me and old jim

i used to know this guy, jim. we had this game we played. it wasn't a game we acknowledged or ever talked about, it just sort of evolved the way anything evolves or just happens. little by little and then one day, you realize you're playing this game, going through this series of motions and actions and you wonder how you got there. anyway, that's how it was.

the game was a reminiscing game. it was like practise for nostalgia. the thing about it was that what we reminisced about hadn't actually happened.

see, we'd just be sitting there on the sofa watching father ted (or some equally abusive humor) and he'd turn to me and say, "that reminds me of the time we went to mexico and got those hookers that only liked it up the ass. you had to pay double for straigh sex, remember?"
and i'd say, "yeah, the tall one had a big coke problem and had that big bouncer guy that followed her everywhere muttering to himself about cheese or something, right? wasn't it cheese?"
and he'd say, "no, it wasn't cheese, it was...oh, hell, what was it?...it was salt. yeah, salt. remember, because he kept saying that you can't use that tequila salt for margaritas, you have to use the plain table salt."
"yeah, that's right. he had this thing about table salt. talking about how if you put a little salt on it, pussy tastes way better."
"yeah, i don't what that guy was thinking."
"he was crazy."
"crazy."
"yeah."

and like that, we'd be back to watching television. as if nothing had happened. no laughs, no giggles. nothing to illustrate to anyone who overheard that what we were saying was a complete fabrication. not even ourselves, because we didn't talk about it. the subject of the reality (or lack thereof) of the game was never broached. we just kept on playing. inning after inning. sometimes for an hour or more. night after night. day after day. month after month. a fine life.

the other day i was telling someone about him and she asked where he is now and i told her i don't know. we haven't spoken in years, but i think about him sometimes. i think about our game. i think about bumping into him on some random street in arizona or somewhere and us picking right up where we left off, trading imaginary pasts over coffee in the arizona sun.

2004-07-20 | 11:36 a.m.
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