this was it.
my nephew's eighth birthday. the party
held at a trampoline gym a hundred miles east of new york city.
here was the plan: i was going to KILL it out there.
the long island gentry, young and old, would stand back, agape, as i flipped and spun. i was going to do a front tuck, then back tuck, then something dynamic. everyone was going to die over my abilities.
"oh, what? yeah. i used to be a gymnast. yep. career-ending injury doing a full on the floor. oh, it's all right. it happens. i was ready for a change. yeah, yeah, it was time for camus and sartre and kierkegaard, 'everything must be doubted'... right, right."
i literally fantasized about it for weeks in advance. but in the end
i bounced a few times, to get my bearings, did a rather sad straddle toe-touch thing
and tried to double bounce josh (fail, he looked at me like: what the--) then i basically had the whistle blown in my ear
signaling it was time to crawl off.
upon return to solid ground i realized my knee was throbbing (1996 ACL tear) and i felt, um, i felt like a loser from hell. josh didn't even offer his trademark "sweetie, you did great!" or anything. in the party room i pretty much wolfed down a piece of pizza and a hefty slice of ice cream cake. which i can't stand.
except for that chocolate crunch stuff. and i tried to get a six-year-old to play with me.
he seemed into it at first, but quickly realized i was a crashing bore.
later, at home, i watched the golden globes, nursed the baby to sleep, and worked on a crossword.
when everyone in the house was asleep
i stared out the giant patio doors
into the giant dark yard
and just as i was fading underwater
27-down came to me
and all was saved.
January 12 2014
My dreamy nephew and I, en route to the Hamptonias...
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