Abestia

I had for many years looked up at the clock exactly at 11:11.  It became my practice to start making wishes and later affirmations, at the sight of those elevens.  When I met Alan Smith at the bar on a Sunday afternoon in December, the Giants were playing the Cowboys. After a few lagers and a few missed field goals I suggested the wager: if the giants make this field goal, you take me out for dinner, and if they don’t I’ll take you out for dinner.  Pretty clever on my part I thought, goal or not this guy and I were going to have dinner.  A few lagers later some how we all ended up at our friend’s tattoo shop across the street picking out star patterns to recklessly but permanently place on our body. 

“Ever make out in the back of a tattoo shop?” Al’s question came from outer space but through a straight face.  I never laughed so hard, could this guy be for real?  I mean seriously, it was crazy enough I had a new tattoo on the inside of my arm, I wasn’t about to make out with some strange guy, in the back of some tattoo shop in Jersey.  I’m a good girl;   I waited till the next day.  Three days in a row we hung out, laughing, talking, smoking lots of weed and kissing. But it was a gamble.  A retired fireman who was now trying to live like a Buddhist, a political activist, and a writer (or so he claimed).  Al was only the second man I kissed since my divorce 2 years earlier, I was pretty sure all men were evil.  But Al was fun and exciting, and free during the day which made hanging out easy because I was out of work at the time.  Full of stories from his past, he almost seemed like he was two different people.  But for all his change of heart, and his living a more conscious life, I knew he wouldn’t love me any time soon.  I always seem to fall for the guys who don’t want to be in love the same time I do. Love is always the biggest gamble of all. 

A month’s worth of 11:11s had passed by when Al asked if I wanted to go to a Super Bowl party.  He had chalked up $500.00 and entered into a pool with his old fireman buddies.  These were a shady bunch of salt of the earth characters from Newark having their annual party at some Italian restaurant.  A gang of firemen who, no doubt, were secretly jealous and hated that Al was able to retire at such a young age and live free. He explained that the pool was worth $25,000.00 but he got in on it late and was stuck with the two worst numbers you could get. 1 and 1.  My heart skipped a beat, 11 was magic for me, he was sure to win if I went with him. Then I looked at the clock and sure enough 11:11. I pointed to it “make a wish” I said.  What would he do if you won all that money? He was about to sell is house in Rutherford, so he figured he would by a van and drive around the country for a while. Or something like that. I devoted every 11:11 wish every day twice a day for almost two weeks to the thought Al would win $25,000.00 and take me with him.  He also joined in on the ritual and began seeing 11 everywhere, and started wishing the same wishes.  Well not completely the same, he didn’t know I was going to tag along. 

I took a seat at the bar picking at the ziti from the buffet, drinking a stiff drink, and fielding questions.  Where was I from, how did I meet Al, and what in the world would I ever find attractive about him?  I just told them it was his great sense of humor and his big dick, and we all had a good laugh.  In my heart I knew Al was going to win this money, he deserved it. Living and working with these guys, how did he do it?  He was so different now from these dudes. It was hard to imagine he ever fit in.  I was sure now that he was two different people.  

He promised the bartender and me if he won he would give us each $1,000.00.  But in my head I gambled with the notion that, maybe because we were both at a certain cross roads in our lives, and because those numbers were magic, that if he won that money, he would take me on his road trip.  Even though I knew he didn’t love me, I gambled on the thought that he might want to take me anyway.   

It was a crazy game, missed field goals, interceptions turned to touch downs, two point conversions, safeties, and all of it unraveling just as it needed to for those numbers to end with 1 and 1.  It was thrilling.  I actually started to believe that you could will anything you wanted to happen.  The whole universe opened up, anything was possible. All of the firemen were going crazy… No way! Al was going to actually win this money!  It was a blow out, Tampa Bay was sure to win 41 – the Oakland’s 21 so everyone started congratulating Al.  But he kept saying it’s not over yet there’s still a minute to go… It didn’t matter who won he just needed the numbers to end with 1 and 1.  With thirty seconds or so left to go Al leaned over and told me to find my keys, and to start the car. We had to take off as soon as the money was in his hands.  He might owe a couple of guys here some money.  HOLY SHIT this was is it! We made it happen, and I was going to be freed from the misery of Jersey!   

And then some guy named Smith intercepted a tipped pass and returned it 50 yards for a touchdown with two seconds left to finish the scoring. I repeat …. Some guy named Smith intercepted a pass in the last two seconds of the game, and ran it 50 yards to change Tampa Bay’s score from 41 to 48.  Alan Smith had lost to another guy named Smith who showboated in another touchdown. IN THE LAST TWO SECONDS OF THE GAME.  I dug those keys so deep into my hand I thought they would come out on the other side.  He lost.  I didn’t really know Al all that well… was he going to lose it and smash his barstool into the big screen TV (also part of the booty now going to some other dude)? Was he going to cry in front of all his fireman buddies?  Was he going to get plastered drunk or want to go get some dope?  How was he going to cope with this?  I didn’t know what to say I felt like I had lost too.  Inside I knew everything was over, there would be no road trip, and our relationship was ticking like a bomb, I knew he didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t love me.  It was all over.  

We stayed for a few pity drinks.  Al handled it all in stride, laughing it off.  He might have even said something like “you win some you loose some” or even “it wasn’t really mine to begin with”. Buddha might have been proud.  It was more unbelievable then actually winning.  We drove all the way home through the snow in silence.  The pit in my stomach was getting sour I knew it would be moments in till I threw up.  Sure enough, I ran right to the bathroom as soon as we got back to his place.  I just wanted to go home, I was sick.  Al figured I was just too drunk and wouldn’t let me drive.  Reluctantly I agreed to stay, feeling like he might just need some company even though I knew it would be another few trips to the bathroom till the room would stop spinning.  Little did I know I was about to begin a night of the worst sickness I had ever experienced.  The entire night that was supposed to be a celebration turned into a festival of throwing up and eventually through down as well.  It wasn’t long before Al was joining me in the festivities.  And with only one bathroom, not only was this embarrassing for the both of us it was down right dangerous.  I lined a trash can with plastic bags and we designated that for our vomit so one of us could be sick in the bathroom while the other could be sick from the couch or the bed or anywhere else.   

Finally the sun came up.  I just wanted to get home and curl up in my own bed. The telephone kept on ringing, everyone wanted to express their sense on loss for Al.  But all he could talk about was how we just spent the night getting our sickness out, and trying to figure out if anyone else that was at the party as sick as we were?  We were a greenish gray and weak and there was no end to this madness in sight.  Neither one of us was strong enough to drive, but I was having a break from the constant vomiting, and hadn’t had any signs of the throwing down in at least an hour, so I convinced Al we should go to my place.  After all I had two bathrooms which were proving necessary.  And besides I needed a Gatorade in the worst way and he had nothing in his house, so we had to go out anyway.  We scurried through the snow in our pajamas and made it to the car.  It felt like we had just trekked to the North Pole.  Completely surreal. The 7-11 was packed but I got our supplies, 6 Gatorades, soda crackers, fire wood and a trashy magazine.  I was home, but nothing was the same.  Al may have lost the $500.00 it cost to enter the pool and the $25,000.00 in the last two seconds of the game, but I lost too.  I lost my way out of dirty jersey, and the illusion of love.