Ever thought back on the friends you had when you were young compared with the friends you have now? I mean the ones who for what ever reason have drifted from your life. My current circle of friends, and it's a small circle, in fact it's so small it's an arc, are all quite settled in their lives. I'm the only one with no kids and/or no partner. Yep, I'm the one who sits on the corner or at the end of the table ... I'm the spare.
When I was a youngster my friends were drawn mainly from school leftovers and the football team. A rowdy bunch to say the least. I was reminded of one former friend when the topic of nicknames came up today. My nickname was Jay from my peer circle, my dad always called me Toby, I don't know why, and he still calls me that. The mate I was thinking of, because the topic was odd nicknames, went by the name of beer bottle, or BB. We called him beer bottle because he was empty from the neck up. He also had a heart of gold, just like a beer bottle.
BB came from a very different family than mine, and a very different culture. Now, I'm not saying any part of me or my life was better or worse than his, it was just not what I was used to at home. My family are Pakeha (Pākehā are New Zealanders of predominantly European ancestry), his were from the Pacific Islands. My parents are, and have always been very open and affectionate towards each other. BB's folks had a different sort of affection.
I remember one sunny day we had to call in to his place to get something. It was just me and him in the car, and I pulled up outside his parent's home and went to get out. I was just about to get out the car when his hand slapped my chest, like you do when you're about to have a car crash and you want to hold someone back to save them going through the windscreen. I looked at him and he was looking up the driveway to their home. He told me to wait. I peered around him and saw a man running up the drive. BB told me to lock the doors, which I did. Well, no sooner had I locked my door and the door behind me than I saw this woman who stood about 7 feet tall and 5 feet wide running down the drive after him wielding a machete ... yes, a machete. The man ran to my side of the car and begged me to let him in. BB told me not to. Well, this machete wielding mad woman reached the car promising to send this poor wee man straight to hell in a bucket. The man, who must have stood about 5 and a half feet tall on a good day, pleaded with us to let him in over and over as the mad machete woman fixed her eyes on him and moved in sync with him. The dance of death around the car must have lasted a good fifteen minutes with the wee man pleading, the mad woman cursing and swinging the machete, and BB telling me to stay still.
Without warning or cause, the incident was over and the two were in a passionate embrace right there on the footpath. BB jumped out of the car and signaled for me to do the same. 'I'll just run inside,' he told me 'meet my parents,' he continued pointing to the two lovers on the footpath.
When we drove away I asked BB what it was all about. It turned out that his mum cooked a nice dinner for his dad but his dad wasn't hungry so he didn't want any dinner that night.
I don't know what happened to BB or his family. But I can tell you that that story was replayed several times in the months that followed.
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I'm being 1000% serious when I tell you that you should write a book. All shorts, just like your blog. I would buy it. I would buy it for all my friends. I may have as many close friends as you do. I have the bottom of the arc & if we put them together that's an entire circle of friends. But I'd stand in the middle of NYC to hawk your book, Jase. I would, my friend.
ReplyDelete"We called him beer bottle because he was empty from the neck up. He also had a heart of gold, just like a beer bottle."
This is a slice of writing brilliance. I could see you two sitting in the car. Especially you. You have a way of animating yourself in a way that makes us feel like we know you--like we're sitting at that table with you or in that car with you.
My friends call me Diamond, Woodstock, and the Lillester. You may call me which ever one you'd like. I'd be honored just to be considered one of your school leftover buddies. :-)
I'm with Lille Diane on this one, your writing is the best possible style. It just comes so natural, never forced, it's like sitting across the table with a friend relating a memory.
ReplyDeleteIf Lille Diane has the East Coast covered for your book sales I'll take the West Coast. We've got the US in the bag.
Judy
Wow. Thank you both. I am truly flattered by your comments.
ReplyDeleteOK, I'll cover the mid-west. I agree with the gals... It would be a great read! I loved this story. It did remind me of a high school friend's parents. Yeah, there's more of them out there.
ReplyDeleteI have a terrible time remembering names so my daughter and I nickname everybody. I was actually thinking of writing a blog post about it. My favorite is the employee at Starbucks that we called man-bear-pig. He was so gross and hairy and appeared to have no personality. He got a shave and a haircut and we didn't recognize him! Turns out his name is Sean and now he dates my daughter. Never pick a nickname if you're judging a book by it's cover! He's actually very sweet but in my mind he'll always be man-bear-pig.
ReplyDeleteYep, the girl's have your back, Jase! Now we need a southern bell and we will have your book tour completely covered.
ReplyDeleteHi Jase,
ReplyDeleteBlimey what a story!
Came by to say hello, hope you are doing well and enjoying summer.
Love,
Herrad
Ahhhhhhhhhh THIS is the Jay I know!! Thanks for a sweet story on here, I had almost lost faith!! =)
ReplyDeleteOh! and I've got the South covered, ladies!!
ReplyDeleteBB's parents... a bit melodramatic, mebbe? :) Your blogs make me smile.
ReplyDeleteAnd you can't have a good arc without a keystone, and I have a feeling that you are more keystone than leftover.