Append: Assassins

The gun I took from the Bucket of Fun had a hole in it and leaked everywhere when I brought it home and filled it up.

After stomping around my damp kitchen, I sucked it up and I drove to Family Dollar outside of Inman Square. I forked over a dollar for three new guns. (And bought some TP on the cheap while I was at it).

Two out of the three new pistols had obvious leaks. I filled up the remaining gun, which I cleverly nicknamed "The Good One," and left it overnight on a table in the living room.

In the morning I shoved The Good One in my "nice" purse. It wasn't expensive and it isn't fancy to look at, but it qualifies as my "nice purse" because every other bag I carry is either a tote bag, or made of hemp, or has fake blood stains on it.

I tucked The Good One in with my wallet, cell phone and keys, feeling like a real dangerous woman. A woman on the edge. A woman ready for action. I was headed to the Watertown RMV to renew my license, a plan I was 100% sure no one else could know about, but in case I was being followed I pretended to get lost*.

After 30 minutes of sitting at the RMV I checked my phone. It was wet. My wallet was wet. My ipod was wet. The inside of my nice purse was wet. The gun... was still full.

I took the gun out of my purse to examine it, ignoring the stares from my bench-mates. I held the gun this way and that. I shook it, alarming the studious man to my right. I rubbed it across my palm from several angles. Streaks of water appeared. The gun has a tiny fault in the seam on the handle. A real slow leak when held the wrong way.

I tried to reposition the gun in my purse. It fell over. I tried to put it in a separate pocket, but that just got my lighter and all my change wet.

Guys, I really might lose this game.

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* By this I obviously mean I got lost on the way to the Arsenal Mall which is INCREDIBLE and I wish I were pretending.

Assassins

I did some last minute shopping today for a game of Assassins

I want to take a minute and admit that a game involving stalking and being stalked doesn't seem like my "type of thing."
"I don't know," said Jeremy backstage the other day, "it just seems like not your type of thing."

Whether or not it has been, it is now.

Today I was searching for a few last things to complete my arsenal. The item I needed was unavailable at any of the other stores I went to this week, and so on the way home from work today I stopped into the huge CVS a block away from Pizza Stop. I poured over the shelves, frustrated by the surplus of foam and bubble guns and lack of water shooters.

Finally I saw my only option - a bucket of summer themed toys. "15 pieces!" The cardboard insert boasted. "$20 value for only $9.99!"

I carried the bucket around with me as I shopped for other things. I put it back twice. I didn't really want to pay so much for one little piece of equipment.  I also didn't want to carry a giant orange bucket of toys home on the bus. I looked at the clock and groaned. Without access to email I had no idea if the game had started. Someone could already be waiting for me at a bus stop or street corner. I needed to finish assembling my offensive and defensive plan. I needed to buy the stupid bucket.

I dumped my mouthwash and hairspray on the counter with the bucket. Two teen aged girls entered the store with a toddler and began comparing candy. Then I grinned.

"Hey. I'm going to buy this bucket of toys. I just want the water gun. Do you think he'd want the rest?" I pointed at the toddler.

They stared at me. I tried to see myself through their eyes, a tiny white lady wearing scrub pants rolled up to the knees and a tank top with a stethoscope hanging out of her shoulder bag, gesturing with a big orange bucket, grinning like an idiot to convey good intentions.

"Uh, sure," the older girl said, shrugging at the younger. They resumed their candy consultation.

I paid for the goods, unwrapped the bucket, removed my prize and turned around. The girls looked confused.

"I literally only wanted this," I said, showing them. The rest is yours."

"Oh!," the younger girl said, understanding for the first time. "Thanks so much!" The two girls bent down and offered first pick of the toys to the toddler.

I pocketed my new hand pistol and caught the bus, jogging.

Encore! Encore!

When I was growing up my parents would often have friends over for dinner.
If the guests brought their own children it meant hours of adventures, ghost stories and pranks. But even when my friends were home with babysitters, these were special nights.

For dinner we'd eat steak tips, or prime rib or some other treat. Sometimes a few of Dad's friends would come over all on one night with their wives and they'd all buy lobsters. But often it was just Dad and Mom and Lenny and Mal, (or Chris and John, or Martha and Marcus, or Sue and George) and we'd eat until no one could eat anymore. When their friends were over there was usually a real dessert.  We'd have a pie or monkey bread as though it were Christmastime and not just another Sunday night in July.

After dinner everyone would sit and drink and tell funny stories about when Dad and his friends were younger. Sometimes they'd play poker for nickels and quarters and Mom would say to me and Brian, "Go brush your teeth and we'll be up to tuck you in." Those nights I went without much fuss because card games bored me. Mom and Dad would each slip into my room to kiss me goodnight and I would drift off to sleep to the sounds of Oldies 103.3 on the radio and the grownups laughing as they bet small change in the kitchen.

But some nights after dinner Dad would go to the den and open the closet. That's when I knew to start begging permission to stay up. They were going to play a board game.

I knew how to play every game in that closet: Jenga, Go to The Head of the Class, Battleship, Trivial Pursuit, Trivial Pursuit: Disney Edition, Trivial Pursuit: Genius Edition, Trivial Pursuit: Silver Screen Edition, Scrabble and Taboo. For years, I was never my own player, I was always someone's "helper," but I didn't mind. I'd stay, wearing my Little Mermaid pajamas, sitting on my knees for added height next to Mom or Dad as moths flew against the screen door and the stove clock logged minutes past my forgotten bedtime.
The very best game in the closet was called Encore.

In Encore, when a card is drawn and a word is read off, you need to sing songs that contain the word in the lyrics. You have to sing a seven word phrase at least, thank you very much. Then the other team does the same thing. Both teams battle back and forth until they run out of songs, or time.

For a child, I was pretty good at Encore because even then I had a memory for lyrics above all other things.  Mom was even better because she knew more songs than I did.

One night Mom and I were a team together. The word on the card was "brown"; we had already sung one song, the other team countered with a song, and it was our turn again. The other team was happy because no one could think of another song with the color brown in it. The tiny white sand grains in the chintzy hourglass were running out. Then, quietly, almost inaudibly, Mom began to sing, "the old brown mare, she ain't what she used to be..."  The other team sighed and shook their heads, now they would have to come up with yet another song to beat us. Mom had sung past seven words but I was so excited at our obvious victory that I joined in at the top of my lungs, "-AIN'T WHAT SHE USED TO BE! AIN'T WHAT SHE USED TO BE!  THE OLD BROWN MARE SHE-"

Mom grimaced. Right. Brian was sleeping after all.

"Wait a minute," Mal rejoined, "isn't it 'the old grey mare?'"

Mom smiled pointedly at me, sideways. "That's why I was trying to sing it quietly."

"Oh. I thought it really was a brown mare. It sounded good as a brown mare."

Mom and I probably won anyway. At least that's how I remember it.