Parole

17 Jun

The contracts for Umzumbe Boys are signed and mailed back to Ground Zero’s lawyer. With all the bobbing and weaving, we still got what was originally offered, along with a ten percent bump to pay Mentor their management fee.

I didn’t even tell Ann – she was too busy being angry at me for being too flirtatious (in her opinion), even bringing up a comment I made at a party 17 years ago. A woman had walked in carrying a pizza box and I made a lame joke about the box having lingerie inside it. It was a stupid thing to say – but hell, convicted criminals do five years for murdering people. Maybe after 17 years we can let this dumb comment of mine slip into the mists of yesteryear. Anyway, it was another Cold War week. Last night, when I got home from work, I told her, “I’m never going to be the man you want me to be – I’m not going to be that person, I don’t even want to be him.”

This morning Ann woke me up and apologized. I told her I’d read about the Seminoles – that once a year they have a ceremony where all indiscretions of the past year are forgiven and forgotten. I said, “Let’s do that – let’s put all that stuff behind us and concentrate on the future – too much good stuff is happening.” She agreed and we’re back to being a family again. In an hour or so we’ll go to the Ironbound section of Newark, to shop for a Mother’s Day present and have lunch in a Portuguese restaurant.

(2005)

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