Christmas Eve with Foreigners
Illinois was biting cold and full of snow. Christmas with the family was good. Christmas Eve went as planned and then some. My mom, Mark and I played Cranium, which I won but found that my humming skills are in need of improvement, particularly when I can remember only three notes of a song. Then my mom, dad, Mark and I went to our ex-neighbor’s house to have snack foods and visit. The guy who usually comes with jumbo shrimp came but without the jumbo shrimp. We laughed at his jokes anyway. After an hour or so there we drove through the park and a couple neighborhoods, looking at Christmas lights during which time Mark delightfully made Wookie noises. Then on to The Orchard Inn, the seedy bar across the street from where my mom works and from where my dad worked when he and my mom met. By seedy I mean dark, grimy, smoky, just right.
As soon as we walked in a young guy, probably early twenties, sent a drunken gaze across us. We procured our beverages and stood next to a table, and the young guy came over, roped his arm over my mom’s shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Do you know him?" I asked after he fumbled away. Big I’ll-just-go-with-it smile, "No," she said. We went into room with the pool and foosball tables. Mark put a quarter down on the pool table for him and my Dad. The lad who planted the wet one on my mom was playing teams with a much less drunk young guy and an older guy wearing a hat with "PRECEPT" spelled out in all white caps on it. (When we’d been playing Cranium earlier, my mom got a question containing the word "precept"; she asked me what it meant and I didn’t know. It’s one of those words on my list of words that provide me with no visual so I can never remember what it means. I guessed half-accurately at least.) Our young drunken friend and his teammate had no idea what was going on and protested blindly when the other team won. Then he came over and hugged my mom again, and planted another kiss on her cheek. She asked his name: Neil, he said. (Or Neal maybe.) He began asking her questions, his eyes wobbling between both her and me, and she informed him that Mark was her boyfriend, and so was my dad, who was also her dad, and I was the daughter of her and Mark. He was cool with all of it.
There are two scenes Neil oscillated between: 1. Stumbling over to my mom (who was sitting next to me, on the outside of the booth), leaning in to talk to her, losing balance and crushing both my mom and me into the booth, the whole time trying to talk. Then pointing a wavering finger at my dad on the other side of the booth and saying, "I know…him…from some…where." 2. After hanging on the bar, stumbling away with at least three drinks balanced between his hands, thinking he was going to make some drinking folk very happy. These oscillating scenes went on all night.
Eventually I got a wet one on my cheek. Eventually Neil got thrown out. It was very cold outside, Neil didn’t have a coat, and his promised ride didn’t look like he was planning to leave yet. Things didn’t look good for Neil. I hope he got home ok, not frozen.
My mom and I played songs on the jukebox. While I was standing at the jukebox waiting for her to get dollars, a 40-something guy said something to me, then gave my mom and I a dollar to play whatever music we wanted. A little Metallica, a little AC/DC, Johnny Cash. As we were leaving the guy came over, I guess to say goodbye. On the way home I learned that the guy was under the impression he’d be going home with my mom. Delusional bloke.
During the night I got a game of foosball in. My dad and Mark destroyed my mom and me. I can’t help thinking we might have done better if my mom hadn’t been dancing the whole time, but it's no matter now. As I sat in the booth again, observing the scene, I heard loud laughter and unusual language being exchanged between the pool players. It went something like this, in various configurations:
"Jriguarlkiasfoij God Damn Fusgoiuari God damn Hyuuu Huyy Haw Haw"
followed by collective guffawing. They seemed to understand one another. Was it in Middle Earth’s backwoods where I sat? Had I fallen asleep in the booth? Whatever it was, I was on lively alien soil. When I was very young, five maybe, I had been in this bar with my mom and dad, after my mom and I moved in with my dad across the street and around the corner. Strange I didn’t learn the language. It's at that young age when the brain is most receptive to learning such things. I maintain that I was kidnapped by aliens, or at least by Europeans, while time was stopped, when I was young, taught their manners, and then slipped back into the country. It's the only explanation for why I don't have a "hick" accent, have not even an intuitive hint for this strange language, never wore a mullet and prefer efficiency in conversation over repeating the same phrase or story again and again and again.*
*I do not mock my heritage. I simply observe and describe. And I adore my parents.
As soon as we walked in a young guy, probably early twenties, sent a drunken gaze across us. We procured our beverages and stood next to a table, and the young guy came over, roped his arm over my mom’s shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Do you know him?" I asked after he fumbled away. Big I’ll-just-go-with-it smile, "No," she said. We went into room with the pool and foosball tables. Mark put a quarter down on the pool table for him and my Dad. The lad who planted the wet one on my mom was playing teams with a much less drunk young guy and an older guy wearing a hat with "PRECEPT" spelled out in all white caps on it. (When we’d been playing Cranium earlier, my mom got a question containing the word "precept"; she asked me what it meant and I didn’t know. It’s one of those words on my list of words that provide me with no visual so I can never remember what it means. I guessed half-accurately at least.) Our young drunken friend and his teammate had no idea what was going on and protested blindly when the other team won. Then he came over and hugged my mom again, and planted another kiss on her cheek. She asked his name: Neil, he said. (Or Neal maybe.) He began asking her questions, his eyes wobbling between both her and me, and she informed him that Mark was her boyfriend, and so was my dad, who was also her dad, and I was the daughter of her and Mark. He was cool with all of it.
There are two scenes Neil oscillated between: 1. Stumbling over to my mom (who was sitting next to me, on the outside of the booth), leaning in to talk to her, losing balance and crushing both my mom and me into the booth, the whole time trying to talk. Then pointing a wavering finger at my dad on the other side of the booth and saying, "I know…him…from some…where." 2. After hanging on the bar, stumbling away with at least three drinks balanced between his hands, thinking he was going to make some drinking folk very happy. These oscillating scenes went on all night.
Eventually I got a wet one on my cheek. Eventually Neil got thrown out. It was very cold outside, Neil didn’t have a coat, and his promised ride didn’t look like he was planning to leave yet. Things didn’t look good for Neil. I hope he got home ok, not frozen.
My mom and I played songs on the jukebox. While I was standing at the jukebox waiting for her to get dollars, a 40-something guy said something to me, then gave my mom and I a dollar to play whatever music we wanted. A little Metallica, a little AC/DC, Johnny Cash. As we were leaving the guy came over, I guess to say goodbye. On the way home I learned that the guy was under the impression he’d be going home with my mom. Delusional bloke.
During the night I got a game of foosball in. My dad and Mark destroyed my mom and me. I can’t help thinking we might have done better if my mom hadn’t been dancing the whole time, but it's no matter now. As I sat in the booth again, observing the scene, I heard loud laughter and unusual language being exchanged between the pool players. It went something like this, in various configurations:
"Jriguarlkiasfoij God Damn Fusgoiuari God damn Hyuuu Huyy Haw Haw"
followed by collective guffawing. They seemed to understand one another. Was it in Middle Earth’s backwoods where I sat? Had I fallen asleep in the booth? Whatever it was, I was on lively alien soil. When I was very young, five maybe, I had been in this bar with my mom and dad, after my mom and I moved in with my dad across the street and around the corner. Strange I didn’t learn the language. It's at that young age when the brain is most receptive to learning such things. I maintain that I was kidnapped by aliens, or at least by Europeans, while time was stopped, when I was young, taught their manners, and then slipped back into the country. It's the only explanation for why I don't have a "hick" accent, have not even an intuitive hint for this strange language, never wore a mullet and prefer efficiency in conversation over repeating the same phrase or story again and again and again.*
*I do not mock my heritage. I simply observe and describe. And I adore my parents.
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