Friday, August 21, 2009
Earlier today, I was speaking to some of my friends from hockey. It was early in the morning, but the heat was already seeping into everything and blurring it all into a big jumble of color and noise. A small group of us was relaxing on the sidelines, guzzling water like it was going out of fashion (sorry Coach, but the whole "three sips" thing doesn't cut it), and yapping like there was no tomorrow.
Not far into our little mix of words and mumblings, someone mentioned something about an annoying younger sibling. Able to relate, I tuned into that part of the conversation. It was Alyssa.
"She kept whining and screaming at me, and it was starting to make me really pissed off, you know?" Alyssa complained.
A couple of the girls lazily muttered their assent.
"So, like, I just took my glock and I hit her with it."
I stopped listening at that point and narrowed my eyes. A glock? What would Alyssa be doing with a glock? Was she involved in something dangerous? Was she a bad person? Had she killed people?
I have no idea why I suddenly got to thinking all of this -- perhaps it was the heat -- but after a while, I plucked up the courage to ask Ayssa why she had a glock in the first place. Laughing, she quickly corrected me by saying that I'd heard wrong.
"A clock," Alyssa told me, as if I was five and not fifteen. "I said I hit her with my clock."
You know what I say to that? Bullshit. That's right.
I mean, a clock? Who hits someone with their clock? That makes even less sense than my theory.
Despite her obvious attempt to reassure me, I am not convinced. Alyssa is full of secrets and lies and I'm determined to descover the mystery of the glock.
