Saturday, August 06, 2005

The Fountain Drink

So I stop at a corner store to buy a fountain drink, and as I am waiting for the fiz to die down so I can fill my 32 ounce plastic cup to the brim, I place my fingure in the fizz (because thats what you do to make it happen faster). As I do this I am looking into the cup and seeing the fiz disapate (thats a nice word) and my mind becomes flooded with memories of Mark, in fact it seems almost everytime I get a fountain drink I think of Mark, now even Mark is probably asking the question, "Why does a fountain drink remind you of me?" Well their are a few reasons:

1.) I have many of a memory of Mark sneaking out to the back yard to jump over the almost falling down fence, which my dad specifically, & repeatedly told us not to jump the fence. So Mark would always jump the fence and run across Toeperwein Rd. (a semi congested road behind our house) to get a fountain drink. Their were only a handful of times which Mark would let me, his lil paesky brother go across Toeperwein with him, so those times I got to go have always stuck with me. I have never been one afraid to ask for anything, so I asked if I could go everytime, so since 9 times out of 10 I was told NO, the times when he said yes especially stuck with me.

2.) When I went to visit Mark in Utah he lived in an apartment and across the street was a corner store, so every night of the week I stayed with him, me and Mark would walk across that street, and take one of the collection of cups Mark already had in his kitchen and we would get a refill, and we would make ourselves a little mix, because Mark is the king of mixing the fountain drinks, and that too always stuck with me. I've always enjoyed spending time with my big brother, and he hasn't always wanted to spend time with his younger pest of a brother, so I always enjoyed even the smallest of moments I was able to kick it with my big brother. Even if it meant we were just gonna be rebelliouse and jump that old wooden fence and get a fountain drink. Even when the only drink I got was a sip of the fizz from the rootbeer, as Mark was waiting to fill that bad boy to the brim so we could make our treck back over that fence before my pop strolled out into the family room in his underwear and a flashlight with some fuzzy sheep skin slippers, trying to adjust the thermostat to 85 cause he didn't have enough blankets in his bed to keep himself warm in 78 degrees.

Those were the days!

So now I sit with my big red in hand, as I take a sip of the memories from the past...


  1. Holy Crap Guymon! You really did start a blog. I've been too busy to read it because I'm big-time now. Yeah, that's right; Big Time.

    Anyway, I will be reading it over the next day or so. And I'll weigh in with my two cents here and there. So watch out. The smack off is on!

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