Fall in May

~6~ A Day of Firsts

As we inch ever closer to my new institutional learning facility, I can sense that Aces is really psyching himself up to give me a real 'go get'em tiger' pep talk. Like the ones, he gave back in the old war days when he rallied the troops, right before he got in his 747 warplane and dive bombed the death out of the German guns at the Alamo or Pearl Harbor or whatever. Back when he was the former embodiment of death from above War Planes Corps pilot guy. I have a vague memory of someone, maybe even my father, telling me that Aces was some kind of killer hero back in the old war days? Thus the Aces moniker he is forever rocking.

After all, who else would insist on rocking a brown leather bomber jacket and green fighter guy glasses, but a hardcore sky killer guy? The leather fighter-bomber jacket he insisted on donned for the three block drive is sporting all kinds of warplane flash patches, with skulls and wings and shit. Hell, he even has the Ace of Spades on all his jacket zipper heads. Probably to let all the other grandparents know, that once upon a time he too was tougher than nails and could kill them to death ...left handed.

Honestly, I can actually kind of respect that whole death dealer motif Aces is rocking this morning. It's infinitely better than the "I survived the Great Depressing" thing that the Irish Antichrist is so fond of talking to herself about.

"So Darren, I was thinking you're probably going to want to keep those tattoos of yours covered up. At least until you get settled in and get the lay of the land?" He finally starts the blah blah blah about my ink that I don't want, need or care to hear.

"Yeah Aces, that sounds a lot like a thought." I cut him off short, to save us both the experience of me tuning out. Before he wastes what little of life's breath he still has left on any more unwanted talking talk.  

"And let's face it, old bro, family traditions aside? All this waiting in traffic to go three blocks thing is a total waste of time for us both." I point out before he can think of the next sage thing to say. "So if it's all the same, I'll just hoof it from here."

"But like, thanks for the traditional ride thus far though?" The whole half a block I could have crawled faster than he could drive it in the traditional first day of school traffic jam. "Oh yeah, and you don't have to worry about traditionally picking me up after school thing. Like I might check out the pool or something? So if it's all the same, I'll just roll home on my own. Cool?"

"Suit yourself, just call me if you change your mind." He sighs finally giving up on the blah-blah-blah. "Good luck today Darren and..."

"...let's hope I don't need it." I finish the thought for him.

I jump out of the old Impala and pause before slamming the door back behind me. Instead, I close the door "quietly". Because as I have learned over the summer, the Raisins just hate when you slam doors for some reason? It's like a big time respect thing for the Raisins? I think maybe because all the cars they grew up with in the Great Depressing War Days would break and immediately fall apart if you slammed the door?

Standing on the uneven skateboard proof sidewalk, I watch the ancient sky blue Impala pull away from the curving line up and swing back down Hill Street. On the bailout turn, the old warmonger even throws me a halfhearted John Wayne war plane salute in passing. Probably on his way towards another exciting day talking about his old war plane death days, with all his warmonger buddies down at the VFW Hall of Heroes.

As I push slowly up Hill, I can see that me and Aces are not the only ones that are pulling this nontraditional U-turn snake move. We just happen to be the latest in a growing number of the traditional first-day quitters. All those kids, whose parents have long stopped caring about them one way or the other.  So after the first set of failure cards came out freshman year, they are just getting kicked to the curb with last minute morality lectures