KEVIN STANIEC DOT COM

Sitting with a few friends outside my apartment, alongside the pool, during the final weeks of summer before our senior year of college. One could consider these days to mark the last moments of idealism before the onset of realism. After this year, schedules would no longer acknowledge a standard seven-day week, as the “career” will now limit extra curricular activities to a short weekend, which would also include preliminary preparations before work on Monday.

I had grown out my beard, refusing to shave because a lack of enthusiasm and extreme laziness. The seasonal weather was in an early phase of change as a soft breeze was settling Santa Ana. We were drinking while lounging in the chaise chairs. A couple girls we met earlier in the week were swimming in the pool. It was our simple utopia.

My mother had told me to be home before dusk, and of course, I was still stubbornly playing Nintendo with Aaron, attempting to advance past the next level. She called, concerned that I had not left yet. And after one final fight to find Princess Zelda and the Triforce of Wisdom I hopped on my bicycle and thus, began my journey home.

I was happy, singing the theme from the video game while adventurously cutting through campus. A group of guys were playing basketball on the schoolyard court, hoping to get one last match before complete darkness. But it was already getting difficult to see… CRASH! I was instantly knocked off my bike and fell hard onto the blacktop.

I had no idea what hit me… My mouth was bleeding. I was dizzy, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

“Are you alright?” someone shouted from across the playground.

“Yeah”, I responded, realizing I had just rode my bike straight into a metal tetherball pole.

Disoriented, I walked my bike back home with a bent front wheel and broken handlebars. My right front tooth is still set back a little because of this.

Every room had dim lights, air-condition appropriately adjusted to the coldest setting and ceiling fans always spinning. The house was painted and papered with themes of dark forest greens and deep navy blues. His parents were never home and his older brother, who was supposed to be watching us, didn’t care so much as to what we were doing. We spent our summer swimming in the pool, using their backyard water hose as a lubricant to enable us the slip on their broken slide. We played strip poker with some girls from school after allowing them to triple up on layers of clothing. And then, I was properly introduced to Catherine Wheel, Charlatans UK and The Psychedelic Furs.

On the handball court at a neighborhood school they painted directions for solving a problem:
1. Talk it over.
2. Take turns/share.
3. Ignore it.
4. Walk away.
5. Say you are sorry.
6. Go for help.

Sounds simple enough. I feel as though these steps may also be beneficial for relationships.

Some of my fondest memories happen to take place at the beach during sunset. One of these days, I will share these moments with you… and we will most likely be sitting on the sand, along the shore, watching the sunset.

I remember the hedges across the street from Laura’s house being much larger than they are today. I was once able to hide behind those hedges. Now, I’m just too big to hide… but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

Listen to the heart hitting hook of “To Bring You My Love” by Polly Jean Harvey.

She smoked long late nights with her careless curiosities. Sitting upon the cold cement sidewalk, her legs crossed as she sank, shallow, the curve of her back bending into her lap the insecurities of morning. I had always been intimidated by her, until she smiled. The thoughts, I assumed, that accumulated in her head, were waiting for some poor, pitiless man to punch. She was tough. I think that is what I liked best about her.

Music was our common concern. The way she spoke of Ani DeFranco made me blush. And we kissed once. I loved her taste of smoke flavored fancy as we cuddled on couches asking ‘what ifs’… She wanted to drive distances for cheap dinner, hours past midnight, eating from the bag in the back of my car while parked beneath orange city streetlights.

She taught me how to care for someone more than myself.