It’s a long story; I hope you’ll stay with me.
Last May (May of 2000, not 1999) I had been hanging out at Swarthmore College, where I had dropped out of the previous semester. I’d been there a couple of days, just hanging out and getting in good quality time with the friends.
Picture this: a warm and sunny afternoon, during which I stumble upon my pal Dan sitting in one of the adirondac chairs on Parrish Beach (not really a beach, but a large swath of grass in from of Parrish, the administrative building w/ dorms). Dan had made gin and tonics, because he was all done with his work. So we sat and sampled from the pitcherful of g&t, for about two hours. Pretty buzzed.
Friends somehow started gathering around us around the end of the two hours. Some had cases of beer, some some food, some frisbees, etc. It’s about 5:30 at this point. The beers are drank, frisbee is played, food is eaten, many more beers are drank, etc and so forth.
Time is now around 7:00. The sun is still in the sky, but sunken and swollen red. Like a huge bloody yolk, just slipping down the greasy sky. Two girls are on Magill Walk (Perpendicular to the front of Parrish, down to the train station- lined with huge trees, absolutely beautiful) talking,it looks like.
The group has now settled down, chilling in the grass and drinking some Pabst. Somebody asks, “Isn’t that Krista?” I look over to Magill Walk. Indeed it was. Krista Hollis is this girl who is the utter epitome of cuteness. Just absolutely, um… perkily great. Can’t explain it. But she’d been a weird sublimated crush since freshmen year, me never having the ability to actually go up and actually talk to her or anything.
“why don’t you give her some mango juice?” Ayesha asked, piercing the weird deep focus. Huh? What mango juice? “What mango juice?” I asked. Ayesha produced a can of it from her cooler pac. Okay, I thought. Why not?
I moseyed over to Magill. I got pretty close to the little mini-clique, and stood there. Not trying to attract attention, but certainly not trying to deflect it. The conversation quickly and gracefully halted. “Hi,” Krista ventured. “Hey. Um, would you like some mango juice?” “Uhhh,” awkwardly but still gracefully, “sure.” “Here you go.” “Thanks,” more awkwardly, kinda puzzled, “thanks a lot.” And with a smile and a nod we parted company.
I got back to the company, relishing my forwardness and aseertive abilities. I was asked the details of the conversation. I complied. “You didn’t even tell her your name?!?” was one of the first responses. Super shitters.
The abject creepiness of the whole meeting slowly sunk in.
For a while I was feeling awful rotten. A ville rat (the name for the little denizens of the college town- mostly skaters) rode by on a bike, down a sloping asphalt path to the Walk. He had a long pipe over one shoulder, dragging on the ground behind. The pipe made a mad racket clattering on the path. Our attention was focus on him as he rode by.
As soon as he hit the Walk, he tipped over. I don’t know if it was because of the pipe or what, but he made an even louder clattering bang when he fell. Almost immediately after, I laughed a big, mean, ugly cathartic laugh at the kid.
Focus soon shifted in the group. But the kid was dusting himslef off still, and trying to figure out how to get the pipe and the bike down the two sets of stairs in the walk. My conscience had kicked in pretty quickly, so I felt bad. Bad enough, in fact, to get up and offer him a piece of advice.
“yo, why don’t you put the pipe over your shoulders and put your arms over it?” He tried it but his arms couldn’t reach the handlebars. I don’t think he could have been over ten.
“Look, how about I carry your bike down the stairs, and you can carry the pipe?” “Okay,” he said. When we got to the bottom of the second set of stairs, I apologized for laughing at him. He said it was okay, and thanked me for getting his bike. I said it was no problem.
I starting walking back up the Walk, feeling pretty good for having done a good deed. Felt as if I had rectified some karma that day. I walked up the first flight of stairs. Hell, I thought, I deserve a cigarette. I fished into the pack in my pocket and drew out a smoke. I started up the second flight, marlboro in mouth and bic in hand, and I stopped. I stopped to light my cigarette. As soon as the flame in my lighter lit, a huge cracking broke above me, and a huge fucking tree branch clattered down onto the path pretty much where I would have been standing. On the same landing where I had talked to Krista. Saved by a smoke, but only put in danger for doing a good deed. Very embarrassing, mortifying in fact.
The oddest thing is, I’ve been knocked unconscious by a branch falling from a tree before.
I give you my honestest swear that all of the above is true.
jb
