In the mid-90s, Marty and I visited the family home of one of her college roommates, Brigid. Brigid's family lived in western Pennsylvania in an old country farmhouse. Her father was the orthopedic surgeon to the high school football stars of the area. In the winter, they would ride snowmobiles to the grocery, and in the summer, they would take advantage of the wonderful outdoors that region of the country offered. One of those outdoor options was white-water rafting. 

As we donned our helmets and vests, the guide who prepared us to push off explained, "There's only three things to remember. One, have fun. Two, if you fall out, keep your feet up. And, three, if someone in your boat falls out, get them back in the boat IMMEDIATELY." I've never been known as a great listener, and fifty minutes later, I found myself exerting great effort to remember those three simple instructions. 

So things were going swimmingly. We were chatting and laughing and commenting on the beauty of the river. Then we came around a bend and found a shore-to-shore expanse of angry, churning water. Quickly scanning the options, we thought we saw a less-evil path through and paddled toward it, people yelling commands as we worked. But we got pulled into the one channel we were most trying to avoid. When the boat dipped into the swell, Marty who was manning the front right, got thrown backward and disappeared completely from view. Once through the worst of it, we saw her resurfaced and floating with her feet up. We quickly made our way to her, and Jim, Brigid's large and strong boyfriend, impressively hefted her back into the boat with a single arm.

Once in calmer waters we recounted the excitement, each person animatedly telling their side of the story. My version might have said something along the lines of, "I saw we were going to drop into that dip and knew Marty would fall out, so I tried lunging for her and just missed grabbing her vest before she fell backward." Everyone complimented my foresight and bravery, and we finished the float without any further mishaps. 

When we got to the end and were escorted out of the facility, the guide pointed us to a wall of televisions and said that some photos had been taken of us during the float and we could purchase them if we'd like. At this point in our relationship, I had known Marty for somewhere between six and eight years. In this time together, she has never, ever once been swayed by a memento of any sort, crazy-overpriced or even free, so I did not expect us to be getting anything on this day. When we stood at the counter and found our set of pictures, I studied the two-photo set and was struck by how clear and detailed the images were. 

The first photo showed us about to hit the swell that ate us whole. The second photo, this would be the one that should have shown me reaching for Marty and trying to save her from falling out of the boat, somehow, instead, curiously, showed me diving, sans paddle, toward the center of the boat to safety and possibly even laughing while I did so, as my girlfriend perilously fell backward out of the boat.

After taking in the image, I turned to Marty, who was staring not at the photo but directly at me. 

TROY
Hey. That's pretty great quality they got there, huh? I wonder how they do that.

MARTY
Yeah, it's great that we have a picture of you trying to save me and NOT of you diving to the middle of the boat, saving your own ass while I got thrown into a wild river. 

TROY
Yeah, I agree. It is a little hard to make out what's happening there.

The worker appeared in front of us and asked if we would be interested in buying a photo. I began to say thanks but no thanks, but Marty spoke over me and said, "Yes, I'd like one of each of those in an 8x10. Oh, and he's paying." 

And that is how these two custom-framed photos came to be hanging in our upstairs hallway, should you ever visit.

Everyone seems well aware, peril is at hand.
The question is how will you react?

I understand it might look like both Brigid & Jim are looking to Marty with concern. And it might look like I am diving to the safety of the middle of the boat, and, maybe, possibly, laughing while doing so. I get that is what it kinda looks like, but I think what we are really seeing here is an unfortunate camera angle.
Further, I would contend that what you should be looking at, instead of me, is Marty's impeccable form in entering the water. I mean, look at that pointed toe, and you can barely detect the splash!

Click photo for an enlarged version

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. Her Secret Weapon

Before season three of White Lotus made it a national conversation, Bookpimp and Dutch were testing the waters of brotherly affection. 

They, Bookpimp and Dutch, were driving cross-state in the night to a family event. They got a late start because one (or both) of their minimum-wage jobs had them working late. Given their meager means, they had the practice of sharing drinks and snacks at gas stops. At the last fueling, Dutch got a 32-ounce Big Gulp drink. This places our story in the early nineties, when both of them were in their twenties, because 32 ounces was the prominent option of the day. If this story happened now, it would likely be a 64 or even 96 ounce beverage and in a plastic cup instead of the styrofoam one they had this night. That it was a 32-ounce cup matters not only to date the story but also because this was a time when car cup holders could not yet hold these bloated canisters. Due to this, the accepted practice was to hold the cup between your legs to ensure it did not spill. 

They’d been going several hours and were talked out, making the only sounds in the car coming from the stereo. In time, Bookpimp was ready for a pull from the drink. Without looking, he reached over to grab the large cup from his brother’s lap. His mind did not initially register the information his fingers sent to his brain. I imagine his mind flickering like a home’s electricity pulsing on and off. Perplexed, he looked to his right. He saw the white of Dutch’s eyes staring back at him, the cup in his raised hand, and the straw in his mouth. Neither of them had to look down to know what Bookpimp’s hand was holding.

Calmly, Bookpimp returned his hand to the steering wheel, looked forward and with great equanimity, said, “When you’re done taking your drink, I would like some, please.”

Those were the only words ever said by the brothers about this shared moment in a car racing down a nighttime highway to a family event. However, I do believe at the next fueling, there were two Big Gulps purchased. 

 A year ago, a friend shared a story with me about his fifteen-year-old daughter. Let’s call her Jean. While on a date at a movie, Jean looked to her right and saw a girl five seats away performing oral sex on her date (the girl’s date, not Jean’s date). For this story, we will call the second girl Crystal. When Crystal noticed Jean looking at her, not only did she not stop her endeavor, bu...