The Facts of Life

Though always an irresponsible sort, being late has never been one of my vices. I've slacked a bit since I moved to NYC cause I've gotten used to other people breezing in on their own time, but still. From a young age I learned being on time meant being 30 minutes early - first simply because it's incredibly rude to be late, but also because as I got older I always assumed that if I was one second late, whomever I was meeting would immediately say "oh, fuck this!" and storm out. Which of course never happens, but hey. We'd show up 30 minutes early for church; half the time we'd startle the priest when he'd turn the lights on. "Hi!" The funny part is after my brother got his license the two of us would go to the 9:00 mass so we could start work at noon and our folks would go to the 11:30 and we'd STILL be the first ones there. Two teenage boys, beatin the old ladies to salvation every Sunday. That's normal.

An early marker of this is the bus stop when I was a kid. Which I mean to be the end of our driveway. The bus would come at about 8am, but my brother and I would be outside waiting at 7:15. And it's not like sometimes the bus would show up at 7:15 and sometimes it would come at 8:00; like clockwork, it came at 8:00. Plus, if you weren't there the driver would sit and honk the horn for a few minutes anyways. But there we'd be, 45 minutes standing out there. I guess we thought that if we weren't standing right by the road our driver, Mrs. Hickman, wouldn't even stop as she sped by "oh, FUCK these little white boys!" We'd throw the football around, or wrestle in the gravel driveway. Showing up caked in dirt, sweat and gravel allows for great street cred when you're in the 4th grade. And some mornings would be FREEZING, but there we'd be..... I can distinctly remember learning that if I closed my eyes and looked directly into the sun, my face would warm for about a second. The whole time of course our living room, with the huge window allowing us to look for the bus in the comfort of heat, was about, oh, 75 feet away. Hmm. Smart. One time my brother bet me that he could hit me with a rock from all the way across the yard. About 125 feet away. Not only that, he told me, but he could hit me while I was running from one side to the other. HA! I don't recall what we bet for - maybe it's that if he hit me he'd get to go to a great college and become a success, and if I won I'd get to figure out how to get shitfaced on $3.75. Either way, seemed like a sure bet to me as I lined up across the yard in one corner. My brother found the appropriate rock, tossed it up to himself a few times, then looked at me and yelled "go!" I took off running, kinda half-trotting to be honest, prolly chuckling to myself. About a third of the way I looked up, just as he was letting loose. "What a loser" I'm thinking, running slo-mo like in Chariots of Fire. I see the rock coming, I'm thinking "ah there it is, nice try asshole." I can still to this day feel the way my neck was cocked as I was running, watching the rock sailing towards me. "Hmm" I started thinking, "this might actually be close. Ha!" Running, looking, running. "Wow," I'm lightly musing, "this is gonna be REALLY close. Hmm." Running, looking, running "Matter of fact, I might be crazy, but I think-" BAM!!!!!! Not only had this fucker hit me on a full run, he hit me right smack dab on the fucking temple. Miracle he didn't hit my eye. Twas a long walk back across the yard with his smug face waiting for me. Still can't believe it. Fucker.

Another nice bus stop moment was 5th grade. We're standing there with our dog, Gladys. After another rousing game of "How Long Til Xmastime Punts the Football So That it Gets Stuck in the Tree, Ruining the Fun for Everybody?", Gladys' paramour "Mike" came over. Their mutual attraction and feelings of commitment and respect prompting arousal, they began their lovemaking, giving no thought to my brother and I standing 6 feet away. Actually, the first sex act I ever witnessed being dogs explains a lot. Anyways, they're doing it, and I guess my brother and I were both mystified, mortified and cracking up. They carry on for a while and then one of us notices that the bus is on the way, bout 1/2 a mile down the road. This coincided with the exact moment we realized the dogs weren't merely fucking anymore, they were in fact stuck together. Him mounted on her in mid dog-fuck, both howling with pain as they can't pull apart from each other. Meanwhile, the bus is coming towards us, slowly. Like Jaws. We're like fuck, we can't let everybody see this, they'll never let us live this down. My brother decides we have no choice, we must pick both dogs up, still stuck together, and carry them around to the back of the house so no one can see. "You're crazy"! I'm shouting but no, he knows we have to do it. So about 90 seconds into witnessing my first sexual act, I am now a part of it. Along with my brother. Great. Dogs howling and twisting furiously, we somehow get them up and run them to the back of the house, sprinting back just in time as the bus was rolling up.....with about 60 eyeballs and little mitts pressed up against the windows. Despite our heroic efforts, everyone saw the whole thing anyway and gave us the ol raspberry without mercy. Well, til the next day when they rolled up and surprised us halfway through our recreation of the scene wherein Ms. Garrett finds out Blair's boyfriend is pressuring her to visit his van (complete with mattress, of course.) Took some heat for that one too.