Utopian Day 5
I awaken to the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. I think to myself “this is an excellent way to start off the weekend.” Like a cartoon, I follow my nose down the stairs and find myself standing in the kitchen. With my bed-head still firmly in place I address everyone I can see through my squinty eyes with a “good morning.”
From behind me, I hear my sister respond in kind. It is at this point I realize that coming down fully dressed may have been a good preparatory step. Covering as much as I can with my hands, I head back upstairs using the back stairwell.
After performing a quick triple “S” and dressing a bit more appropriately, I head back downstairs. It is at this time I feel it is more appropriate to greet my sister. I forgot about her coming over before the first weekend opening. I sat and shoveled down a half dozen cinnamon rolls and my sister and I head out the door.
As we are walking around the square, the art booths are already full with artists and their wares. This is good because I wanted to place some art in the store to fill in some empty walls. I notice a beautiful impressionist painting of what looks like the town square at night. Perfect. I make my purchase and head toward the store.
Shae and Sydni are already in the store and everything is running. Apparently Sydni was very excited for her first day of work. Shae is explaining how everything works and showing her how Dad was stuck in the elevator earlier and how to open the doors from the outside if it ever happens again. I provide my trademark disapproving Dad look.
It is time to open the doors, so I make my way over and notice there are about 10 people already outside waiting for entry. “good morning” I address.
“Good morning, John” I receive as a response from someone I do not recognize. It in some way bothers me when I meet someone who knows me, but I don’t know them. It happens, but not often.
The customer walks through the store, picks up an item from the children’s section and makes his way back to the register. For the life of me, I can’t remember who it is. He appears older than me, is rather thin and frail looking and has gray hair. His leather appearing skin and deep wrinkles give the appearance that he was in some sort of manual labor job for many years.
When he reaches the register, he starts asking me how I am doing and where I have been hiding myself.
I provide him the small-talk version of my life and scan his book. “That will be $9.55.” It is not until he hands me his check card that the flashback begins. This was my childhood enemy. This is the boy who tormented me all of my school years. My emotions are going crazy.
During my childhood, I was the smallest, youngest kid in school. My nemesis was a jock on the football team. He would think it was fun/funny to intimidate me and I would take different paths to go from class to class. He would party with the “cool” crowd and make my life a living hell. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew that I would only be in Clinton long enough to complete school.
My emotions were in conflict. I in some way felt the need to bring out my childish self and verbally assault him. I also felt pity for him. He appears to have had a very bad life after high school. I also felt this elation because I know where I am in my life and I had this “nahnahnahnah, nahnah” feeling.
Gaining control of my emotions, I hand him back his card, and thank him for shopping.
To my surprise, he asks me if I would like to grab a beer later. Without even thinking of whether or not this is another ploy to cause any embarrassment, or without thinking at all, I respond with “Sure.” He tells me to meet at Zugs whenever I get off of work.
The rest of the day, I couldn’t help but to wonder if this was a trap. I would think of all of those times he would slam me into lockers in gym; how he would humiliate me. I would think about how frail he looked now compared to the big and buff jock in high school.
At the end of the work day, after much deliberation, I decide that with him being the frail one now, I have nothing to fear.
As I walk through the front door of Zugs (one of the many local bars), I notice him sitting at the bar talking with (gasp) an old childhood friend. Apparently the owner and operator of Zugs is one of my best friends. I really haven’t had a chance to catch up with everyone since I moved back to Clinton.
My old nemesis sees me walking toward him and lets out a very loud “John! Glad you could make it!”
My old friend, Mike, looks over at me and exclaims, “It’s about time you came over here!” Mike gives me the “guy handshake” and asks me what my poison is.
“Long Island iced tea” I respond. Looking at my childhood villain, I stated that I was really shocked to see him still in Clinton.
“I never left.”
These three words were actually unexpected. I fully expected him to go to some party/sports school and become some used car salesman. During our childhood, he was a pompous, pretentious ass.
After many drinks and some long stories, I find out that his family was very poor and he was raised by only his Dad. Right out of high school, he went to work for his father. He married and divorced and married 3 more times. He has no children of his own and spends most of his off time here in Zugs. What happened next floored me.
He apologized. He apologized for everything he ever did to me.
Speechless.
I looked at him and said that with my four kids, I have come to realize that we do stupid stuff as kids. “Why did you buy a children’s book?”
“It is for my nephew. His birthday is in a couple days.”
After closing the place down, I head home. On my walk, I reflect on all of the people that affected me during my childhood and how I was during my childhood. It is amazing that I made it to where I am. I have closure now on one issue with coming home.
From behind me, I hear my sister respond in kind. It is at this point I realize that coming down fully dressed may have been a good preparatory step. Covering as much as I can with my hands, I head back upstairs using the back stairwell.
After performing a quick triple “S” and dressing a bit more appropriately, I head back downstairs. It is at this time I feel it is more appropriate to greet my sister. I forgot about her coming over before the first weekend opening. I sat and shoveled down a half dozen cinnamon rolls and my sister and I head out the door.
As we are walking around the square, the art booths are already full with artists and their wares. This is good because I wanted to place some art in the store to fill in some empty walls. I notice a beautiful impressionist painting of what looks like the town square at night. Perfect. I make my purchase and head toward the store.
Shae and Sydni are already in the store and everything is running. Apparently Sydni was very excited for her first day of work. Shae is explaining how everything works and showing her how Dad was stuck in the elevator earlier and how to open the doors from the outside if it ever happens again. I provide my trademark disapproving Dad look.
It is time to open the doors, so I make my way over and notice there are about 10 people already outside waiting for entry. “good morning” I address.
“Good morning, John” I receive as a response from someone I do not recognize. It in some way bothers me when I meet someone who knows me, but I don’t know them. It happens, but not often.
The customer walks through the store, picks up an item from the children’s section and makes his way back to the register. For the life of me, I can’t remember who it is. He appears older than me, is rather thin and frail looking and has gray hair. His leather appearing skin and deep wrinkles give the appearance that he was in some sort of manual labor job for many years.
When he reaches the register, he starts asking me how I am doing and where I have been hiding myself.
I provide him the small-talk version of my life and scan his book. “That will be $9.55.” It is not until he hands me his check card that the flashback begins. This was my childhood enemy. This is the boy who tormented me all of my school years. My emotions are going crazy.
During my childhood, I was the smallest, youngest kid in school. My nemesis was a jock on the football team. He would think it was fun/funny to intimidate me and I would take different paths to go from class to class. He would party with the “cool” crowd and make my life a living hell. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew that I would only be in Clinton long enough to complete school.
My emotions were in conflict. I in some way felt the need to bring out my childish self and verbally assault him. I also felt pity for him. He appears to have had a very bad life after high school. I also felt this elation because I know where I am in my life and I had this “nahnahnahnah, nahnah” feeling.
Gaining control of my emotions, I hand him back his card, and thank him for shopping.
To my surprise, he asks me if I would like to grab a beer later. Without even thinking of whether or not this is another ploy to cause any embarrassment, or without thinking at all, I respond with “Sure.” He tells me to meet at Zugs whenever I get off of work.
The rest of the day, I couldn’t help but to wonder if this was a trap. I would think of all of those times he would slam me into lockers in gym; how he would humiliate me. I would think about how frail he looked now compared to the big and buff jock in high school.
At the end of the work day, after much deliberation, I decide that with him being the frail one now, I have nothing to fear.
As I walk through the front door of Zugs (one of the many local bars), I notice him sitting at the bar talking with (gasp) an old childhood friend. Apparently the owner and operator of Zugs is one of my best friends. I really haven’t had a chance to catch up with everyone since I moved back to Clinton.
My old nemesis sees me walking toward him and lets out a very loud “John! Glad you could make it!”
My old friend, Mike, looks over at me and exclaims, “It’s about time you came over here!” Mike gives me the “guy handshake” and asks me what my poison is.
“Long Island iced tea” I respond. Looking at my childhood villain, I stated that I was really shocked to see him still in Clinton.
“I never left.”
These three words were actually unexpected. I fully expected him to go to some party/sports school and become some used car salesman. During our childhood, he was a pompous, pretentious ass.
After many drinks and some long stories, I find out that his family was very poor and he was raised by only his Dad. Right out of high school, he went to work for his father. He married and divorced and married 3 more times. He has no children of his own and spends most of his off time here in Zugs. What happened next floored me.
He apologized. He apologized for everything he ever did to me.
Speechless.
I looked at him and said that with my four kids, I have come to realize that we do stupid stuff as kids. “Why did you buy a children’s book?”
“It is for my nephew. His birthday is in a couple days.”
After closing the place down, I head home. On my walk, I reflect on all of the people that affected me during my childhood and how I was during my childhood. It is amazing that I made it to where I am. I have closure now on one issue with coming home.
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