Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (29 page)

When Judy and her green Cordoba rolled up to the crosswalk, the crossing guard stuck his head inside the driver's side window.

“Shelly took a couple of cheap shots,” he said. “But that girl deserved it.” Then he winked at me.

“Wait until your father hears about this,” Judy said, pulling away from the scene of my crime.

I couldn't wait. He's the one who taught me those cheap shots.

I knew what a shared experience felt like in theory, but didn't realize these things have to happen organically. Just like they do in a D&D game.
If you play, you know what I mean. Those moments you can't stop talking about. The new catchphrase that springs from them. The song you'll never be able to hear again without thinking of your bard. The diversions and tangents and made-up words that will be part of your vernacular forever.

How many times have you wished you could go back in time to the ten-year-old-you and offer some advice? I'd tell the little Shelly she needs to quit making fun of those boys who draw dragons and castles in the margins of their notebooks and befriend them immediately! Judy would be thrilled to make liverwurst sandwiches for your Wednesday D&D group.

The following Friday after work, I headed off to Gig Harbor to see my friend Des. We have been trying to get together for months. She's a mom of two, works part-time, and now lives nearly an hour outside of Seattle. Our days of running into each other while stocking up on Red Hook and blue corn chips at Fred Meyer are over. If we want to have quality time it needs to be scheduled around dentist appointments, day care schedules, and Nordstrom Anniversary Sales months in advance. Thanks to her work-from-home schedule and my half-day Fridays, we finally found a date that worked.

Des opened the door to find me laden down with gift-wrapped packages and homemade cookies. I missed a lot of birthdays and holidays since the last time I saw her.

“I'm here for my play date,” I told her, throwing myself into her arms.

Des led me into the family room where Gabe, her five-year-old, and Ruby, her three-year-old, were sitting quietly in front of the television watching one of the few kid cartoons I know.

“Hey, that's
Dora the Explorer!
” I announced.

Des laughed. “How do
you
know who that is?”

“The kid I sponsored for the Giving Tree three years ago was into her.”

Des stood in front of the television. “Don't you guys want to say hello to our guest?”

Gabe eyed the wrapped packages I was carrying. Sorry, Dora. You're good but you've got nothing on a stranger with gifts and cookies. Gabe and Ruby crept closer to me.

Ruby looked at me with a modicum of skepticism because she's not entirely sure who I am, but her mom and brother seem to think I'm okay. Gabe remembered me and broke into a wide grin. “Helloooooooo, Shelleeeeeeee!”

His enthusiasm is warranted. He's the reason behind Rule #5 about poop and takes great pride in that. I may never forgive him or Des for that time he filled his diaper when I was holding him. I saw the face, heard the sounds, even felt the pureed fruits of his labors pressing against my arm.

“He's pooping on my arm!” I shrieked. “Ahhhhhh! Get him off me before it gets on me!”

But Des couldn't do a thing about it because she was crumpled up on the kitchen floor in a fit of laughter. Nice. At least when Zelda attacks my guests, I help them apply Neosporin and
act
contrite. A few years later I reminded Gabe of that incident. His response?

“I know.”

“Really?” I asked him. “You know? You were four months old.”

“I remember,” he said. “It was so funny!”

So funny that he spent the rest of that visit wearing nothing but his Underoos and trying to get on my lap for a repeat performance. We need a new tradition before the kid turns sixteen.

I should be able to hang with Gabe because he's really not a kid. I mean he is, he's six, but he's a very
adult
six. This was true even when he was born. For one thing, his feet were so big they didn't even fit on the birth certificate. He didn't bother with the goo goo gaga gaga warm-up chatter like other babies. He went right into making complete sentences. When he was a year and a half old he greeted me at the front door wearing his Alex P. Keaton button-down and baby Dockers and said, “Welcome, Shelly. Would you like a kiwi? How about some bottled water?”

What kid knows what a kiwi is? He even corrects my grammar. If he weren't so cute he'd be annoying.

“Yeah!” Gabe continued with his cheer. “I'm gonna poop on you!”

Here we go again.

I gave them their presents: a baby doll and play make-up for Ruby and an X-Men inflatable punching bag for Gabe. He was appeased for the moment, way more interested in hitting his sister with the punching bag than pooping on my arm.

Des pulled a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. It's weird having friends who live in houses not just with kids but with wine
cabinets.
It's nice and all, but to me it's just another barrier to getting to it. Before she can finish filling the glasses her phone rings.

“It's my boss,” she said. “Better take this now rather than after a few of these.” She took her wine glass into her office.

“Shelly! Look at this!” Gabe called from the living room.

He positioned Ruby and her baby so that when he punched the bag, it hit them both on the head.

“That's awesome, Gabe,” I said, filling my glass to the rim.

Gabe hit her again. “Look!”

Not really paying attention, I tried to change up my reaction to make it look like I am. “Yikes! Ow! Ruby is so tough.”

Ruby, who has been patiently taking the hits, decided she's not that tough after all and should really be wailing her face off.

Des poked her head out of the office, and I shrugged my shoulders. “I didn't do it.”

She made a motion with her free hand that points from the living room to the phone in her other hand.

“You want me to bring the kids to you?” I asked.

She violently shook her head and pointed at the living room and then me.

“You want me to go into the living room? With a full glass of wine? I don't know if that's such a good idea.”

“
Mommy!
”

Next Des was pointing from me to Ruby and then making little
shoo
motions with the back of her hand.

Her boss must be on some kind of tirade because it looks like she's trying to tell me to get in there and calm her kids down. Ha! That's crazy talk. What does she think I am? Super Nanny?

“Get in there and calm them down,” Des hissed at me.

Huh. I was right.

She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Please? I've got a small crisis here. I'll be done in a minute.”

“Um, okay. I guess.”

Maybe I could call Judy and ask her how to quiet a screaming three-year-old.

“Hey, you guys,” I said in a voice so sweet I'm giving myself a brain freeze. “You want to maybe stop crying and, um, take naps or something?”

Ruby responded by screeching even louder. My goodness, that kid has pipes.

“Oh, please don't do that. Your mommy is on the phone and I don't want her to think I'm hurting you.”

Little red-faced Ruby pointed at Gabe and sobbed harder. Gabe stared at Ruby with a look that read partially contrite and somewhat disdainful.

I sat near Ruby. Should I touch her? Offer a hug? Or would that backfire and bring back painful memories of getting clobbered in the face by an inflatable Wolverine? I've seen enough movies starring Valerie Bertinelli to know this is a distinct possibility.

“I have a big brother, too, you know,” I told her. “Sometimes he would hit me, sometimes by accident, and I would cry my face off. Kind of like you.”

Ruby sniveled at the thought. “You can cry your face off?”

“Sure,” I said, believing this will encourage her to stop crying. “If you cry hard enough or long enough it will just melt right off.”

“No, I don't wanna cry off my face!”

Oops. Might have had the opposite effect here. Man, kids are gullible.

Des poked her head out of the office again.

“It's all good,” I shouted. “Nothing to see here!”

“Ruby, it's okay. You can't really cry your face off. That will never happen.”

“You lied?” she asked, looking more traumatized than she did back when she believed her face was in danger of disappearing.

“Not lied,” I said. “I was kidding. There's a difference.” Why do I have explain this? Doesn't Dora teach them anything?

“Did your brother ever poop on you?” Gabe wanted to know.

“Nope, he didn't, thank you very much.”

This set Gabe off again and I think I saw the beginning of a smile on Ruby's face.

“What did he do to you?” she asked between sobs.

“Well, he would sometimes sneak up and then tickle me until I called ‘uncle!' ” With that I lunged at Gabe's belly and started tickling him, having no idea if this was appropriate behavior or not. Ruby thought so as she gleefully joined in.

When Gabe had had enough, he yelled
uncle
and we helped him stand up.

Des joined us, looking more frantic than when she was trying to get me to care for her kids using gestures and finger pointing.

“What's up?” I asked.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, looking like she's about to cry. “My boss needs me to run a report right now. It's really important, otherwise I'd say it could wait until Monday. Would you give me a half hour to do it? You could just hang out here with the kids?”

She said this last part the same way I'd say to someone, “Maybe you could use this disposable razor to cut off your right arm and proceed to whip yourself across the face with it?”

“Me? Hang with the kids?”

“For a half hour. Maybe forty-five minutes? Okay, an hour tops!”

Wow. I think I'll take the use-my-right-arm-to-beat-myself-in-the-face option, please. “Is there a neighbor who could come over? I'm willing to pay.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, shutting her office door. “I'll be as fast as I can.”

Clearly she was in a bind and felt bad. This wasn't how either of us planned to spend our Friday afternoon. Besides, I see her kids maybe once a year. Is it really the worst thing to actually get to know them?

“There's markers and construction paper in the cabinet under the television,” Des shouted from the other side of the door. “And feel free to put in a movie! A
kids
' movie, please!”

Gabe and Ruby were quiet. They stopped all movement and looked at me. The quiet they exhibited unsettled me. The calm before the storm. The stillness of the water before the shark attacks. The showdown in a western movie where the hero meets the bad guy. We are face to face (to face) in our stance, guns twirling at our hips, waiting for the other person to make a move.

“So,” I said.

“So,” they said.

“Who wants to watch a movie?”

Gabe shook his head. “Nah. We've seen movies.”

“No movie!” Ruby screamed in agreement.

I rustled through the kitchen cabinets. “How about an all-natural peanut butter sandwich with some sugar-free, organic jelly? On gluten-free bread, of course. Yum, yum, doesn't that sound good?”

“Gross,” said Gabe.

“Ew!” Ruby bellowed.

“Okay, how about we draw some pictures.”

Again Gabe vetoed my suggestion. “I drew pictures yesterday in school.”

“Me, too!” Ruby said.

Gabe pushed her. “No, you didn't! You don't go to school!”

Getting called out like that set Ruby off again. She wailed like a Midwest siren during tornado season. Obviously I couldn't let Des be bothered by this commotion. I'm an adult with two generally well-behaved kids I outweigh by at least sixty pounds. I could handle this.

“Okay, okay. Let's play a game!” I said, trying to make those four words sound like the most awesome idea ever to pass through their budding eardrums. “Doesn't that sound fun?”

I hoped they wouldn't be turned off by the creepy, singsong, reeking-of-panic, psychotic manner in which I was talking to them. Why do people take on such weird vocal inflections when talking to kids? Other people do this, right?

The potential game was interesting enough to Ruby to get her to stop screaming but not enough to stop the waterworks and runny nose. I handed her a tissue.

“You might want to take care of that,” I said, pointing to her nasal area. Seriously, bubbling kid snot gives me an immediate gag reflex.

“How about charades?” I jumped up and started pantomiming something that could be a combination of jazz hands and “girl being held up by chorus members from
West Side Story.
”

“No!”

“Hide and Seek?”