan’s favor - even as we are the two least likely to even boast of our prowess. One might even make the case for a curious correlation between the guys who are most likely to tell us what we’re doing wrong (Joe, Phil, Pete) flying in greatest opposition of actual results, with one such fellow from our immediate circle already tapping out entirely. Joe I will concede could mostly hang with us, were he so inclined, although the Shoniqua situation has limited his scope…even if he does seem to constantly get into situations where he is spending all his time with one female, and not really hanging with the guys. Aaron admittedly exists in an altogether other, higher plane, as someone who not only dispenses advice but also delivers the goods, and we can’t even hope to imitate him. Meanwhile Robby is situated somewhere in the vicinity of Dylan and me, maybe, except he’s obviously just too bizarre to even dream about dispensing advice. My attitude is basically summarized as, eh, whatever, I’m just gonna go over here and do exactly what I want. Cool? You can keep yourself entertained discussing everything I’m wrong about. As I tune them out, am almost never caught giving anyone advice, unless pointedly asked. And Dylan is pretty much the same way.
Which isn’t to say we have all the answers, or anywhere close to it. In fact I think this realization is what fuels our unwillingness to declare absolutes and impose viewpoints. On my end, Jenna has not just begun shacking up with some coworker of hers, but moved in with the guy and then gotten knocked up by him, all in the space of about three months. As always the implications or even occasional testy declarations have it that this shiny new toy, the latest boyfriend, is incredible beyond words, and you were so lacking that it borders on preposterousness. A phenomenon given monstrous physical form one weekend day when, following a late lunch/early dinner with friends, I skip out of this sports bar alone, headed home for the hallowed pregame nap. But then unexpectedly bump into Jenna and her new man, just now arriving and exiting their vehicle, having coincidentally parked in the slot kissing up against mine.
“Hey! What’s up!” I call out, though both remain frozen at their open doors, crooked half-smiles on their faces, saying nothing. Jenna otherwise assumes an expression that all but telepathically transmits really? with arched eyebrow and all. As though I somehow magically knew they were going to be here and planned this in advance, i.e. am just as ridiculous as always. I climb in my own deathtrap ride and leave without their having said a word.
