Wednesday - Meeting up for Root Beers
Jan. 31st, 2007 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about Colton, the step-grandson of a woman I used to work with. Pam did not use the word "step" when she referred to Colton; in her mind, she just skipped having children herself and went strait to being a grandmother by marrying Colton's grandfather. It's the easiest and best way to become a grandmother, if you think about it.
I haven't thought of Colton in years, but this morning I found myself behind an SUV with a sticker on the rear window that consisted of a picture of a baseball with the name "Colton" underneath it. I haven't met many kids named Colton, so this brought to mind Pam's grandson. It's a good thing, too: I can't let myself forget him, because he and I have a date. We are to meet up for root beers in the year 2015, or possibly real beers in the year 2018. We shook on it six years ago, and he promised to be there. The drinks are on me if he shows up. In fact, I would do anything to pick up that tab, because according to Colton's doctors he is not expected to live until then.
Pam was a young grandmother, in her mid-40's, married to a man 20 years her senior. She doted on her grandson, showing off his pictures and repeating every conversation she had with him, word for word.
Normally this sort of person is hard to listen to, because all that talk about a child you don't know or care about is boring. However, the little boy she described was so charming and so smart that my response was not boredom, but skepticism. No child is that charming, that wise, or that sweet in real life. I assumed she just viewed him through rose-colored glasses. Then one day she brought him to by the office and I met him. Much to my surprise, he really as she had described. I found myself almost as smitten as she was.
Pam made the rounds of the Toll Road Authority to show off her pride and joy, and she brought him into the file room where I worked. He was an appealing, sweet-faced little boy with a shy smile and thick glasses. He stuck out his hand for me to shake when she introduced me to him.
"Hello," he said, very polite and business like.
"Hi," I responded, and I shook his hand.
"I have a paper cut," he said, holding up his finger to show me.
"Yeah, he got that in Gloria's office," Pam said.
"Ouch!" I said, "Would you like a Band-Aid?" In the file room paper cuts were an occupational hazard, so I kept a stash of adhesive bandages in my desk for just this kind of emergency.
Colton nodded. Though the injury did not look serious or even painful, I suspected that, like most 4 year olds, he really liked to wear bandages. "Yes, please."
I retrieved my box of bandages and let him choose one. I don't like boring bandages. The ones I had were of different colors, most of them with cartoons or looking like tattoos. Colton chose a bright yellow one with smiley faces. The smilies were all different; large, small, winking, puckering, open-mouthed, surprised and so on. Colton liked the one wearing glasses best, since he also wore glasses. He had an inoperable brain tumor pressing on his optic nerve that was slowing destroying his ability to see long before it killed him. According to Pam, even with his glasses his vision was akin to what you would see if you closed one eye and peered though a soda straw with the other. He could see well enough to know that he liked this bandage, though.
I put it on his finger, and he held up his hand to admire it.
"Say 'Thank you,'" Pam told him. He thanked me very much. I was still kneeling down at his level when I decided he was too charming to resist.
"You're awfully handsome," I told him. "What do you say that when you're 21, you and I go out a get a beer together?"
His expression told me that this was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard in all of his 4 years on earth.
"I don't drink beer!" he said, aghast.
"I don't like it much, either," I admitted, "how about we have root beers, instead?"
He agreed that he would go out for root beers with me, and we shook hands to seal the deal. Since we no longer had to wait until he was of drinking age, we moved out date up to when he turned 18. I will be 46 by then, which is still young enough to be flattered to be seen in the company of a handsome, well-mannered young man.
This morning the memory of that handshake came flooding over me as I tried to recall how old Colton would be now. I flinched when I realized that he would be, or at least should be, 10. He should now be at the age that doctors in 3 states and countless hospitals have told his mother she should not expect him to live past. Perhaps in the past 6 years there has been a breakthrough of some kind for him, and he will live through this year and beyond it. Or maybe he is already gone. Pam and I both have moved on to other employment, and I don't even remember her last name in order to track her down and ask her.
I would be glad to hear he got a miracle, but I doubt he has. Miracles and miracle cures are all well and fine when they come along, but I never count on them. My experience has been that usually you have to take what you get in life, as-is, and find whatever joys in it that you can. Life itself is the only miracle you can count on, and it is only temporary. Dying does not mean you didn't get a miracle; it just means that your miracle is now finished.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ # ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
In the year 2015, I have a date to meet a young man over root beers. Maybe he will still be around to make it, or maybe he has already left this world behind him. Whatever the case, 8 years from now I will raise a glass and drink to his well being in whatever plane he exists in. A date is still a date, and I don't plan to stand him up.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ # ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
I haven't thought of Colton in years, but this morning I found myself behind an SUV with a sticker on the rear window that consisted of a picture of a baseball with the name "Colton" underneath it. I haven't met many kids named Colton, so this brought to mind Pam's grandson. It's a good thing, too: I can't let myself forget him, because he and I have a date. We are to meet up for root beers in the year 2015, or possibly real beers in the year 2018. We shook on it six years ago, and he promised to be there. The drinks are on me if he shows up. In fact, I would do anything to pick up that tab, because according to Colton's doctors he is not expected to live until then.
Pam was a young grandmother, in her mid-40's, married to a man 20 years her senior. She doted on her grandson, showing off his pictures and repeating every conversation she had with him, word for word.
Normally this sort of person is hard to listen to, because all that talk about a child you don't know or care about is boring. However, the little boy she described was so charming and so smart that my response was not boredom, but skepticism. No child is that charming, that wise, or that sweet in real life. I assumed she just viewed him through rose-colored glasses. Then one day she brought him to by the office and I met him. Much to my surprise, he really as she had described. I found myself almost as smitten as she was.
Pam made the rounds of the Toll Road Authority to show off her pride and joy, and she brought him into the file room where I worked. He was an appealing, sweet-faced little boy with a shy smile and thick glasses. He stuck out his hand for me to shake when she introduced me to him.
"Hello," he said, very polite and business like.
"Hi," I responded, and I shook his hand.
"I have a paper cut," he said, holding up his finger to show me.
"Yeah, he got that in Gloria's office," Pam said.
"Ouch!" I said, "Would you like a Band-Aid?" In the file room paper cuts were an occupational hazard, so I kept a stash of adhesive bandages in my desk for just this kind of emergency.
Colton nodded. Though the injury did not look serious or even painful, I suspected that, like most 4 year olds, he really liked to wear bandages. "Yes, please."
I retrieved my box of bandages and let him choose one. I don't like boring bandages. The ones I had were of different colors, most of them with cartoons or looking like tattoos. Colton chose a bright yellow one with smiley faces. The smilies were all different; large, small, winking, puckering, open-mouthed, surprised and so on. Colton liked the one wearing glasses best, since he also wore glasses. He had an inoperable brain tumor pressing on his optic nerve that was slowing destroying his ability to see long before it killed him. According to Pam, even with his glasses his vision was akin to what you would see if you closed one eye and peered though a soda straw with the other. He could see well enough to know that he liked this bandage, though.
I put it on his finger, and he held up his hand to admire it.
"Say 'Thank you,'" Pam told him. He thanked me very much. I was still kneeling down at his level when I decided he was too charming to resist.
"You're awfully handsome," I told him. "What do you say that when you're 21, you and I go out a get a beer together?"
His expression told me that this was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard in all of his 4 years on earth.
"I don't drink beer!" he said, aghast.
"I don't like it much, either," I admitted, "how about we have root beers, instead?"
He agreed that he would go out for root beers with me, and we shook hands to seal the deal. Since we no longer had to wait until he was of drinking age, we moved out date up to when he turned 18. I will be 46 by then, which is still young enough to be flattered to be seen in the company of a handsome, well-mannered young man.
This morning the memory of that handshake came flooding over me as I tried to recall how old Colton would be now. I flinched when I realized that he would be, or at least should be, 10. He should now be at the age that doctors in 3 states and countless hospitals have told his mother she should not expect him to live past. Perhaps in the past 6 years there has been a breakthrough of some kind for him, and he will live through this year and beyond it. Or maybe he is already gone. Pam and I both have moved on to other employment, and I don't even remember her last name in order to track her down and ask her.
I would be glad to hear he got a miracle, but I doubt he has. Miracles and miracle cures are all well and fine when they come along, but I never count on them. My experience has been that usually you have to take what you get in life, as-is, and find whatever joys in it that you can. Life itself is the only miracle you can count on, and it is only temporary. Dying does not mean you didn't get a miracle; it just means that your miracle is now finished.
In the year 2015, I have a date to meet a young man over root beers. Maybe he will still be around to make it, or maybe he has already left this world behind him. Whatever the case, 8 years from now I will raise a glass and drink to his well being in whatever plane he exists in. A date is still a date, and I don't plan to stand him up.
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no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 06:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 11:35 pm (UTC)Maybe you could contact your ex employer to see if they have a last name or news?
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 06:58 pm (UTC)The grandmother was fired rather unceremoniously a few years after I was. I could contact some of the people who still work there and find out if they've heard anything, I suppose. But I'm not sure I want to know if he is dead, as not knowing leaves room for hope. I don't believe that hope is ever false: even if you don't get what you hoped for, the hope itself is very real. I like holding onto it.
A date is still a date
Date: 2007-01-31 11:43 pm (UTC)Re: A date is still a date
Date: 2007-02-01 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 08:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 08:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 12:48 am (UTC)I pictured a little boy with big blue eyes covered by fat rimmed glasses and brown hair. I don't know what it is about your writing, but everytime I can picture exactly what you're talking about. You're an awfully great writer.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 12:49 am (UTC)Keep the date. Have a root beer for him, and one for you.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:37 pm (UTC)Ironic
Date: 2007-02-01 04:19 am (UTC)Today a little boy (age 6) that I knew of in our town died of an inoperable brain tumor. He was 6 years old. (www.jjsmiracle.com)
It's hard to understand sometimes isn't it?
Maria
Re: Ironic
Date: 2007-02-01 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 06:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 08:32 pm (UTC)liar!
Date: 2007-02-01 09:25 pm (UTC)Re: liar!
Date: 2007-02-01 09:37 pm (UTC)I consider you an Erma Bombeck of our generation. I'm gonna stop gushing now 'cause you will just think I am a deranged fan and stop taking my comments. Still, you should know that you totally rock. ;P