Brizzles Basket

To kick off this, my first BGWBVS, your friend Brizzle, weary blog-jockey to the world, would like to take you back to 1984…

And I’m driving down Third Street. Danny –comfortably situated in the back seat of my new Olds Derby Calaise –is almost nine years old. Right now he’s perplexing both me and his teachers by refusing to write anything down on paper. The child feels, if things are for sure in your head then there’s just no point in writing them down. He thinks you should be able to just say answers out loud. I glance over at Barbra, my daughter who’ll soon turn five seated next to me. She’s had a big day and is noticeably tired. I have to have her back by 6:00 on Sunday evenings, her mother insists… No Billy, not 6:01. 6:00 sharp. Understand Billy?

I understand perfectly.

After making a left turn, I drive by Our Lady Of Mount Carmel church where I once coached a mixed softball team called the Misfits.

I feel sad. Another weekend’s closing too soon.

I glance back at Danny in my rear view mirror. He had an empty notebook opened on his lap. Hours ago I gave him an assignment, or made a sort of deal with him and told him if he would put ten things down on paper he wants I’d pick one and buy it for him.

I love Danny and Barbra so much I could bust…

I love my Olds too. The first car I’ve ever owned that someone else didn’t own first. It’s sharp. A color not exactly pink and not exactly brown called Rosewood and it handles easily.

I’m also pretty smitten with Gregory Popp and Alison Moyet who just started singing on the car radio. Everyone knows I love Danny and Barbra and my new car but no one –and I mean absolutely no one –knows I love Gregory and only Danny knows I love Alison.

Alison Moyet is a singer. A big girl with a big voice. Gregory Popp is this guy at work who does something in the computer room for Dave Furnish. He’s tall and lanky and grins a lot. I mean Gregory is tall and lanky and grins a lot, not Dave Furnish. Furnish is short and doughy and always looks worried. Popp’s the exact opposite. Rangy and always happy. Sort of part man and part Praying Mantis in denim jeans. He smells like lime and doesn’t know I’m alive…

Mom would say Gregory’s just another narrow-assed boy, nothing out of the ordinary and she’d be right but for me it’s his unspecialness that makes him so special. To me. And I guess the narrow ass doesn’t hurt.

Gregory makes me feel like I’m invisible. If I had breasts he wouldn’t. A couple of nice tatas would be enough to make him hang on my every word. I could wrap him around my… whatever it was I wanted wrapped.

Alison Moyet’s voice swells, and an unseatbuckled Barbra moves closer to the dashboard. She half closes her eyes and the AC rushing from the car’s wide open vents gently blows back her hair and gives boost to her powdery, clean smell.

Smiling, I reach around her to turn up the volume. In the rear view mirror I see my son shake his head.

I don’t care. Allison is something special.

I pull in front of a brick house and wait for Alison to finish before getting out of the car. I go around and help Barbra step out. After gathering her  things I take her hand and we walk down a drive and around to a back garage apartment.

I’ve returned my little girl four minutes late but the ex –Barbra’s mother –lets me slide. She isn’t warm but she’s not cold either.

On the way back to the car an uncle of Barbra’s, one of the ex’s brothers and I pass each other. He’s a sprawling, blonde and blue-eyed U of L football player and he also makes me feel invisible.

I climb back into my car.

Danny’s moved to the front seat and now it’s him sitting beside me. There’s not a single mark in the notebook still open on his lap. I pick up one of my son’s hands and see his nails are filthy. I sigh. Since he’s just going to get dirty again my son also sees no point in bathing.