As we enter City Hall the group is segregated, those who
have gifts for the Mayor get to sit up front and, when their names are called,
walk up and shake the Lord Mayors hand. I try to side step from the group. I am
still pissed about the goddam butterfly farm. The entire town of
Stratford-upon-Avon seems to have come out to meet the Americans. There seems
to be a subtle irony missed by nearly everyone in that circa 220 years ago the
continent was trying to rid British and their choice of attire and now we come
back to the land perhaps unknowingly jesting them in germane red-coated color of garb.
There is a group of twenty people whose hand we will shake (including
the Lord Mayor’s) as we walk into the community room. Several of the Lord
dignitaries are wearing what can only be described as bejeweled lei around their
necks. Elias is still pinning an Amarillo
Texas pin on everything in sight. One of the dignitaries reflects on his hegemonic
status by noting that he is not allowed to wear one unless the Lord Mayor wears
his first. I miss Harmony, I wonder where she is at. I wonder who the girl with
the pasty skin and fair forehead was.
No sight of Harmony. Ibid that for Mark. The kid from the
older group with the bad-porn seventies mustache and the trench coat seems to
be everywhere. Both Spencer and Justin
have plaques for the mayor, a gift from their newspaper. Spencer’s plaque is
configured like the state of Utah. The Lord Mayor of Stratford upon Avon is
looking at his Amarillo pin like he has just been awarded the goddam
congressional medal of honor.
 |
| Spencer w. Lord Mayor |
I sit down three rows away from the Big Ten. I am flustered.
I am upset.
I did not want to go to the damn butterfly farm.
I am seated next to strangers. There is a jovial ample-framed man
with a smile, the Italian with the shiny hair and camcorder, two boys who are
so skinny they could pass for the number eleven when they stand up out of their
chairs. Without realizing it Liz Madigan is seated directly behind me.
The jovial ample-framed man sitting next to me looks down at his own
Amarillo pin.
“Funny thing about this trip is that I think everyone once
we get back home is gonna know where Amarillo Texas is.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. The rest of my group is three rows
ahead. I appear to be seated with Dylan’s group. It is time to socialize.
The man next to me laughs in several chuffs.
“Hell, I don’t even know where Amarillo Texas is. Before
this trip I always though it was Armadillo Tx.”
He laughs again. My glasses are in the side pocket of my
Parade jacket. I like these guys. With the exception of perhaps Josh, the Big
Ten would never instigate a conversation without making a tits-n-fart joke first.
“The town I come from has the highest teenage pregnancy rate
in the nation so maybe I should have brought a gilded pregnancy test for the
lord mayor to pee on and wait five minutes to see if it turns blue.”
The large man is laughing. As is the boy with the black hair
who has been videotaping this entire trip.
I tell the large friendly man next to me that my name is
David, by the way. He tells me that his name is Sam. We shake hands. Next to Sam is the
hard-blooded Italian who always seems to have one eye parroted in his camcorder. Sans
waiting the niceties of formalities he protrudes his hand below my chin.
“Vincent, but all my friends call me Vinny.”
I acknowledge Vinny by saying his name and telling him it's a pleasure.
I am closer to Sam’s age then any other member of the Big Ten. I realize that this is the group I probably would have been in had they assigned us by age instead of grade.
I feel like presenting the inevitable query, asking Sam how
he won but he turns around and asks me the same question first. I respond.
“You were a paper boy?” He says, with a laugh. “I actually
was a paperboy too back when I was in fifth grade. The Colubus Dispatch. I won this contest through a thing at school. It was pretty
easy. It wasn’t a name in a hat. You had to have a certain GPA and then they interviewed you at the local
VFW."
Sam states that all those years in Boy Scouts finally served
off and then says huh and then elbows me in the ribcage. I nod.
“You’re in that one group,” he says, meaning the Big Ten.
Again I nod.
“You guys are pretty notorious. There’s been complaints about
rude and obnoxious behavior on the bus.”
I nod. No sign of Mark.
I’m thankful I pitched of my Amarillo Texas pin the night before.
Sam Chuckles. He has an endearing comic-relief chuckle where
one just cannot refrain from smiling. On stage several Young Columbusians shake the Lord Mayor hands while presenting him gifts Magi style.
“I actually have a plaque but I’m gonna wait to give it to
the mayor of London. It just seems weird that all the Mayor is
I don’t know what to say. My glasses are still in my side
pocket. From across the room I think I
see the girl with the pasty forehead who grabbed my hand right before I was interrupted
by a Southern Rose . Apparently Daisy got in trouble last night because she
spent the entire night on the phone with Spencer and her roommate didn’t get any sleep and
tattled and now she has to sit at the front of the bus next to her Counselor
Simone all day, not as a punishment, just as a friendly reminder that she is
here to experience the pursuit of England, not fall in love with Mormon boys.
Sam laughs a lot. I
inquire who is Counselor is. He says Eric. The other black counselor, from
Georgetown.
“He’s really cool. We can pretty much do whatever we like as
long as we stay in the group and don’t try to like sneak out of the hotel after
hours or anything like that.”
Sam elbows me again. More Young Columbusians are presenting
gifts. Everyone in the room is wearing a pin from Amarillo Texas. There is a loveable aggregate John Candy/Rodney Dangerfield
quality to Sam. He can’t go two seconds without chuckling. Whenever he starts a
sentence he uses the word hey.
I divert my attention to Vinny. I ask him if he was commissioned to tape the entire trip.
“My film editing teacher saw that I was going to England and
missing two weeks of class so- he told me that I might as well kill two birds
with two stones and document the whole trip, know what I mean?”
Much in the same way Sam can’t begin a sentence without
saying hey or elbowing me in the ribcage the smartass Italian kid can’t
punctuate a complete thought without the rejoinder, Know what I mean?
“…I mean, I’ve been trying to get some good footage and
everything but so far all I’ve really just got a whole lot of old churches and
vertigo. Best I’ve got on the trip so far has been all the girls, y’know whaddyesmeans?
I tell him yeah. Vinny tells me hey. He says question. He is
one of those people were every time he has a question he feels the averred need
to stated the word Question before
stating his interrogative.
“Hey, we noticed you last night actually, and that girl you were dancing with—“
I tell Vincent yes. He asks if it was like my girlfriend or
something. I tell him no. I tell him that I just met her last night at the Disco.
You guys were dancing pretty intense yo. I even taped it so
if you guys get a marries someday or
something like that and want to reminisce about the first yo’s met just look me up or
sumthin."
Sam is smiling.
“Tell him Vinny Tell him the reason we taped him."
Vinny is looking at me like he has some sort of secret. He
is looking at me the way Josh does before he’s about ready to talk about our
pending skit yet doesn’t want anyone to be made privy of the details for fear
it may be usurped in some way.
“No, this sounds really crazy but we thought you were Tony.
That kid from Blossom. Blossom’s older brother. We even had a little debate
going in our group if you were actually him or not.”
Right when I am ready to tell them Thanks for watching I
hear Liz Madigan behind me. It sounds like she is having an orgasm. She says
the word Yes followed by exclamatory stalks of ink.
“I’ve been looking at you this entire trip. Every time I see
you I swear you look familiar.”
Liz gesticulates in the direction of Sam and Vinny. She
extols again he’s right. She says I look just like that dude from Blossom.
Tony, my doppelganger.
Next to Liz sits Mary Jo and next to Mary Jo sits the
auspicious Lynn Minton.
They are both bobbing their heads up and down.
When I recite my rote Thanks for watching they cup their
fingers over their lips and giggle like they are passing a dildo at a bachelor party.
I have made a favorable impression on the ladies who are in
charge of this voyage.
I smile. I am known as Harry in the Big Ten. In Group # 7 I
am known as Tony.
I still have Harmony’s digits in my pocket.
For the first time this trip I have scored.
In front Justin is presenting the Lord Mayor a plaque from the good folks of Nebraska City, Nebraska. As the traditional display of British folk dancing commences one of the dancer with the same shade of tresses as the elusive girl who squeezed my arm crosses her fingers as if to wish herself luck.
Perhaps luck has finally arrived.
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