Remember Omar's Mardi Gras interview? Indeed, after eight rounds of interviews, MarMar was the last man standing and has been offered his dream job. Unfortunately for the rest of us, this means Omar is moving to Portland at the end of this month. Therefore, in-between cheesecake and creme brûlée, each of us offered some parting words for our nearly-departed. These folks had me in stitches with the most insulting fun facts and Omar-isms, all delivered to the birthday boy with so much love.
Then to my horror, I was forced to an "event" the next night too. Not just any event. It was a big awful thing put on by the College of Charleston. They do it every year. It's technically an alumni party but really it's a drunk-fest for the ramshackle frat guys and the run-down sorority girls of years past. I say this in anger. They are all still quite young and good-looking. I said I wanted no part in such things. I made so many awkward acquaintance type friendships at my half-hearted stay at The College that running into these almost-friends causes me much distress and awkward fumbling. No thanks. I'll pass.
So how do you make someone go to party they'd rather judge from a distance? You pay a lot of money for a ticket for that person and you guilt them out of their jeans and into a girly dress and wedge heels.
Ok, so maybe I did run into some of my favorite people ever. BUT I also saw some awful kids from high-school AND people who's names I couldn't remember. That's always so stressful. "... and what was your name?"
Also, I committed a light felony. I seem to be on a role actually. Just last week I decapitated someone's driveway lantern in an attempt to work out a beat I had been drumming on my stomach during my Buddy walk. Just one bat of my palm and the lantern left its post and shattered on the cool black tar of nighttime. I stood awkwardly in the dark, wondering how many people had heard the scene and were watching me from their bedroom window. It was close to midnight and that shatter could have been heard in Mt. Pleasant. I collected the glass shards and made a polite pile next to the post, which looked rather silly with no lantern on top. I went home and wrote a letter for the owners of the glass shards with the caption "It was me!" written in bold at the top. Though I offered to replace it, I noticed a new lantern standing proudly atop it's post just two days later.
Here, at the Charleston Affair, I stole someone's dark grey, silk lined, Calvin Klein blazer. I thought I was doing a nice thing. I saw my old buddy Neil from elementary school. He's a lovable fella with a thick, bushy beard and a lumberjack's laugh. Just like in third grade.
I sat with Neil a while and discovered that he's a Social Studies teacher and a soccer coach for an elementary school nearby. I like this and am jealous of his students. I reckon it's a good time. Anywho, after while Neil got up and said goodbye and disappeared into the night. I turned to face my friends and I saw it there. The blazer. Hanging delicately over the back of a plastic, white rental chair.
"Neil left his jacket!" I shouted to no one, scooping it up in a hurry.
I forced Omar to carry it around with his jacket for the remainder of our night. For approximately four hours, Omar shifted it from arm to arm, setting it down only for bathroom breaks and hearty hugs. "Do you still have Neil's jacket?" I would ask him too often, having taken responsibility for this rescue mission.
"Yes Laura" and he would raise a sleeve.
Having never met Neil, Omar handled his responsibility with honor and respect, assuming my love for Neil meant he might be an alright guy, worthy of having his jacket persevered for an evening.
It was at the end of the night, on our short ride home, crossing the bridge to James Island, that I realized Neil was wearing a blazer when he hugged me goodbye.
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