Erin and the Florida Incident (Part 4)

I.                   The Goldberg Principle

My family, cousins included, Erin, and I departed Orlando, and headed to Fort Meyers, where my dad’s boss owned a condominium that he let us rent out.  Of course, when telling people about it, my dad tended to refer to it as his condo:  “Yeah, I’m taking the family to Florida this summer and staying at a condo we got down there.  Our condo is in Fort Meyers.  Yeah, my condo in Fort Meyers is pret~ty nice.”

It was a spacious, four-bedroom condominium that had a lot of mirrors… seriously, like a wall of mirrors.  It looked like a comfortable safe house Scarface would use.  The condo was great when I was younger and more easily impressed; when I was so young that I not only didn’t mind sleeping in a walk-in closet, because all the bedrooms were taken, but insisted upon it!  However, as I grew into a jaded, cynical teenager, the deficiencies of the condo became more glaringly obvious.  For one, it wasn’t remotely near any of the beaches, which made it instantly lame, even for a kid.  Secondly, the place was overrun with lizards, which are charming at first, but after hearing enough horrific “crunches”, feeling a lizard’s death spasms underneath your flip-flop, and walking around the rest of the day with that odd feeling of having gum stuck to the sole of your shoe, it gets old.  Finally, the worst thing about the condos was that it was made up of 90% elderly people, making it a glorified retirement community.  Nothing soils a party atmosphere than the sight of walkers, scooters, and the occasional ambulance (though, in a different context, the presence of an ambulance might be considered the sign of a kick-ass party).

Despite having several months to prepare for a trip to a place primarily known for its beaches, Erin had forgotten to pack one of the most essential items one should bring to a tropical peninsula: a swim suit.  It really was quite an astounding oversight but, as it would turn out, a very fortuitous one.  Before arriving at Fort Meyers, we stopped at a duty-free shop for her to buy a cheap bathing suit.  My mood had lightened a little since my emotional breakdown at Disney World, but I was still a little on-edge.  On a whim, I bought a t-shirt that featured a cartoon headless man holding a sign that read:  WILL WORK FOR HEAD. 

 

I modeled it for Erin, laying it on rather thick:  “Huh?  Huh?  What do you think?  Pretty funny, huh?  It means I want a blowjob!”  The only way I could be less subtle would be to forcibly pull her head to my crotch.  Much to the chagrin of every man on Earth with more common sense in these matters, I would go on to wear that shirt like a sign of protest throughout the rest of the trip… and throughout the rest of my stint in high school.  My ancestors would breathe a collective sigh of relief when I finally retired the shirt for college.      

I also took advantage of the stop to delve further into my nerdy interests in order to escape the immediate reality of my shitty situation.  I had finished the Babylon 5 book that I brought to read during the trip.  I didn’t bring anything else, having not expected, in my right mind, that I’d have either time or inclination to read anything.  So I stocked up on several magazines that covered the gamut of my interests, including Gamepro, Cinescape, Mad Magazine, and Wizard.  If these magazine selections, combined with the Babylon 5 novel, and the goofy blowjob shirt haven’t painted a stark portrait of why I didn’t get laid in high school, you needn’t fear, as it gets worse in college.

I used the magazines not only to mentally block Erin from my consciousness, but physically block her from my vision by holding the magazine ridiculously close to my face.  Occasionally she’d try to break the ice by asking what I was reading to which I’d curtly respond:  “Huh?  Oh, nothing you’d be interested in – just video game stuff.”  Then I would turn to my little brother and begin a conversation about the article I was reading.  “Oh my god, Jon, the more I read about Final Fantasy VIII, the more I become convinced that my life will be complete after I play it.”

“What’s Final Fantasy?” Erin asked.

I dismissed her question with a wave of my hand and didn’t bother to look at her.  “Oh, it’s just a thing.  It doesn’t matter.”  I continued talking to my brother.  “So, the main character’s name is Squall, which is an awesome name, it means ‘storm’ or something.  He uses this badass weapon called a ‘gunblade’, which is like a gun with a fucking sword sticking out of it.”

“Cool!” my brother exclaimed, reaching to take the magazine.

I yanked it back. “Hey!  Hey!  No touching!  Get your own magazine!  Gawd!”

“Can I see it?” Erin asked.

“Pfft,” I spit, rolling my eyes.  “You wouldn’t understand.”  I continued thumbing through the magazine in silence. 

***

When we got to the condo, Erin and my mom immediately went down to the pool, while I opted to stay inside and watch Happy Gilmore, which was the only movie my dad’s boss had available at the condo, so we probably ended up watching it more than the FDA would recommend is healthy for a normal human mind.  While lying out by the pool, Erin finally broached the subject of my sour attitude with my mom.

“So, have you noticed Craig’s been acting… weird?"

Mom took a deep breath and continued facing the sky as she answered.  “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Well, it’s like… it’s like he’s really mad at me for some reason and I don’t understand what I did.  You know?”

“Yep.”

“Why would he be mad?”

Mom took off her sunglasses and regarded Erin with a look of surprise.  “You really don’t get it, do you?  Why do you think Craig took you on this trip anyway?”

“Because we’re friends,” Erin answered with a shrug, as if this were the most obvious answer in the world.

Mom rolled her eyes and slipped her sunglasses back on.  “Yeah right.  If he wanted to bring a ‘friend’, he would have brought Johnny or Matt.  He brought you because he likes you.”

Erin had to take a moment to let this sink in.  Despite how obvious this information should have been, it was genuine news to her.  Erin’s brain had to readjust and reprocess all of her memories of our friendship since the beginning with this new piece of crucial information in place to fully understand the scope of this revelation.  It was probably like finally figuring out a crucial word in order to solve a crossword puzzle.  So it was perfectly understandable when the only vocal response afforded to her was a simple, succinct: “Oh.”

Erin and mom sat in silence for a beat, before Erin broke it:  “I still don’t get why he’s so mad at me.”

“Erin, honey,” my mom said patiently while turning to face her:  “I really don’t know how to say this, but… a guy doesn’t pay your way to Florida for nothing.  When a guy goes through that much trouble and expense for a girl, well, they tend to expect… something… in return.”  

Mom's explanation hung in the air for a moment before Erin finally caught on.

“So… what does he want from me?” Erin responded irritably.  “A blowjob or something?”

Mom shrugged and lay back down.  “It probably wouldn’t hurt.”  She sat back up and added:  “Not that I’m telling you to give my son a blow job or…” She looked Erin up and down.  “…or 'something', for that matter.  I’m just saying that’s probably one of many things he was expecting to get out of this trip.  It’s certainly not the main thing… although that’s probably why he bought that stupid shirt.  He really, really likes you, Erin, and he just had a different vision of how this trip was supposed to go.  I think he expected you to be his girlfriend after this trip.”

“What should I do?”

“I really don’t know.”

***

What Erin decided to do was probably the wisest thing either one of us had done since the trip began: she went to stay with my cousins for a night at their beachside hotel.  I could not have been more relieved.  I finally had the space I needed to work through the helter-skelter of emotions that had overtaken me since we crossed the Kentucky state line.  I needed the time away from Erin to reaffirm my sense of self-worth, my very masculinity.

So I did it by watching professional wrestling.  There isn’t much on this Earth that helps a man recover his composure like the spectacle of violence, even fully-choreographed, simulated violence.  I was never into sports, so professional wrestling was as close to a “manly interest” as I ever got.  It was Monday night, which meant WWF’s Monday Night Raw and WCW’s Monday Nitro.  I was particularly excited because that night on WCW Monday Nitro, a professional wrestler named Goldberg, who was enjoying an unprecedented winning streak, was getting a title shot against Hollywood Hulk Hogan.  If one isn’t a wrestling fan, it’s difficult to explain why this was exciting, but I’m going to attempt it anyway:  for months, Hollywood Hulk Hogan, the leader of an evil faction of bad guy wrestlers known as the New World Order, had retained the World Championship by using devious means like cheating or simply leaving the ring, and losing via countout, but according to the rules, a champion retains the title if he loses via countout or disqualification.  Meanwhile, Goldberg, a completely unknown palooka in nondescript black tights, began rapidly gaining notoriety by starting a winning streak never-before-seen in professional wrestling; by the time he got his title shot with Hogan, he was well into a hundred wins versus zero losses.  Naturally, as Goldberg defeated one opponent after another, like an unstoppable juggernaut, fans wondered if he’d ever face the champ, Hollywood Hulk Hogan.  

Finally, that Monday night, the fans were going to get what they wanted.  My brother and I were glued to the TV in rapt attention, while my dad watched impatiently, occasionally complaining at how fake wrestling was.   As desperate as my dad always had been for me to be interested in sports, it was fascinating how disparaging he was of the only thing close to a sport I was at all interested in.  “Why do you watch this crap?” he would ask.  “It’s so stupid.”

“It’s better than football,” I’d shoot back.

“Pfft, at least football’s real!”

“Yeah… real boring,” I’d mutter to myself.

 “What was that, piccolo?”  When my dad was irritated by me, he had a tendency to call me a “piccolo”.  To this day, I still don’t know what it’s supposed to mean.

“Danny,” my mom interjected.  “Let the boys watch their wrestling.”

“They’re just lucky nothing else is on.  I’m going to bed.”  Dad got up and petulantly retreated to his room.

  

The match was fairly short and unspectacular as far as technical wrestling matches go – neither Goldberg or Hogan are well-known for wrestling matches that feature a variety of moves or holds.  Their matches tended to a simple, yet tried and true, formula: kick, punch, clothes line (or shoulder block), finishing move set-up (the “big boot” for Hogan or “the Spear” for Goldberg), followed by their respective finishing move (the “Atomic Leg Drop” for Hogan or the “Jackhammer” for Goldberg).  That was pretty much exactly what we got, but the build-up for the match superseded the technical skills on display, so we were thoroughly engaged from beginning to end.  After receiving not one, not two, but THREE of Hogan’s patented Atomic Leg Drops of doom, Goldberg managed to kick out of a pin, much to the horror of Hogan and to the shock of everyone watching.  As Hogan reeled in disbelief, desperately calling for back-up by the NWO, Goldberg sprung to his feet, delivered a Spear (which is essentially a full-body tackle), and finished Hogan off with a Jackhammer (which is suplex that turns into a full-body power slam), winning the match and becoming the new champion. 

My brother and I were absolutely floored.  We cheered, clapping our hands.   “Keep it down!” my dad yelled from the bedroom, hushing us up instantly.  

I went to bed that night inspired by Goldberg’s surprise victory.  Predetermined though it may have been, watching Goldberg overcome all odds and pull off such a remarkable win made me consider how quickly and totally I had descended into despair over this trip.  I began to consider that may all was not lost after all!  I still had not told Erin my true feelings, so I still wasn’t sure how that would go – maybe it would completely change the courses of the whole trip!  I went to bed with fuzzy optimism that this trip could be salvaged after all.