I meet the boss that I’ve heard so much about. John stands a little taller than myself and exudes energy. He speaks with a degree of magnetism. His eyes and mind are bright and I know what this company came from and why it is what it is. He laughs at my jokes. I meet several others I’ve yet to meet. Guys who are now newer than me in the company. Evan, Scott, Maurice, David. All of varies shapes and sizes. Ages and ethnicities. I exert my faux seniority as a joke.

It’s the first week ever of in-house training for the company. The first class to run through the new training center. The first actual brick and mortar location the company’s had. Tim L. is here too as is Eric and we exchange our words. John speaks and the first day moves quickly.

We all go to dinner at a local joint. I make sure to sit across from John. I enjoy hearing his stories and I can tell he enjoys hearing mine. Tim L. sits diagonally, wearing Armani jeans and a leather jacket. John says that I could be Tim L.’s brother. The comparisons continue. The group rags on me for my age as usual. I don’t mind. I know what I am in this company and what I will be and I know the company knows the same. Later Tim L. asks me if it bothers me and I tell him the same. He replies with “We wouldn’t do it if we didn’t like having you around.”

—

Evan and I walk through the University of Delaware campus, following trails of red cups to fruitless doors. Evan carries himself with a youthful demeanor that lets me feel my own age again. We walk those dead streets with rum in our blood and our heads up and hopeful. We try a bar to no success. I say I don’t have my ID and Evan can’t seem to find his. When we leave I ask him if he actually forgot his and he says “No, I have it.” Solidarity.

I knew right away that Evan and I would get along. We sat in his room drinking wonderful Nicaraguan rum and swapping stories. His of volunteer work across the world and engineering school. Mine of Pro Automated and girls. We talk of hiking and nature. Life and universe. Austin, Texas. Ambition. Our talk contains substance and substances. The rum is like liquid ruby, blood red in the light. The mouth feel is cleansing. The finish doesn’t burn one bit. Floral hints. Sweet sugar cane. The bitterness and clarity that comes with liquor on the rocks. We talk and drink and when a suitable buzz is reached, we make our way to the heart of the college. To adventure and nothing at all.

We run into two moderately attractive girls at a street corner. I ask what there is to do around here and their only response is bars. We chat them for a while. 18 and 19. Freshman and Sophomore. One of them is still wearing her science lab eye protection. I make fun of it thoroughly and they both laugh. ”Where are you two going?””To a candy store.” Now, I could have responded with “Well uh…I have candy back at my hotel room,” but this would have come off as highly creepy and inappropriate. We flirt some more and all is well. Meanwhile, a pack of girls with shoes too high and skirts too short catch our attention. I ask them the same question and the response is the same. They’re remarkably less fun to talk to and they continue their way somewhere. Around this time, we part our ways with Candy shop and science goggles. To continue our fruitless search.

Through small and terrible college student housing. Through the alleys of two buildings. Through dormitory sidewalks. We smell skunk in the air and we laugh because we know it’s not a mammal. Back to the car. We didn’t get drunk. We didn’t go find some college party or easy college girls. But we were content. A night more rewarding than it could have been.

Solidarity.

—

An aside: For a spilt second, I knew what I wanted. But I won’t worry about what is or what isn’t because as it goes things just is what they is and nothing else. I can have no qualms and give no shits about the state of affairs because as it stands life is beautiful and life is great and like nothing else. But I will give this qualm and I will give this shit. For that same spilt second. Be bored and be tired of ease and no ease at all, of inaction, of honesty without being honest. Say sweetness in a silent scream and I won’t say much. I have nothing to say because there isn’t a ground to say anything. If I say something, I’m the same as the norm and I will never let myself be the norm or what you or anyone is used to. Carry on in molasses. Sweet and slow.