The End of My Posse

In a previous entry, I shared how a posse formed around me in response to a threat from my new nemesis.

A few days passed and not much happened on this front. Morrie #1, Morrie #2, the other guy, and I would smile and nod as we passed each other from time to time. Some awkward moments of deciding whether to stop-and-chat or keep moving. I always kept moving. I always had a book, meal, drink, nap, or Kim waiting for me.

My nemesis alienated everyone on the ship and spent his time alone. Whatever inner-demons were tormenting him that night at dinner must have continued to damage his ability to connect socially.

Meanwhile, other cliques were forming. Regular groups started gathering around the pool, the bar, the card room, etc.

I wasn’t participating in any of this socializing. My agenda was set and I was content.

One member of my posse, Morrie #1, approached me one morning. “Ummm.. hey… Bryan… there is this group who meets in the pool every afternoon. Ummm… you really should maybe come and hang out… we haven’t seen you around much… these are really good guys … and, hey, one of them works in the same field you were in. That would be good, right? You could meet him, right? I can introduce you...you know… I think it would be good”

My complacency was leaving my posse without a core and they wanted to merge with the other posse. It was very nice of him to let me know and invite me along. I smiled and said “Sure, that would be great. I’ll watch for you guys”.

Over the next couple of days, Morrie would shout out or wave or point the other guy out so I could go introduce myself. Out on the deck, in the showroom, across the dining room. It never really was a good time for a meet and greet. I didn’t recognize the guy – so I was pretty confident he didn’t work at the same company I did. I assumed I would eventually meet him.

The day finally came. Kim and I were on the upper deck reading and the leader of the other posse was in the pool by himself, waiting for his buddies to arrive. He shouted up to me and summoned me to join him in the pool for a drink. So, I kissed Kim good-bye, took my beer and headed down to join him.

We chatted a bit. Talked boats, healthcare IT, sports. When the subject turned to football, a voice, Long Island accent, from over my left shoulder said “I’m an ice hawk-ee guy myseff…”

A new guy, Fightin’ Mike, had silently joined us. I hadn’t noticed him when he sidled in.  He went on to lament how they have ruined hockey by limiting the fights and back in his day it was a better game and when he played he was known for getting into fights. I sized him up and he was a pretty tough looking guy. Possibly been in a lot of fights. The way he talked I thought maybe he played in the NHL about 50 years ago. It’s possible. So, I asked him “Did you play?”

Naw, I don’t play – but I got da package. You know on TV. I get all da games. And I watch ‘em all too. I tell ya – the game has changed over da years. Boy, it has I tell ya.” Staccato Long Islander accent where the cadence of the delivery surges and the emphasis rises and falls.

The guy goes for a round of drinks, leaving Fightin’ Mike and me to chat. Others are trickling into the pool and forming a semi-circle. The guy comes back with a neon-green looking concoction that he hands to Fightin’ Mike in the pool. It must be his regular drink.

Morrie is watching me from his lounge chair where he is pretending to read a book – but really just watching to see if the two titans of the HealthCare IT industry are going to hit it off and officially merge posse’s. He gives me a nervous smile and “thumbs up shrug nod” gesture.  A question more than a statement.

Fightin’ Mike is now center stage and leading the conversation. All the guys are listening to him and glancing at me to make sure I’m still engaged and paying attention.

As with many group-of-guy-discussions-over-drinks go – the topic eventually headed south. Below the belt. It took me awhile to figure out what everyone was talking about because the euphemisms the older guys used for private parts and such were not familiar to me.

“You know… da ting about deese cruises… you know da ting that I don’t undustand is… why do they want to spend so much time on the downstairs stuff? I can’t keep her away from my privates! Enoughs enough already. Boy, I tell ya.”

Chuckles and “Here! Here!” toasts from the guys. Glances my direction from time to time to see if I’m still onboard.

These conversations – let’s call them “locker room talk” – started for me on the playground at a very young age. We would gather around and talk about the Rat Patrol TV program, Spider Bikes, The Chiefs… eventually girls. As the sessions played out – we all had questions and we knew nothing, but we thought the other guys knew something. So, we threw out some made-up thing to see if another kid takes the bait and offers up actual information.

We got older, we eventually learned a few things. The gatherings continued at all ages, yet we never learned everything. The “downstairs stuff” has always been mysterious, exciting, and a thing to aspire to more of – not less! What is wrong with these guys?

Now I found myself standing in the pool contemplating my fate– I'd been accepted into this circle - yet I was straddling the past and my future. I understand the cruel biology things that will happen to me if I’m lucky enough to live long. But not now. Not yet. I’m not ready.

My moment of contemplation was interrupted and I was jarred back into the moment by a sloshing, splashing sound next to me. I looked down and saw neon green clouds dissipating in the water, swirling around my leg.

Fightin’ Mike was thrashing around trying to lift himself up onto the ledge of the pool. We were in about 3 feet of water – but he over-estimated his ability to maneuver himself into position. His left hand was flailing and grasping for something to hold onto, water was spurting from his nose and mouth, and his right hand held his drink – which was bobbing below the surface of the water. Ice cubes and neon green liquid escaping into the pool.

He got himself situated. The other guys grimaced and glanced my direction to see if I noticed that Fightin’ Mike was casually sipping faint-green pool water with no ice cubes.

“Hey, guys, I gotta run. Kim is back in the cabin … and maybe she is still wearing her bikini <wink>”.