31 More Flavors of Dialogue

“Hey, Skip, you'll close today, won't you?” Steffen asked as he took off his apron. “I have to meet Stacy at the country club.”

Skip gritted his teeth. Steffen had been working at Baskin Robins for three weeks and he was already getting on Skip's last nerve. “Sure, of course you'll leave early, you can do whatever you want because Grandfather owns the whole town. Spoiled little rich kid.” Skip muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” asked Steffen, with a flip of his perfectly coiffed hair. “I couldn't hear you. I was too busy thinking about what I'm going to do with Stacy in the sauna after our tennis match.”

“I said sure, no problem. I need the extra money to pay for school anyway,”

“Atta boy!” said Steffen with his natural air of condescension. “I might swing by later with Victoria, you know, after I drop Stacy off for the night. I think I'll give her a call. She doesn't get off from work until ten, Stacy should be sound asleep by then.”

Skip shook his head and said nothing. He was far too used to Steffen's indiscriminate womanizing to care anymore. Besides, he knew from his psychology class that Steffen's promiscuity probably resulted from his lack of a father figure. Skip sighed as he remembered the tabloids and press that Steffen's dad generated when he left his wife and kids for the much younger, highly seductive exotic dancer Rhondie Winowieki.

“Vix? Hey, it's Steffen. I caught you on break? Good. Listen babe, what do you say to being picked up tonight around ten thirty and being given the ride of your life? I was talking about my little green Audi, get your mind out of the gutter baby.”

Skip mentally gagged. The womanizing and promiscuity he could stand, but Steffen's corniness never failed to nauseate him.

The bell above the door rang and an elderly gentleman walked in with a beautiful, much younger woman at his side, clinging on to his arm. Steffen looked up and froze, recognition gleaming in his eyes.

“You!” He whispered, almost inaudibly.

“I'm sorry, sonny, what did you say? You gotta speak up, my hearing's not what it used to be.” The old man said amiably.

“You mean you—you don't recognize me?” Steffen asked, visibly hurt.

“Didn't you hear the old man?” The dark, exotic, beautiful woman snapped. “He can't hear you. He doesn't recognize you. He doesn't know you. He doesn't WANT you, just like he didn't want your mom. He has me now. I satisfy every need he has ever had, and he doesn't miss your mom. And he doesn't miss you. So why don't you just leave? He has everything he could ever want right here.”

“I hate you!” Steffen yelled. And with one last pitiful glance at his father, he stormed out of the store.

The old man leaned in toward Skip and said in what he clearly thought was a whisper but was really a shout, “What was that young whipper snapper going on about?”

Skip thought it best not to remind the clearly senile old man about past grievances. “He was just sad because we don't have his favorite ice cream flavor, cheery cherry, but we'll be getting it back in tomorrow. Sir,” Skip asked, a studious gleam in his eye, “by any chance, was your mother extraordinarily old when you were conceived?” Skip knew that the older a mother was when she has a child, the more likely it is that the child will develop alzheimer's later in life.
Always the ambitious student, Skip viewed every experience as a learning opportunity and did not feel at all uncomfortable asking awkward questions for the sake of knowledge.

Unfortunately, Steffen's dad no longer possessed the mental capacity to interpret questions about his past. Instead of answering, he leaned over to Rhondie and asked her what kind of ice cream she wanted.

“I think I'll have chocolate, you're so sweet, thank you for buying it for me love. I'll make it up to you later,” she said sweetly.

Skip was shocked. It didn't take a master psychologist like Freud to see that Rhondie was not the husband-stealing tramp that everyone made her out to be. It also didn't take a genius to understand that while her behavior toward Steffen was petty and rude, he probably had it coming. Steffen was, after all, a spoiled brat with so few values and morals that he couldn't even remember his best friend's birthday. What a horrible guy.

Rhondie and Steffen's dad paid for their ice cream and left holding hands.

How beautiful, Skip thought, is true love.

A few hours later (ice cream parlors are notorious for lulls), a very prim old lady with a hearing aid walked in.

“Hello sir, my name is Meredith, and I would love to sample some of this delicious ice cream. Could you possibly find the time to scoop me out a bowl?”

“Yes, of course ma'am,” Skip said, jumping to his feet.

“While you're scooping, do you mind if I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Go right ahead.”

“Now, I know it isn't polite to gossip, but I have to know, was that Rhondie Winowiecki who just walked out of here?” she asked.

“Why, yes, I believe so.”

“Doesn't Steffen Howard work here as well?”

Skip groaned. Not another of Steffen's conquests, he thought. “Yes, he just left a couple of minutes ago.”

“Well,” she leaned in conspiratorily, “I just feel so sorry for that Steffen. You know, he knew Rhondie Winowieki before she bedded his father.”

“Really?” she had his interest now. “How did he know her?”

“Steffen was Rhondie's coach!” She explained.

“Of what?” Skip couldn't see Steffen coaching anyone in much of anything, except maybe how to get the perfect, even tan.

“Pole dancing,” she said wickedly. “Steffen taught pole dancing and stripping classes at the local Stopless Topless bar, and Rhondie was one of his favorite students. It came as such a blow to his heart when he discovered her affair with his father.”

“I can imagine,” Skip said, laughing to himself. He handed her the ice cream.

“Thanks for this, dear,” Meredith said, walking away to sit in a booth.

“Watch it, lady!” she turned suddenly and slammed into a large, boisterous nun in a walker.

“Oh, I'm so terribly sorry!” Meredith appologized.

“Don't worry about it—just get out of my way so I can get some ice cream!” The nun shouted.

“Yes, oh heaven's me,” Meredith turned around and sat in the nearest booth, slowly licking her ice cream cone.

“Skip! The name's Crazy Grace. You can call me Crazy, or you can call me Grace. Frankly, I don't care. I just want some ice cream!” She hobbled up to the counter, slamming her walker down to emphasize each word.

“Sure ma'am,” Skip asked, looking at the clock. “But I need to hurry, we close in three minutes and I have a psychology class I need to study for.”

“I'll take my time and you will deal with it!” Crazy Grace yelled/slammed.
The customer is always right, Skip recalled with a sigh. I guess Wilhelm Wundt will have to wait.

“I think I'll take...cheery cherry, because it reminds me of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. You got a problem with that?” she looked menacing with her habit tilted slightly to the side.

“No, ma'am,” Skip said, turning away to get the scooper.

Just then, the bell chimed, signaling someone's entry to the store.

“I'm sorry, we're closing...” Skip started to say.

“Shut up!” Skip didn't have to turn around to recognize his coworker's voice.

“Crazy Grace, you can't hide her forever!”

“I can and I will, don't underestimate the powers of those who work for the Lord!” She yelled back at him.

“But I love her!” Steffen proclaimed, shocking everyone.

“I didn't think you were capable of saying the word,” Skip managed.

“I do! I don't care if I've only ever seen her through the glass. I love her! I'm going to marry her and there's nothing you can do about it!” Steffen was breathing heavily, as if the strength it took to declare his love was too much for him to handle.

“Shows how much you know!” Crazy Grace snapped childishly. “I arranged for her to take her vows in...” she glanced at her watch. “Twelve minutes. And there's nothing you can do!”

Skip watched, befuddled, as the nun turned on her heels and hobbled out of the store.

“Noooooo!” Steffen yelled, sinking to his knees.

“What the heck is going on here?” Skip asked.

Steffen tried to answer, but Skip couldn't understand him through his laborious sobs.

“I think I can answer that!” Meredith said, standing up. “Steffen's in love with Rhondie's older sister, Heather, but she was already in the convent. She tried to leave when she realized her love of Steffen was real, but Crazy Grace said Steffen was a womanizer and would not grant her request. Now, apparently, Crazy Grace has changed the date of her vows so she'll be taking them...in nine minutes.”

Steffen began to cry harder.

Skip looked at Steffen's pitiable form, lying prostrate on the floor and something happened that he did not expect. He began to feel sorry for him. Sorry for the man who had caused him so much strife for so many weeks. He knew what he had to do.

“Did you say that the convent was down the street?” Skip asked?

Steffen and Meredith nodded.

“Let's go!”

It took Steffen only a moment to realize what Skip was getting at. “Let's go,” he said, and bolted
out of the store.

Skip and Meredith followed, pausing for only a moment to lock the store up. They caught up to Steffen easily though, as he was rather slow, and they ended up making it to the church at the same time.

They burst into the narthex just in time to hear the bells ring. Everyone in the front of the church looked up.

“I can't let you do this Heather!” Steffen yelled. “I'm in love with you!”

“Oh Steffen, I'm so sorry,” she began to cry softly. “You're too late.”

“What?” Steffen looked like someone had shot him.

“You heard her!” Crazy Grace yelled. “She is a nun! She has cloistered herself and is now forever in the service of the Lord!”

Just then, the door of the church opened and a beautiful woman in a Northwestern Bank uniform walked in. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm supposed to tell you that Father Gregory needs the church for a baptism.”

Skip turned to Steffen, expecting to see him crumpled on the floor. To Skip's surprise, Steffen's mouth was open and he was gliding over to where the bank teller was standing.

Figures, Skip thought as Crazy Grace and Heather filed out of the church. It just figures that he would move on from Heather in about a second. I should have known he didn't really love her. He's never loved anything but himself. Narcissistic little--

“Hey, I'm Steffen, do you have a map? Because I just lost myself in your eyes.”

Skip almost threw up.

The bank teller giggled. “I'm Wendy,” she said shyly.

They continued to talk as Father Gregory and company prepared the church for a baptism. With nothing else to do, Skip meandered over to Father Gregory.

“Hey, I'm Skip, and I'm just wondering, do you think that a person's personality is controlled by genetics or is it a product of the environment they are placed in?”

“Funny you should mention that...” Father Gregory began, “I think--” He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. “Could you hold that thought, please?” He asked Skip.

“Sure.”

Father Gregory turned away, but Skip could still hear Snippets of his conversation. “What? Cancel the baptism? Why? Oh no, really? SIDS? That's a shame, cuts back my commission. It's too late for them to get a refund though, right? Well, you know what they say, every cloud has a silver lining. Alright, talk to you later.” He hung up the phone.

“Looks like we have an empty church,” he said.

“We'll take it!” Steffen and Wendy ran to the front of the church.

“We want to get married!” Wendy said breathlessly.

“But you just met her!” Skip accused.

“I don't care!” Steffen said. “I am in love.”

“Do you have any money?” Father Gregory asked.

“Plenty.”

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” and with that, Wendy Gonzalez became Wendy Howard.

Skip turned his back on the group at the front of the church and sighed. Even with three years of working in Baskin Robins, I still do not understand why people do what they do. I've had enough. I've had enough questioning and dealing with people. I can't do it anymore.

By this time, Skip had returned to the ice cream store, the source of all his problems. He unlocked the door and hung up his apron one last time.

“Good bye, ice cream. I have enough money to get me through my last year of psychology, amaybe, just maybe, then I'll be able to come back and work here. But I'm just too under-qualified. I'll never forget you.”

And with that, he turned around and walked into the sunset.

Obama wins a Grammy

OBAMA WINS A GRAMMY

WONDERLAND—The world was shocked and astounded last night when President Barack Obama won a Grammy for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance.“He's just so damn talented,” Grammy coordinator Lib Earl said, with tears in his eyes. “Nobody has a voice like his.” Obama received the award for flexing his golden pipes in campaign ads throughout the nation. “The first time I heard 'I'm Barack Obama, and I approve this message,' I knew that he would win the Grammy,” said Earl.


Almost all of Obama's fellow nominees agree. “Heck, Seal and I were just gabbing before the show about how excited we were that Obama was going to be here. He's a musical genius! I mean, John Legend did pretty well too, and I'm gonna let him finish, but Barack Obama had one of the best campaign ads of all time.” Maxwell agreed, noting that even though he was excited about his new song, 'Love You,' Obama's voice deserved the win more than his did. The fifth and final nominee, Stevie Wonder, did not echo the other musicians' sentiments. “Look man, I know Barack's a good president, but that fool ain't no singer! I'm blind and I'm playing the God Damn piano! Anyone can get on that television and approve that old message, but can they blindfold themselves and play the piano? I don't think so!” Wonder was later lead off the stage and asked to “calm himself” in the quiet room. Rumors flew that Wonder is now on trial for treason, but Obama's reps will neither confirm nor deny this statement.


Wonder is not alone in his questioning of Obama's candidacy for the Grammy. Many plumbers named Joe were seen standing outside the White House this morning with picket signs saying “My name is Joe, and I don't think Obama should have won a Grammy.”


Republicans everywhere further renounce Obama's victory. “Obama shouldn't be concerned with this music nonsense!” Republican Senator Jason Allen, of Michigan, says. “He should be one hundred percent focused on the health care issue!” Sara Palin, former governor of Alaska and harsh critic of Obama, was heard this morning from her front porch saying “Oh Barack, you're such a silly man. While you were out drinking and partying and what have you at the Grammy's, I was here protecting our country from the Russians! I can see you over there, Commie! Don't think I can't! I've got my Remington Bolt Action Rifle here if you even think for one second about crossing the Bering Strait!” Palin's rep could not be reached for comment.


The first lady, Michelle Obama, supports her husband's victory. “My husband is a very talented man. I knew that after winning the Nobel Peace Prize that a Grammy was next on the list.” Michelle leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “Don't tell anyone because we're still waiting to hear from the Intergalactic Space Association, but the word on the street is Barack is up for the prestigious award, Master and Commander of the Whole Entire Universe, so keep your fingers crossed!”


Obama's cabinet is firmly supportive of their president's award. An inside source tells us that Michelle and Barack threw an after-Grammy-rave in the oval office, a party unparalleled in its wildness since Clinton and Lewinsky “took office” back in the nineties.


Regardless of the controversy surrounding Obama's win, he clearly deserved to be recognized for his contribution to the auditory industry. After all, when God created the Grammys, he said “And the winner of the Best Male Pop Vocal Performance should be someone who can actually sing and actually has something to do with the music industry.” If Obama doesn't fall into that category, who does?

Brothers

Brothers

Marc Brown once said “sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero,” and I know with absolute certainty that he is right. I am blessed enough to have two brothers, and they are both my favorite people in the world. I get along with my eldest brother best, and sometimes it feels like we're the same person. My other brother and I don't always see eye to eye though, and often we end up fighting and screaming at each other. Even though we're not always close, I know that no matter what, my brother will always be there for me. How can I be so certain? Could I be underestimating our familial bond? I am not. I know that he will be there for me in the future because he was there for me in the past. My brother proved beyond question that he will always rescue me late one summer with a single action: he saved my life.

Anyone who has older brothers (like Marc Brown) can relate to me when I say that my entire childhood can be summed up in two words: keeping up. I had two older brothers, one was 16 months older than me and the other was 4 and a half years older. Even though they were boys, more concerned with Hot Wheelz than Barbie, I still ached to do all the things they did. One of the best examples of this was swimming.

We'd all taken swimming lessons for about the same amount of time. Bailor, my eldest brother, had taken them longer, but as he was always the best at everything, it didn't bother me. In my mind I was just as good of a swimmer as either of my brothers. Sadly, as children often do, I did not consider the fact that my brothers were much stronger than me, a miscalculation that would almost lead to my demise.

Bailor met Garrett when he was five years old, and soon they became best friends. Garrett, lucky boy that he was, lived on Spider Lake, an inland lake not far from our house. Bailor spent most of his summers frolicking in the lake with his friend Garrett, preparing to become the next Michael Phelps (he just didn't know it yet). My other brother, Blair, spent his summers at the state park with our neighbor, preparing to be the next Pamela Anderson from Baywatch (without the personal flotation devices, of course). I, however, spent my summers playing Barbies with my friend Lauren, preparing to be the next...average girl who played with Barbies as a child. Mistake number one. So, even though my brothers and I had the same experience with swimming lessons, my brothers had a lot more practice applying their skills.

Late one particular summer, after many days like the ones aforementioned, Mom took Blair and I over to Garrett's to pick up Bailor. After a lot of pleading on our parts, she agreed to let us take our bathing suits and swim for a while with Bailor and Garrett.
Once we got to Garrett's, Blair ditched me to hang out with the big boys. I, of course, did not find this acceptable, and vowed to find a way to be included. Garrett had a raft that was floating out away from shore, and the boys decided to swim to it. Not to be outdone, I decided to swim after them. Mistake number two.

Being the inexperienced swimmer that I was, it took me a WHILE to reach the raft. By the time I got out there, I needed a rest. The boys decided they were bored and wanted to swim back in (or maybe they just wanted to get away from me, I'll never know the real reason why they decided to leave just as I got there, but I suspect it's the latter). I was out of breath and tired, and I badly needed a rest. But the boys started swimming to shore, and I decided that I had to as well, without taking a breather. Mistake number three.

I was little, very little, and I couldn't swim nearly as well as I thought I could. With each stroke I could feel my little body shutting down, my little lungs screaming for more oxygen, my little limbs shutting down in self defense. My feet were being dragged to the bottom by the water shoes my mom made me wear, but I was too afraid of getting in trouble to kick them off. About halfway between the shore and the raft, I knew it was physically impossible for me to swim anymore. I turned around and floated on my back for a while, and then decided to backstroke the rest of the way to shore. Mistake number four.

Realizing I was losing the battle, I finally kicked off the water shoes. I wasn't worried anymore; the only thing I could think about was getting to shore. I could hear my mom screaming, and it seemed like I wasn't moving at all. I finally flipped over, using the last of my strength, to see how far I was from shore. And then I started to panic.

When I flipped over the first time, I had unknowingly began to swim sideways, parallel to shore, the way you would during a riptide. Well, there are no riptides in Spider Lake, so I was just wasting my energy. As soon as I realized what was happening, I gave up. If I had had any energy left, I would have flailed my arms and legs and screamed. As it was, I was exhausted. I had already swallowed a lot of water and was continuing to do so without respite. I could see my mom screaming and waving her arms from shore, and it was all I could do to keep my head up to watch her. I think part of me knew then, deep inside, that I was drowning, but the child that I was was too innocent to understand. Possibly I believed, after many Sundays spent in Church and Bible school, that the hand of God would come down or something and save me before it was too late. And then, by some miracle, that's what He did.

Blair came out of nowhere. I don't remember seeing him around me, I don't remember hearing him coming. All I knew was that somehow he was there, exactly when I needed him the most. He wrapped his arms around me and, having spent every conceivable ounce of energy I possessed, all I could do was rest my head on his shoulder while he swam me into shore.

After that moment, though, my memory becomes foggy. I remember one of my brothers going back and getting the water shoes, I remember coughing up a lot of water, and I remember my

mom telling me that I wasn't allowed to swim out to the raft anymore. All of this is disjointed. What I remember best is my mom's face, the last thing I saw before I went under, and realizing, somehow, that I knew Blair would save me, and knowing also that he always would.