Tomorrow Jim’s taking his two minor kids, Ben and Josie, and their young friends, Reagan and Jamie, to Great America, an amusement park ‘bout four hours thataway. They’re slated to depart at 6AM on a Saturday. So, of course, morning person and kid aficionado that I am, I too shall be trekkin’ it to California to queue at one scare-the-shit-outta-ya ride after the next.
As the weekend trip was coming together, Josie told Jim that he’d need another adult if everything went to plan. And since he couldn’t find one, he asked me. Therefore, my Saturday will be made of carrying The Bag of all things Chapstick, sunscreen, bandaid, water, backup shoes, and money and begging Josie to not make me go on that thing that drops you from something like 800 stories to the asphalt in a nanosecond.
All day all my aspirations for life itself will be wrapped up in switching Jim places, for he will be off with the smaller of the four children doing kiddie rides, the kind that I’m built for, right down to my shoe size. If we swapped, he could be the one that’s gung-ho about a giant mechanical whatnot that turns you upside down, shakes out all your loose change, and flips you right side up before gravity overtakes the nickels, dimes, and pocket lint so someones sticky quarter can land in your mouth.
My community is laughing right now. My mom is probably standing in front, leading the laugher chorister-style. Megan’s life choices mean that she’s getting up early on a precious weekend day, missing yoga, and going to an amusement park with not one, not two, not three, but four humans under the age of 12. This community of mine is laughing, giggling, guffawing, and between their chortles they take sips of diet cola. I know this because I know who they are.
To this community that knows and, yes, loves me and sees humor in the same places I do, to them I say—Yup, I love him exactly that much.
And we’re gonna have a damned fun day whether I like it or not. My boyfriend doesn’t know how to do it any other way.
I've got preferred seating on The Jim Train, and it's a fun one, so you'd best see about getting on it. After all, what business owners do you know that take an hour on a Wednesday to order some sandwiches for their guys and set up an indoor dogeball space in the warehouse so spectators such as myself and my boss could pop in, pop open a diet soda, and watch men hurt each other over their lunch breaks? See, on The Jim Train, that's not an out-of-the-ordinary event. It's just a Wednesday. Linked with this man, I fear no prospect of that old familiar boredom. His handsome self simply wouldn't permit it.