When I was out
with the dog yesterday morning, I recovered a memory I had almost forgotten. It came back surprisingly abruptly, for how old
and nearly lost it had become. I actually don’t remember when it was exactly,
but it must have been in the early to mid-nineties. I’m fairly certain I was
younger than ten, but I could be wrong.
 |
| Not from that era (maybe close?), but this one's between perms, so. Obvious choice. (Indiana, 1991) |
We were in
Branson, Missouri. Not our Surprise Branson trip, which is forever showcased in
photographs outside my bedroom at my parents’ house, but an earlier trip I
almost don’t even remember. I’m not even sure we were in Branson for the sake
of being in Branson; it might have been a whim/passing-through ordeal.
Our main event
of the trip was a boat ride, and the details are a little shifty, but I’m sure I have the main point of the story indisputably correct.
The boat was
like a pontoon, or one of those riverboat tours they have in cities with riverwalks. I assume the ride took us up and down the river, or it might
have been around a lake, and I also assume it was one of those guided tours
where someone talks about the shoreline and history while you ride along.
I remember it
was a fairly small boat and that my brother and I were the only children on
board. From my memory, there were less than twenty people on this boat ride.
SIDENOTE: I just
called my brother to see if he has any further memory of these events, which
was unlikely, since if my timeline is correct, he would have been younger than
five at the time. Probably three-ish. He can corroborate the main ideas, but
we’re still in talks on the details.
Anyway. Upon
boarding, or embarking, the captain distributed little non-descript tied-off canvas bags
to several (if not all) passengers. Corbin and I each got one (I think). We
were all informed that each bag contained a divvied-up portion of someone’s
stash of very important gold, and that we had to hide it and guard it carefully
in case the dreaded pirates of Branson were to board at any point.
I remember all of
the adults knowingly chuckling at this, as adults so often knowingly do, because it was likely in the brochure, and I remember being
aware that the bag was filled with rocks that I assumed (hoped) were at least
spray-painted gold. I’m sure, if I was then anything like I am now, I spent the majority of that boat ride fervently hoping that whatever alleged pirate
might board would harass one of the adults for gold, instead of approaching me.
I’m pretty sure I hid mine in my white hip-pack, with jaunty little hot-colored beach items all over it for decor. I remember being so sure that on the off-chance I was approached, I
would keep my “gold” “safe”. I pre-thought of ways to tell off a pirate, should
one “surprisingly” find us.
Anyway, brace
yourself for this reveal: a pirate boarded. He was a lone, decked-out pirate
who (I think) even put on a cockney accent for his pirating in Branson. He
hopped off his little piratey boat (which might have even had a "cannon" to get our attention?) into ours and began putting on a show of
searching for young maidens and gold. He approached a woman, and she held
out very well and swore she had no gold, much to the entertainment of the other
passengers. I remember being nervous, unsure of which sassy comeback I might
use should he badger me as extensively as he had these other patrons.
Here’s the main
point: the “pirate” didn’t even have to casually cast his glance in our
direction, much less start accosting us, before Corbin and I both produced and
surrendered our gold.
I could go into
great detail about how this is so stereotypical Jori, ducking an improv spotlight, or being too shy to humor the “captain” and protect the “gold”, or just doing my part in letting the action get itself
over with so I could go back to quietly letting my thoughts drift, away from
the crowd.
But the parallels are obvious and don't require much more introspection (not that I couldn't do it because... come on).
Instead, let's land here: today I was supposed to start a new job, but due to some administrative oversights, as I’ll call them to spare another story, it
didn’t work out. I thought of this story yesterday, when the story was in the
context of Tomorrow Is My New Job. Not really a new job so much as a
new course to teach for my current employer. And I pushed the story out of my
mind because, frankly, it would remind me of how I act in the spotlight when
forced to perform. And performing in the spotlight is a lot of what teaching feels like on the
First Day, I've found.
So instead of gearing
myself up for that first day that was not meant to be, I guess, I’m sitting
here trying to untangle an old memory or two, which is a little like trying to
separate a spider web, intact, from a snarl of necklaces and other spider webs and cords. Or something. But anyway. That main
point. That’s for sure.
