Last night was one of those nights where you don't expect things to go as well as they do. After a little convincing, I gave in and headed to the diner with a few of "the gang," a name that none of us chose. Unfortunately, that group of people have long since disbanded, and we pull out that word when we feel lonely and long for familiarity. I haven't had a serious conversation with Scott for at least a year, and every time I've seen him since he makes up these grand stories about working for a famous fashion designer, personal tragedy in his family that is medically impossible, things of that sort. I told myself that I was going to play coy with Scott and keep everything on the surface. I was tired of hearing his stories.
Bryan and I managed to get to the diner in one piece, and found Scott in the parking lot. We talked about everything, ate too much, and decided to go swimming. Another car ride and a few acoustic folk songs later, we arrived at the ever-familiar house, sitting at the edge of the circle, dimly lit chandelier sitting in the front window. I'd been there so many times, seen all the rooms, met all the siblings, and the dogs. We crept up the driveway, quietly opened the back gate, snuck down the side stairs, and gazed at our midnight playground. We all found vacant dark corners of the yard - I managed to slip under the deck to change. The pool was glowing a bright aquamarine and there was steam coming off of the deep end. In one swift move Bryan was down the lawn, zipping around the edge of the pool, running off the diving board, and disappearing into the ripples he had created. I chose to take the demur entrance, stepping down into the water cautiously. The salt water vessel had turned into a bath tub; I slowly sunk down to my shoulders, floating calmly to the lit deep end to join the boys. You could see Scott was just happy to have company - there was no need for stories and tall tales. The more we swam, the more real the conversation became. We went from school, the theater, to friends, to personal loss and how to help others deal.
Eventually the water became cool and our fingers became wrinkled, so we got out
Bryan and I managed to get to the diner in one piece, and found Scott in the parking lot. We talked about everything, ate too much, and decided to go swimming. Another car ride and a few acoustic folk songs later, we arrived at the ever-familiar house, sitting at the edge of the circle, dimly lit chandelier sitting in the front window. I'd been there so many times, seen all the rooms, met all the siblings, and the dogs. We crept up the driveway, quietly opened the back gate, snuck down the side stairs, and gazed at our midnight playground. We all found vacant dark corners of the yard - I managed to slip under the deck to change. The pool was glowing a bright aquamarine and there was steam coming off of the deep end. In one swift move Bryan was down the lawn, zipping around the edge of the pool, running off the diving board, and disappearing into the ripples he had created. I chose to take the demur entrance, stepping down into the water cautiously. The salt water vessel had turned into a bath tub; I slowly sunk down to my shoulders, floating calmly to the lit deep end to join the boys. You could see Scott was just happy to have company - there was no need for stories and tall tales. The more we swam, the more real the conversation became. We went from school, the theater, to friends, to personal loss and how to help others deal.
Eventually the water became cool and our fingers became wrinkled, so we got out
