George was a 50 year old plumber with an easy smile, a swoop of gray hair, and a cheerful voice that bounced from one topic to another until he stood up suddenly, glanced at his watch and announced that he really had to go—not that it wasn’t nice talking to all of you!
“Heading home?” My grandpa asked, surprised that George, neighbor and former classmate of my mother’s, was leaving all of a sudden.
“Yeah, I got another call—overflowing sink. These things can really cause some problems, you know!”
“That is too bad,” my mother said.
“Yes,” I agreed, Things were just getting interesting! I didn’t say.
Sometimes it is best to communicate these things without words, you see.
--- --- ---
When my grandfather extended George the invitation to sit down, approximately twenty minutes earlier, the overflowing sink crossed George’s mind in a single instant, before disappearing. To hell with the flooding kitchen, I haven’t seen Sally is one of my oldest friends! George may have thought. In fact, he may have said that aloud—I am not sure.
What I am sure of is that when George stepped across the doorway, my mother shot my grandfather a look. It was a look that said, You-are-not-going-to-make-me-sit-through-a-conversation-with-the-boy-who-teased-me-all-through-seventh-and-half-of-eigth-grade!
But my grandfather just smiled at her. It was the smile that said, You-always-were-too-judgmental-and-this-is-for-your-own-good.
So my grandfather directed George into the next room and asked if he could grab him a soda, and my mother pulled me aside.
“He’s going to bring up that reunion. If he does, tell him you had a soccer game last Saturday,” she whispered.
I shot her a glance, the type of glance that says, What-are-you-talking-about-my-soccer-season-ends-in-November-everyone-knows-that.
“Last reunion I went to they played Strip Poker. And things got ugly from there.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, even George.”
My eyes widened, and I nodded.
--- --- ---
Sitting down, George told us about his plumbing business, which was going well. Plumbers are one of the most useful trades around, he explained.
“You remember the Fergusons, right? There was Billy, in our class and his sister, Samantha, who all the boys liked back then? Well, their toilet was overflowing and they were having the entire family over later that evening for Christmas dinner! So I rushed over…”
(My mother was alternating between politely focusing on him and noting how her fingernail beds had become quite dry with all the work she had been doing the chicken coop this past week.)
“…and my wife called after me, ‘George, where are you going? It is Christmas!’ But then I explained to her that the Fergusons were going to be in some deep shit without me!”
He laughed. I laughed. My grandpa laughed.
My mother forced a smile.
“I’m so sorry you missed the last reunion!” George said.
“I am too!” My mother said.
(She was lying.)
“I had a soccer game that day,” I said.
(I was lying.)
“Man, it was great to see everyone again. After 35 years! Imagine that! You know, some people looked exactly the same.”
“Really?” My mother asked.
“Yeah! I mean, you were at the one before that, weren’t you? Didn’t you think everyone looked great?”
“Some people did.”
My grandfather raised a stern eyebrow at my mother.
My mother let the faintest hint of a smug grin twist the corners of her mouth upwards in reply.
My grandfather furrowed his brow and slightly puckered his lower lip.
My mother turned to look back at George.
“It was incredible, man,” George said, shaking his head and turning to my grandfather, “It was really fun. We had a barbecue going, some music playing, and the girls had organized all sorts of games…” his voice trailed off.
“What sort of games did they play?” My grandpa asked.
My mother suppressed yet another grin, as evidenced by her right side of her mouth moving slightly ceiling-wards.
“Um… we played…”
My grandfather shot a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, scowled, then turned back to George.
“…geeze, what is that game called? Oh yes, Corn Hull.”
My mother raised an eyebrow.
My grandfather raised an eyebrow in response to my mother’s questioning forehead, the classic What-is-wrong-with-Corn-Hull? eyebrow.
“…yes, that is it. Corn Hull and, well, that was about it. No other games.”
My grandfather turned back to George, who was now fidgeting in his chair.
“No card games?” my grandfather asked, “When I was a kid we used to love to play card games.”
My mother looked at me, and I looked at her. Exchanging emotionless blinks, we collectively agreed to let my grandfather go down this line of questioning. It was the classic He-is-too-naïve-and-this-is-for-his-own-good Look.
“Oh, well yes! Poker. We, um, played poker.”
“Poker sure is a fun game. Takes a lot of this.”
“Eyes, sir?”
“You know, you have to be able to see well.”
“Um, yes I suppose. You need to be able to see the cards.”
“And see everyone else. You know, you have to really be able to read the body.”
“The body, sir?”
“Everybody,” my grandfather said, innocently.
“Everybody’s body?”
“Body language,” my grandfather said, “Come on, George, you know what I am talking about!”
“Afraid I don’t, sir.”
“Come on, you must have played more than kiddie-poker in your life.”
George squirmed in his chair. “Afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
There was a pause where my mother and I suppressed smirks, and my grandfather furrowed his brow, at a loss for what to say.
George swooped in to fill the silence, “My gosh, is that the time? You know I really have to go. Not that it wasn’t nice seeing you all!”
“Heading home?” my grandfather asked.
“Overflowing sink, you see. These things don’t wait…”
My grandfather, mother, and I walked George to the door.
“Was great catching up with you,” George said, nodding towards my mother. He held out his hand, “And you, sir.”
“Hope you don’t come back soon!” My grandfather called after him cheerfully.
George looked back as he walked, suppressing a scowl.
“The sink, I hope the sink is fine!” my grandfather said, backtracking, “I hope the sink doesn’t…”
My grandfather closed the door, and turned to us. He cocked his head ever so slightly to the left, and furrowed his brow. Though neither my mother nor I had ever given or received this particular message via facial expression, it was clear what he was trying to say.
“Hey, you deserved it,” my mother replied.
“Heading home?” My grandpa asked, surprised that George, neighbor and former classmate of my mother’s, was leaving all of a sudden.
“Yeah, I got another call—overflowing sink. These things can really cause some problems, you know!”
“That is too bad,” my mother said.
“Yes,” I agreed, Things were just getting interesting! I didn’t say.
Sometimes it is best to communicate these things without words, you see.
--- --- ---
When my grandfather extended George the invitation to sit down, approximately twenty minutes earlier, the overflowing sink crossed George’s mind in a single instant, before disappearing. To hell with the flooding kitchen, I haven’t seen Sally is one of my oldest friends! George may have thought. In fact, he may have said that aloud—I am not sure.
What I am sure of is that when George stepped across the doorway, my mother shot my grandfather a look. It was a look that said, You-are-not-going-to-make-me-sit-through-a-conversation-with-the-boy-who-teased-me-all-through-seventh-and-half-of-eigth-grade!
But my grandfather just smiled at her. It was the smile that said, You-always-were-too-judgmental-and-this-is-for-your-own-good.
So my grandfather directed George into the next room and asked if he could grab him a soda, and my mother pulled me aside.
“He’s going to bring up that reunion. If he does, tell him you had a soccer game last Saturday,” she whispered.
I shot her a glance, the type of glance that says, What-are-you-talking-about-my-soccer-season-ends-in-November-everyone-knows-that.
“Last reunion I went to they played Strip Poker. And things got ugly from there.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, even George.”
My eyes widened, and I nodded.
--- --- ---
Sitting down, George told us about his plumbing business, which was going well. Plumbers are one of the most useful trades around, he explained.
“You remember the Fergusons, right? There was Billy, in our class and his sister, Samantha, who all the boys liked back then? Well, their toilet was overflowing and they were having the entire family over later that evening for Christmas dinner! So I rushed over…”
(My mother was alternating between politely focusing on him and noting how her fingernail beds had become quite dry with all the work she had been doing the chicken coop this past week.)
“…and my wife called after me, ‘George, where are you going? It is Christmas!’ But then I explained to her that the Fergusons were going to be in some deep shit without me!”
He laughed. I laughed. My grandpa laughed.
My mother forced a smile.
“I’m so sorry you missed the last reunion!” George said.
“I am too!” My mother said.
(She was lying.)
“I had a soccer game that day,” I said.
(I was lying.)
“Man, it was great to see everyone again. After 35 years! Imagine that! You know, some people looked exactly the same.”
“Really?” My mother asked.
“Yeah! I mean, you were at the one before that, weren’t you? Didn’t you think everyone looked great?”
“Some people did.”
My grandfather raised a stern eyebrow at my mother.
My mother let the faintest hint of a smug grin twist the corners of her mouth upwards in reply.
My grandfather furrowed his brow and slightly puckered his lower lip.
My mother turned to look back at George.
“It was incredible, man,” George said, shaking his head and turning to my grandfather, “It was really fun. We had a barbecue going, some music playing, and the girls had organized all sorts of games…” his voice trailed off.
“What sort of games did they play?” My grandpa asked.
My mother suppressed yet another grin, as evidenced by her right side of her mouth moving slightly ceiling-wards.
“Um… we played…”
My grandfather shot a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, scowled, then turned back to George.
“…geeze, what is that game called? Oh yes, Corn Hull.”
My mother raised an eyebrow.
My grandfather raised an eyebrow in response to my mother’s questioning forehead, the classic What-is-wrong-with-Corn-Hull? eyebrow.
“…yes, that is it. Corn Hull and, well, that was about it. No other games.”
My grandfather turned back to George, who was now fidgeting in his chair.
“No card games?” my grandfather asked, “When I was a kid we used to love to play card games.”
My mother looked at me, and I looked at her. Exchanging emotionless blinks, we collectively agreed to let my grandfather go down this line of questioning. It was the classic He-is-too-naïve-and-this-is-for-his-own-good Look.
“Oh, well yes! Poker. We, um, played poker.”
“Poker sure is a fun game. Takes a lot of this.”
“Eyes, sir?”
“You know, you have to be able to see well.”
“Um, yes I suppose. You need to be able to see the cards.”
“And see everyone else. You know, you have to really be able to read the body.”
“The body, sir?”
“Everybody,” my grandfather said, innocently.
“Everybody’s body?”
“Body language,” my grandfather said, “Come on, George, you know what I am talking about!”
“Afraid I don’t, sir.”
“Come on, you must have played more than kiddie-poker in your life.”
George squirmed in his chair. “Afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
There was a pause where my mother and I suppressed smirks, and my grandfather furrowed his brow, at a loss for what to say.
George swooped in to fill the silence, “My gosh, is that the time? You know I really have to go. Not that it wasn’t nice seeing you all!”
“Heading home?” my grandfather asked.
“Overflowing sink, you see. These things don’t wait…”
My grandfather, mother, and I walked George to the door.
“Was great catching up with you,” George said, nodding towards my mother. He held out his hand, “And you, sir.”
“Hope you don’t come back soon!” My grandfather called after him cheerfully.
George looked back as he walked, suppressing a scowl.
“The sink, I hope the sink is fine!” my grandfather said, backtracking, “I hope the sink doesn’t…”
My grandfather closed the door, and turned to us. He cocked his head ever so slightly to the left, and furrowed his brow. Though neither my mother nor I had ever given or received this particular message via facial expression, it was clear what he was trying to say.
“Hey, you deserved it,” my mother replied.
