4.10
Somehow get born. Have a German nanny, a
handsome father, a beautiful mother. And a brother you call Baby, even though you
know his name. Sleep in the playpen, play in the playpen. Get bourbon rubbed on your gums when you are teething.
Ride a tricycle, pretend to be Batman, break your
arm for the first time. Stop smiling when your teeth come in crooked. Wear braces, wear patent leather shoes, wear
knee socks. Love when you father lets
you dance with him while you stand on his shiny work shoes.
Shoot basketball in the backyard. Throw a
softball against your house. Swimming
laps for miles. Breath on your right side, breathe on your left side. Get a crush on your coach. Write him a letter in your very best
cursive. Drive hours to get to
meets. Eat jello with raw with your red finger. Hang a lifesize poster of Mark Spitz on the back of your bedroom door. Shoot baskets in the backyard. Throw a softball against your house. Break a window, break another window. Learn how to swear from your father. Go to
Pirate games. Get a
dog.
Show up for softball games early. Have lucky striped socks that match your
team t-shirt. Smell your mitt. Love
the smell. Play shortstop, play first base.
Pitch. Arc the ball high. Feel no pressure. Bat third, bat fourth, bat fifth. Throw the ball so hard other girls are
afraid. Get a crush on the assistant coach.
Swim a thousand more miles. Enter the locker room with your suit under
your clothes. Somehow manage to be on the team
for six years and never let anyone see you naked. Start to notice the teenagers making out in
their cars before practice.
Go to school.
Do school right. Answer all of
the questions, raise your hand. Do your
homework. Swim. Throw a softball in the backyard. Shoot baskets. Sit near the popular kids but not with
them. Stand in line at Kovals to buy
candy after school. Walk to junior
high. Smell the cigarette smoke on kids
in eighth grade. Buy a cinnamon roll and
orange-aide every day for lunch. Sing
Doobie Brothers at the lunch table, Oh Black Water. Notice Steve Snamen, his blonde hair dropped
over his blue eyes. Get a Dorothy Hamill
haircut like everyone else. Walk home
from slumber parties or call your mother.
Forget to ask her about tampons. Hate
the day she takes you to Sears to get your first bra. Look at Natalie Reeves in homeroom and think
she’s beautiful. Wonder if it’s a good
thing that you’re the youngest person in your grade. Think that you are not ready for all of
this.
Join the chorus even though you really cannot
sing. Join the musical. Watch a girl named Allison sing the lead role. Get a crush on Allison. Shoot baskets. Take AP math.
Do your homework in the library study carrels. Watch Roots. Watch the Steelers. Watch The Waltons. Watch Jeopardy. Realize how smart your parents are. Start to play tennis. Hit forehands against the wall, backhands
against the wall. Hit one hundred serves
every day. Know how to spin the ball,
slice the ball, slow the ball, dropshot the ball. Get a really good tan. Get your first job. Meet Billie Jean King. Think she’s obnoxious. Wear tennis skirts. Never know how cute you are.
Get good grades.
Make your mother type your English papers. See the yellow bowl in the kitchen with
remnant popcorn kernals; know your father was up late. Think he works too hard. Listen to AM talk
radio into the night. Tune into
Kansas. Tune into Chicago. Wonder if you will ever have a best
friend.
Watch you brother draw. Watch your brother make friends. Watch your mom flirt with waiters and
waitresses. Sit quietly. Watch your brother and his friends. Watch your mother talk to her friends. Babysit every weekend. Watch your father
smoke a pipe. Watch your mother drink
bourbon. Watch them together. Wonder if
they love each other. Go to church. Doodle on the bulletins. Go to tennis practice. Mess around on the wayback courts. Make friends.
Start to play doubles, know that that is so much harder than
singles - someone else is counting on
you.
Go on college tours. Have no idea where you are going or why. Look at your SAT scores. Like the way 99 looks. Think you might be smart, at least in math,
but then remember calculus class and how Einer always knows what he is talking
about. Realize you never really know what you are
talking about. Think you’re dumb. Hit tennis balls against the wall. Have a crush on David James. Buy painter’s pants because he wears
them. Play tennis with David James. Love the way sweat makes your skin taste
salty. Go to class. Get good grades. Know people who are popular, but not very
well. Never realize that they like you.
Tune into AM radio. Shoot baskets. Babysit every weekend.
Get a skinny letter from University of
Virginia. Get another from William and
Mary. Get a fat letter from your safety school.
Get a prom date. Buy a polyester
pink dress. Sense your mother’s
excitement. Listen to her tell you
about her high school hijinks. Think
this: she has no idea how un-hijinks-able I am. Go to prom.
Watch your date buy beer. Watch
him smoke pot. Stay out all night. Go to
afterprom. Get your first kiss
there. Feel his moustache, taste his
tongue. Hate every second of it. Instantly regret that your first kiss was
with him.
Drive to Oxford, Ohio for freshman orientation. Like the rectangular brick buildings, the
tile in the basement of Tappen Hall.
Think it looks like college should look.
Sign up for classes. Have your last at home summer. Hit tennis
balls against the wall. Play tennis with
David James. Get a good tan. Run five miles every night. Shoot baskets. Tune into FM radio. Sing along to Karen Carpenter. To Barry Manilow. To James Taylor. Wish you could play the guitar. Wonder who your roommate will be. Wonder if you will like school. Wonder if you’ll like your roommate. Wonder if your roommate will like you.
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