Real Life Make Believe Conversations - November 14th, 1981
Excuse me, but what is your name?
Don’t make fun, don’t make fun, don’t make fun…
Nice to meet you Stacy. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?
One word at a time, sweet Jesus. Was he held back? Don’t ask. You might get him excited.
Fifteen. OK. Well, I’m thirteen, and as you have no doubt noticed I haven’t gained a single ounce for the last two or three years. I’m what they call a late bloomer.
Resist the urge to laugh at your own joke and pat him on the shoulder. Resist!
I’m not effecting you at all right now, am I?
Smile. That’s not a friendly smile. I’m not getting anywhere at all.
I mean, you’ve got, what, forty pounds on me.
You’re slow at shit, but…
Every time I see that ball move it’s like I’m going against a brick wall. I don’t think I’ve pushed you back a step all night, let alone got around you to try and tackle someone. There is a quarterback back in there somewhere right?
Smile gets wider. Teeth are shiny with the predator’s saliva.
My knuckles hurt, my shoulder hurts and I’m pretty sure I’ve done some serious damage to my neck that will haunt me when I’m 40 or so.
I mean, I know we’re the big rivals and all, but I’m in the eighth grade and you should be a sophomore. Oooh, wrong thing to say. Maybe he doesn’t know what that means. Keep talking. In two years I’ll be a little bigger and you’ll be gone. I think you get a job on an oil rig.
Stacy’s considering. His giant eyes have turned up to stare at the oily hair matted inside his helmet. Maybe he likes oil rigs?
Until then, what do you say?
After several more moments of consideration, the giant speaks.