Incident At Monticello Page 3

‘It gets old being not so young.’

  There is a virgin layer of new snow; covering the back porch and beyond.  The Colorado Snow Gods have blessed the Front Range with four inches of crystallized water. As I stare out the sliding glass door, the foothills look as majestic as they ever do.

  It is about eleven p.m. on February 6th, 2011.  In order of relevance: my daughter Sarina’s 25th birthday; Super Bowl Sunday: and what would have been President Ronald Reagan’s 100th birthday.  Order of relevance determined by Sari of course.  I would never dispute her determined relevance; at least not within her ear-shot.  I’d learned 25 years ago not to poke the bear.

  Sleep eludes me as my mind swims against the current of the day’s happenings.  Our guests started arriving two hours before kickoff.  Sorry… two hours before Sari’s party.  It was a not so small gathering of friends and family. My eldest daughter Rebecca and her husband Wade were the first to arrive. Sari and her fiancé Kent followed shortly after. Sari’s friends were still filtering in. Oh, Kent, I call him Stick. It’s not important why, story for another day.

  The welcoming conversations morphed into settled party banter. Initially it was centered on mine and my beautiful wife’s health. Did you see how I got that beautiful in?  Not a good move, a great move. Pami has heard this story more times than she can stand. She knows it as well as me. And now with the compliment in, she’ll read no further. This is a good thing because… well you’ll see.

  Three months earlier Pamila had given me a kidney. She was offering and I was accepting.  Do you think I married her for her beauty?  No it’s okay… I told you she won’t read this far.

  So after my Creatine levels were discussed more than most understood, after my urinary output had been covered far more than anyone wanted, a non-clinical party atmosphere settled in.

  All of our guests appeared to be in normal festive behavior. Well not all; there was this one curious little fella. Curious; let me now introduce to you that these kind of adjectives may only be relative to me. You’ll soon understand what I mean.

  He was quite a nervous man whom I’d never met before. Tobias’s presence was both unexpected and intriguing to me.  Apparently he was the other half of one of our guests. That guest was a friend of Pami’s, and he was definitely not the better half. Tobias was kind of a creepy person. At least that was my take. If Central Casting had their way, Tobias would be a Peeper watching housewives do the dishes.  This Profile was my initial attempt of Tobias. Profiling is a game that I’m not proud of, but always play.  I’m not a Profiler, but I do play one in text.

  Upon his arrival and subsequent introduction, I observed a sight never before present in my home. Peeking from underneath Tobias’s jacket was a gold and green sport’s jersey.  In what seemed like slow motion, Tobias peeled away his winter coat.  In my home, on Super Bowl Sunday, there it was, a number 4 Green bay Packer jersey. Brett Favre! Tobias was a Cheese-head!  A Brett Favre Cheese-head. A collective gasp filled the room.

  You see I spent my High School years just outside of Chicago in Palatine Illinois. I know every word to the Super Bowl Shuffle and which players sing which lyrics. I also believe Mike Ditka is a God. I mean don’t you?

  Springing into action Rebecca quickly covered my framed autographed picture of Sweetness. The greatest Chicago Bear ever; Walter Peyton.  It looked as if we were a Jewish family sitting Shiva.  Super Bowl Sunday was aflame and quickly spiraling downward.

  The festivities had taken a turn that I could not immediately follow.  Disturbed, probably forever, I not so politely excused myself. After a cold washcloth to the face, having taken a Xanax, and with remembrances of the ‘85’ Bears celebrating a championship, my heart rate had increased enough to return. 

  Pami deftly greeted me with a plate of guacamole and chips. She guided me to and placed me in my Happy Place recliner. As I mumbled into guacamole she provided aid and comfort. Soft and comforting she was. “Danny. Danny look at me.” My eyes translucent with un-precedence tried to focus on hers. Lightly rubbing my shoulder she promised; “It will be okay.”

  Without a lot of conviction I echoed her; “It will be okay.”

  Trying to rationalize these unprecedented events, I ate guacamole and chips.  If only to not receive the wrath of an angry Sarina, I had to deal with this. This can of corn that was now my day was dented but still edible.

  Without provocation and with unrecognizable rational thought, Tobias pushed the day’s early momentum toward a slowing. However, this time I was not the to be affected. It was all others present. Oral repetition was tempting to turn the party’s weather from brightly excited to overcast dreary.

  Halfway through the National Anthem, beady-eyed Tobias approached me and said these words; “I hear that you had a remarkable incident at Monticello.”

  My wife’s knees flinched and nearly gave out.  Wade jumped to his feet and made a declaration. “I’m going to the Morrison Inn to watch the game. Who wants to go with me?”  People started gathering their coats. The beehive had suddenly burst into flames. Drones and Workers were fleeing.

  In a calming attempt the Queen buzzed louder than any. “Everyone freeze!” Everyone did. Sari continued; “This is my birthday party and no one is going anywhere!  We are going to eat, drink, watch the game, and have a damn good time.”  Stick looked a fiancé terrified as if he were the engineer on a runaway train. Most important to his safety from an angry Sari, he had no idea how to stop this impeding crash.  Sari spoke again; “Dad if you and your new buddy want to discuss Monticello you need to go to your office or… or anywhere but here!” Sari pulled a cleansing breath and attempted a more comforting tone. “Now… everyone start having a good time.”  At this point you need to know that Sari had both a firm grasp on her father’s sarcasm and her mother’s temperament. At this point you need to know that the word sarcasm has been understated and the word temperament has been tempered.

  After a slow moment of awkward, the conversation slowly returned to party frivolous. People started to eat, drink, and have a damn good time. I was sitting in a guacamole eating limbo. My path to follow was unclear. Amongst the chronicled history of Daniel Rengaw, an unwatched Super Bowl had never been documented.  But on this day, history would turn a new page.  I set the DVR to digord the game.

  Digord is a word that I Smith’d and will tell my grandchildren of.  Digord: a hybrid of Digital and Record.  I have a standing bet with Pamila on the word. If we hear anyone use the word digord in any tense within the next five years, I win a dollar.  One year has passed; no digord, digording, or digorded.  Only Stick uses it and he doesn’t count per the bet. You see, I use his word ‘Glutons’.  Glutons: the compounds that cause Cilliac sufferers to have an allergic reaction.

  I looked up at Tobias, slowly stood and regrettably said; “If you wish to hear about Monticello come with me.”  Regrettably, it certainly would be for him.  “And take off that blasphemous jersey!”

  Did I make the right choice? Did I choose the right path? Probably not. But I couldn’t help myself, I was an addict that couldn’t control my desire to tell the story of the Incident at Monticello. My choice, it never was one.

  All of my family and friends had heard this story in detail many times before.  Tobias had made the greatest breach of etiquette ever witnessed at a Super Bowl party; he asked me about the Incident at Monticello.  A story that would easily outlast the Super Bowl, post-game, and late night news.  The Incident at Monticello was about to unfold within his ears.  The following is the story that I told to Tobias and will now share with you.