KEVIN STANIEC DOT COM

Our high school basketball program built an off-campus fitness center to train for the season. During my brother’s senior year he was captain of the varsity team as I was merely a freshman fighting for respect.

I remember sitting in the back seat of his Chevy blue Camaro, listening to Dr. Dre “Stranded On Death Row” and Ice Cube “When Will They Shoot”, mentally preparing for practice. As my brother drilled routine in the gymnasium I struggled building strength with weights in the fitness facility.

Post proceedings consisted of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”, raspberry Schweppes ginger ale from the community center and frequent visits to the parent’s of friends on our way home in an attempt to solicit funds to support our boosters by selling magazine subscriptions.

After my brother’s graduation I would continue to wear his jersey number with pride until my final game my senior year.

I am machine washed warm with a delicate cycle and hung out to dry.

Relaxed, resting within a heavy hammock on the back porch toward the top of a mountain with views of the coast. A deep breath of Carpinteria, chickens running through the garden, an old dog birdwatching. I find solace with a glass of wine and a walk along the dirt road wrapping around the hill. Army of Shadows and daughters on pianos with violin.

I am a punctilious pillow mason working late into the night as I sleep. Building barriers to block my morning sun while conscientiously constructing walls to shelter my dreams.

I have always been a fan of musicals. The idea of somebody interrupting conversation with song and dance astounds me. I can imagine standing in line at the grocery store as the lady behind the counter reaches for her intercom performing a sentimental rendition of “single mother working the nightshift to afford public schooling for her son”. Shoppers with carts wheeling in circles, spinning in unison down the frozen food aisle as workers sweep the floor, slow-dancing with mops… elder ladies gathering produce, tossing vegetables high into the air as the butcher in the deli tap dances on the counter while juggling knives.

“Singing In The Rain” has always been a favorite of mine. When I was younger, whenever it would rain, I would dance in puddles, whistling the tune of the title theme… as I grew older, boldly singing the words under my breath.

In college, they screened the film on campus during one night of endless rain. I remember sitting front row center with a few friends. The theater was overcrowded with guests drying up to this melodic romantic comedy. As the credits rolled and the lights turned up the audience slowly exited the theater with friendly faces and high hopes.

I vote for more musicals.

I wish I had a second chance to laugh with my grandfather.
I wish I had a second chance at my first kiss.
I wish I had a second chance to run on the playground.
I wish I had a second chance to see that shooting star.
I wish I had a second chance to play GI Joe and Transformers in the front yard with Bo.
I wish I had a second chance to shake the hand of my 6th grade camp counselor.
I wish I had a second chance to sit with Stephanie in the living room of her parent’s house.
I wish I had a second chance to ride the rollercoaster at St. Hedwig’s Holiday fair.
I wish I had a second chance to stay home sick and watch daytime television.
I wish I had a second chance to camp in San Luis Obispo.
I wish I had a second chance to meet my father’s parents.
I wish I had a second chance to train with Chris at Veteran’s Memorial Stadium.
I wish I had a second chance to play poker with the boys in the tree house.
I wish I had a second chance to graduate elementary school, middle school, high school and college all over again.
I wish I had a second chance to watch Captain EO.
I wish I had a second chance to dance on stage.
I wish I had a second chance to shoot that final shot.
I wish I had a second chance to stay up late with friends.
I wish I had a second chance to pray with Ted.
I wish I had a second chance to recite my senior class graduation speech.
I wish I had a second chance to run around the neighborhood with Jeremiah.
I wish I had a second chance to listen to Thich Nhat Hahn.
I wish I had a second chance to cry again.

To be continued…

Punctus contra punctum. These three trumpets tender my joints in counterpoints. I relax ride my stacked stride with stepping stance and wiggle dance. Loosely legging my leap of faith with pace for grace – hip hopping, stopping dropping rolling. With fanatical fancy dizzy, dug, dig, digging – prancing… running round river bound streams divinity, my foot slapping cement cracking breaking theory relativity. Stomp kick grinding pivot twist, giving less, forgetting fists, forgiving hits, fitting – forever trying. Do done did – dying, diving deep, crying… effortlessly flying. Created. Sold. Buying.