Encountering George

I need to write this one down before it gets away from me...and in case I'm ever called to testify in court about any of it.

I was in my front yard getting ready for my walk, getting earbuds adjusted, all that, and a boy happened by with his dog. The boy looked to be about ten years old, and the dog was pulling him hard. Couldn't really tell who was walking who, and she was one of those dogs who wants to say hello to everybody and won't take no for an answer. So the boy asked me if I like dogs. I told him that indeed I do. He replied, "She's friendly, her name is Star," and I proceeded to crouch down and say hi to Star, who was indeed very friendly, and I figured that would be the end of it. 

It was not.

"Are you going for a walk?" the boy asked, making a swirling motion with his hand, because we essentially live in a big circle, and I told him yes, that was my plan.

"Can I walk with you?"

What do you say? "Um, no thanks, I'm out here to get away from my own kids and listen to podcasts and get as many steps on my Fitbit as possible before I start my workday." That's what I wanted to say. But what kind of ten-year-old kid, walking his dog, wants to pal around with a middle-aged lady doing her power walk? I kind of wanted to find out. And it felt like it would've been really mean to say no.

My new friend, let's call him George, talked a blue streak and it wasn't easy to follow everything he was saying. It felt like a combination of things going on with George...perhaps some speech issues, maybe an autism spectrum issue, and definitely a "George's mind moves too fast for his mouth to keep up with his thoughts" issue. The information I got from George, as far as I can tell, included the following:

He's in fifth grade and lives with his dad in our development. I asked if he's lived here in our neighborhood long, and he told me, "No, I moved here in fourth grade because my mom can't handle me." 

When he told me tidbits like this about his life, it was very matter-of-factly. He was neither sad nor overly chipper, just conversational and friendly. He'll see his mom this weekend, she lives about a half hour away, and he'll also see his fourteen-year-old brother who lives with his mom. There's a cousin named Sally who lives with him and his dad, and his dad's girlfriend whose name is Gina. He has a six-year-old sister, I asked if she was in kindergarten, he replied he's not sure, he hasn't seen her in a long time. 

There was also a story I couldn't quite follow about him being in the QuickCheck and "someone" phoned Gina about him...he kept repeating "someone" with air quotes..."someone" phoned Gina and then Gina was there at QuickCheck asking if he was ok, if he was safe. Not sure what all that meant.  Of course I have theories. Did "someone" leave him alone in QuickCheck and ditch? And maybe that's why "someone" phoned Gina and that's why he's living here now with Gina and his dad?  The more gentle, friendly, nonchalant questions I asked, the more confusing and complex George's life was starting to appear, and I wasn't sure how much more I wanted to know, or should know. I did get his full name. Seemed like a good idea.  

I've definitely never met anyone quite like George. He was too likable for me to be too annoyed about him hijacking my power walk. So was Star, who kept on having to take breaks to stop and catch her breath on the hills. George voiced his concerns about people in various homes he could point to who are having parties that they shouldn't have because of coronavirus. And he talked about not being sure about if he'll get to go do sixth grade in the middle school next year because of coronavirus. 

George and Star know where I live now. Not sure how I feel about that. But damn if it just didn't seem like a person who wanted to walk with and talk to another human being, in a friendly sort of way, and there I was. There could be the "special needs" vibe thing happening...more times than I can count there've been children I've never met before in my life who've almost knocked me over to hug me around the knees for dear life in public places, or try to sit next to me in restaurants, or take my hand in Walmart or Target or CVS...maybe some of us just give off a "this one's safe to be around" signal and certain kids pick up on it. Or maybe George is just an old chatty fellow in a ten-year-old's body and saw a fellow life form willing to talk to him and jumped at the chance. He mentioned that some nice person in one of the homes here in the neighborhood gave him a Gatorade and he hopes he gets to see her again.

I guess we're living in a world where people like George may be really really lonely for human contact. George used to get on a school bus and spend the day and interact with so many people. Now he's home an awful lot more than he's used to...but when he goes out to take a walk with Star, there are people he can talk to and it looks to me like he's not the type to squander any such opportunity.

Anyway, stay tuned. I feel like I haven't seen the last of George. I might wear a small backpack with an extra Gatorade in there next time I go walking. 

You never know.

This Is Where We Are Right Now

So sometime last week, husband mentions ordering something off of Amazon—just talking generally.

I go, “What’d ya order?”

He goes, “I’m not telling you,” with a little bit of attitude, emphasis on the YOU, like I’m not allowed to know about it.

I look at him blankly.

He goes on to say, “Yeah, you know, there’s this holiday that’s coming up in a few days...”

I continue to look at him blankly, but now I’m wracking my brain trying to figure it out. I was born April first, is that here again already? There's no lit-up tree in the corner...how long was I asleep for...have I Rip Van Winkled my way into late March 2021? Or Christmas?  What the actual FUCK?

I had NO BLOODY IDEA WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT.

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why my family could have gotten out of Mother’s Day this year.

I mean, I have NEVER been so “what the fuck” in my life as I am right now. And I have been “what the fuck” many, many, many a time. Yesterday, honest to God, I was trying to decide whether it was Thursday or Monday. I’m serious. (It was neither, by the way.)

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, but it does. It DOES. Trash goes to the curb Monday night, recycling on Thursday night. Still happening. (Just thought you might need a comforting little reminder that there’s still a civilization, kind of.)

And my very large, brawny 14-year-old-son likes to run around completely naked, any day, any season, so I must bid you a civil adieu pretty soon and tend to that. He doesn't understand how many years ago that stopped being adorable, and also, he does not care. One thing about autism, or at least Calvin's kind of autism...no body image issues WHATSOEVER. Free as a bird. Calvin’s 16-year-old sister, Grace, on the other hand, would gladly lead a campaign to have her beloved brother neutered so she doesn’t have to spend so much time averting her gaze and washing her eyes.

“Pants on, Calvin. PANTS ON!!!!”

You’re likely to hear that uttered, muttered, or screamed at any time of any day around here. Naked knows no calendar.

Maybe we should all be naked. There are protesters that want to end the quarantine. Here’s an idea. Protest naked. There are about 3 or 4 humans on the planet that anybody would want to see naked. The rest of us, no-ho-ho. Bet that would do the trick. “Jesus Christ, put your clothes back on and YES you can go back into Starbuck’s. For the love of God, COVER THAT UP!”

And this is where we are right now. At least here in my head. You can come in if you like, but it can get wild in here. Maybe show up naked...if you're a dude whose last name happens to be Hemsworth...otherwise Friday casual is fine...

It's Nice Out...

I've decided it's time to resurrect Everloving Mess, the blog. I don't know what happened. I just sort of abandoned her. She's been calling me back. So here we are.

We're in, I don't know, day three million and two of the coronavirus quarantine, nobody knows what day it is, or time it is, and nobody cares. I sometimes put Baileys into my first coffee of the day and think nothing of it. And such is life.

But today. OH TODAY. So far we've had a spring that hasn't known what it wants to be, but today, oh GLORY, today! It's sixty-something degrees. The sun is drenching us with his molten heat like a lover returned from the war, and the breeze...I can't even talk about it...it can blow all it wants to and you're never too warm or too cold. You could lie down in the grass and die and be totally hunky dory about it.

Well, can't waste that kind of day, can we? It was coming into noontime, I took a look at Calvin and I said, "Buddy, we are going outside to play. Shoes and socks, let's go."

"Shoes and socks" is Calvin's way of telling us he wants to get the fuck out of the house for crying out loud, so that's the only prompt he needed. He was into it and good to go.

So off we went, across the road of our townhouse complex, and into the playground. It was empty, so no worries about having to play keep away from the other kids on the jungle gym. A few neighbors were walking dogs and had stopped to have a socially distanced chat. Every now and then the breeze wafted their conversation to me, it was something about how they like to work out. I liked the fact that people were talking to each other about their lives, out in the most perfect day imaginable. 

Oftentimes when I take Calvin to the playground, I get a little bored, I want to read a book or play a stupid game or watch Netflix on my phone, but not today. Nope. Felt too good to bask in the sunlight. It felt good to watch my boy and wonder about all the things he was thinking but can't tell me out loud. I was enjoying watching him spin his bright grass-green ribbon, making perfect spirals like some kind of perpetual motion machine; he loves to do that. Every now and then he'd stop the twirling and look up to see what the bird sounds were all about. Sometimes he'd stop and just look like he was drinking the wind. 

By and by he wandered over to the swings. All the swings had big mud puddles under them, and he was eyeing the situation a little disconcertedly. I told him, "Sweetie, no worries, I don't care if you get dirty, swing on the swings if you want to." And so he did. He loves the swings. I do too. 

That's when I looked down for a sec. I wanted to check out the pictures and videos I'd been taking....seeing about which ones I should share with my people to show them this perfect day...inspire them to come out and drink the wind and soak up the sun like we were doing. It was maybe two Mississippis. When I looked back up again after those two Mississippis, I saw that Calvin had kicked off his shoes and socks and was merrily kicking at the mud puddles with exuberant abandon. Two seconds, that's all it took. Oh well, I sighed. It's just good, clean dirt. Not going to dampen my mood. I went and gathered up the shoes and socks and let him have his way, swinging up into the sky, kicking at the filthy muddy water every time he splashed down to earth, soaking his pants from the hem to over his knee. Who cares. It's a beautiful day. How long have we waited for a day like this. Two million and three days, that's how long.

Sooner or later, the boy was done with swinging and made his way over to the jungle gym--one of those typical newfangled plastic things with the slides and the different ways to climb onto it and plenty of room just to sit and hang out on the little platforms at varying levels. Cal likes to make that thing his own, and on a day like today, having it all to himself, he was a happy camper. He settled himself on the edge of one of the platforms, got his bright green ribbon going, swirling and swirling, reminding me of DNA helixes, getting a little hypnotic to watch...so much so that I must have closed my eyes for a few seconds. It was so nice where I was. There's a gazebo in the middle of the park, and I was sitting on the little concrete floor on the outside perimeter of the thing. Didn't want to be in the shade, not on a day like today. So I sat there, like a happy kid on a porch stoop on the first perfect day of the year, and let myself drift. For a few seconds, though. Not for long. I have a fourteen-year-old autistic, nonverbal boy to look after who has at least 6 inches and about a hundred pounds on me, so it's not like I took a nap or anything. Just closed my eyes for a brief moment, breathed in the day, let out a contented sigh, opened my eyes....

And proceeded to shoot across the green, green grass of that playground between the gazebo and the jungle gym so fast that I KNOW it looked like a special effect from an episode of The Flash. I don't run to get out of the rain, but right then, right there, I  was Jessie fucking Owens. 

Because when I opened my eyes and directed my gaze to my beloved boy, there he was, COMPLETELY NAKED FROM THE WAIST DOWN. No pants. No underwear. Nothing between his adult-sized man genitals and the beautiful beautiful day but a gentle spring breeze.

Yep. My boy, All six foot something, 240-plus pounds of him. Hanging brain in the bright sunlight--swinging pipe in front of God and all the world. (In case you're wondering if we'll be on the news...probably not...someone up there doesn't totally hate me, there were no witnesses other than the birds of the air and some creatures that creepeth upon the earth...squirrels and whatnot).

His pants were wet, you see. From the mud puddle. He doesn't like the way that feels. I should have thought of that. And when the pants come off, well, the underpants just kind of go along with sometimes, now, don't they?

Jesus Christ on a Bicycle. 

My Uncle Dan used to like to say, "It's nice out...I think I'll leave it out."  I'm willing to bet his spirit was delightedly whispering just that very phrase into his great-nephew's ear, just to see what would happen.

So ended our idyllic trip to the playground, on day two million and three of the quarantine, first perfect day in forever, worthy of Adam and Eve before the fall.

And me with no fig leaf.