Blankin' Lenny's House

“Albert! What ya doin’ Friday?”

“Oh, I ain’t doin’ nothin’.  What you got in mind?”

Lol.

“I’m going to Lenny’s”

“Oh, yea, I’ll go to Lenny’s.  I ain’t got nothin’ goin’ on, like I said.”

I bristle.  Blankin’ Lenny’s  We haven’t gone back there since ‘that night.’  I’m irritated. Not just because of what took place the last time we were there, but Bob didn’t include me or discuss it with me.  Just decided, and made it official by inviting Albert.  He’s more than a bit lucky he hangs with Albert.

Albert’s a good ‘ole boy from the hills of Tennessee.  He’s good people.  Solid.  I trust him.

I don’t chat much with Bob and won’t let him touch me when we go to bed.  Don’t care to snuggle.  I have fleeting thoughts about how grateful I am to have fallen for a cuddler.

The first time we went to Lenny’s famous once a month party, I got so drunk I was sick for two days.  I mean sick.  I hadn’t been ill from alcohol like that in years.  Well, there was that one time.  I hadn’t slept for days.  I got desperate and tried to drink myself to sleep.  Not a good time.

Bob got so smashed one night at Lenny's that he scared me.   He insisted on driving home, but he was way too far gone.   Didn't think he had drunk too much to drive.  I tried to be firm.   I wasn't getting in a vehicle with him driving like that.  He got belligerent.   I ended up driving back to town to drop Albert off.

He was so stupid drunk that night that he stumbled off across a corn field, determined to walk all the way home.  I don't know how he got home that night. 

And now he's going again.  I can go with him,  or stay home.   Those are my choices.   

I mean,  I don't really want to be telling him where he can or can't go,  right?  So I'm not going to try and stop him. 

Not gonna stay home, either.   Been through that before.  My ex had this tendency to plan his nights out when I couldn't go.   Usually because I had my kids.   Those were some long nights,  sitting at home while that man was out partying without me.   Hardly ever got to go out with him.   He didn't seem interested in going out if I would be coming along. Not suspicious at all,  that.  (That was sarcasm, if you didn't catch it).

Needless to say,  it looks like I'm going to Lenny's Friday.  Booger.

In some sort of compromise or concession to my wallflower-ness, Bob decides we're going early.  Six to Nine, he says.  I’m grateful.  Lenny and Shelly have already been drinking when we get there.  They already have a couple of their closer friends wandering about their nice, big country home.  The usual.

Bob delivers his cordial, lively greeting.  I grab a wine cooler from the pack I brought, and pop it open.  He carries on with Lenny for a good half hour while I perch on the fireplace hearth.  I didn’t bring anything stronger.  It’s too easy to get wasted hanging out here.

Shelly appears from somewhere else in the house and takes her chair.  She doesn’t appear healthy.  She’s had struggles, I know.  But...this seems more than what I know she went through.  Last time we were here, she fell down the basement steps and smacked her noggin hard on the basement floor.  Ended up being taken by ambulance to the hospital with a large egg swollen on her head.  It was severe.  All her tests came back okay, however.  Just a broken arm.

Bob does his thing.  Gets her talking.  Coaxes more of the story out of her.  Her sister has died.  This week.  She’s grieving.  We let her unload her suffering to us.  We listen.  Encourage.  Sympathize.  Comfort.

To be cliche, I feel like a heel.  We aren’t close to this couple, and yet we keep showing up to their house to party in the midst of their personal strife.  Although they honestly do always seem appreciative of our company.

Albert’s downstairs at the pool table already, so I collect another cooler and make my way down to join him.  It’s better to just give Bob time to work his magic.  He always says he’s not a people person or social.  Riiight…..

He has a way with people.  Especially if they are suffering.

I find myself a stool and observe the billiard game in progress.  Albert’s got game.  If anybody beats him, pretty sure it’s because he let ‘em.

Albert tells me Shelly had two broken arms while we’ve been away.  She fell again sometime later and broke the other arm.  Two broken arms.  Lenny had to physically take care of her.  Wow.  Explains the strain I thought I saw on his face.  Hard times.  

So many hard times during this pandemic.  As if the pandemic wasn’t bad enough.  Extra bad stuff keeps happening to people on top of it.

The rest of the night is...good.  Peaceful.  For a party.  We drink.  The guys shoot pool.  There’s joking, there’s laughing.  Next thing I know, it’s ten o’clock.  Ten?  How’d that happen?  I mention it to Albert.

“Are you ready to go, Albert, or do you want to stay longer?”

He’s been shooting the balls around by himself for a bit.

“Oh, no, we can go right now if you’un want to.”

So I grab Bob.  Give him the “code.”  I hoffed at having one when we discussed it a couple weeks back.  A code?  Geez, what am I?  A kid?  Because it struck me as silly and childish.  But Bob catches it quickly and pulls us out of there fast.  Or, tries to.

We spend a long time with the grieving Shelly, still in her chair.  Bob is warm, sensitive, and comforting.  I attempt to follow the example.  Fall short, but I can tell she appreciates the effort.  Poor woman.  And here we were, down in her basement having a good ‘ole time.  We’re heels.

On the ride home, Bob and I decide we’ll do something nice for her privately.  On a non-party night.  Go out and visit with her.  Make sure she knows we care.  Maybe bring her a nice bottle of whiskey.  We think she’d like that.