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All Tomorrow’s Parties It was a clichÉ. An average, all-America, Sunday barbecue. The kind where the weather agreed that today would be a fine day to grill cheeseburgers and hot dogs and drink until you don’t feel good. I used to hate these things. I was more of a Saturday evening type fellow. I didn’t want to go home until 7 a.m. Maybe sleep a few hours and then start up again. I wanted marathon debauchery not good clean fun, where the children go and play with the family friends and the adults sip wine coolers and gossip about anyone who didn’t show up, or maybe listen to a ballgame on the radio. Of course, I say this, but right now I don’t mind so much. It was 1967, or at least it felt like it, judging by what was on the radio. Most of my friends had drifted away over the “I guess we have to grow up now” years, and I moved away retreating further into the suburbs, surrounding myself with cul-de-sacs and side streets, mazing myself in just so that I couldn’t tap into that self-destructive vein that had dominated me for so long, stunting any growth. A few different choices and maybe I’d be one of the ones ready to settle down, sliding into normalcy, dunking my kid in the pool and handing the keys over to my wife at the end of the night. But things didn’t turn out like that, and I was here alone, sticking against a wall, sipping a beer and trying to avoid too much conversation. “Hey, man, I’m Charlie’s friend, Max.” I turned to find an outreached hand attached to a guy in a fishing hat, Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. “Oh Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Doug,” I answered politely, but cringed at the prospect of this guy putting forth a whole conversation. I didn’t want to know Charlie and I didn’t want to get to know him and via Max. Instead I was treated to tales of how crazy the two of them were in their 20’s. I didn’t want to be rude but the best I could bear was to put a fake smile on and blurt out an: “Oh yeah, really?” after the climax of every sentence. This backfired as he decided to go on about how he and Charlie went to Seton Hall together and one time they talked six strippers into coming back to their dorm room and, well, there were children around so I just better use my imagination about what happened after that. I bet it was great and I'm sure generations of Charlie's and Max's will be passing down tales of the night they went out and got trashed together, then went back to the dorm room with a gaggle of strippers. Now hold on, there you go getting all cynical and judgmental again. You were just having a good time, you were glad to be here. Taking in that bright, cloudless, May afternoon, watching planes fly overhead with their banners for all-you-can-eat-buffets or happy hours at local bars. Things were nice and sometimes nice isn’t the worse thing in the world. Max finally decided to go into the house to refresh his drink. Charlie was working the grill. At least I assumed it Charlie from the few conversations I had with these strangers. It was Charlie’s house and it was a nice one. From what I could gather this was his annual Memorial Day party and he was in his element. A cigar, chef hat, and a beer never far from his right hand. I went up to quickly introduce myself. “Hey, Charlie, I’m Doug, Max’s friend.” “Hi Doug. You think you can bring this platter over to that table right there?” He pointed over to the “main” table, w We were advised to use the bathroom on the lower level; however if that was occupied we could use the one upstairs. I’d already made sure I got to make the trek up the stairs earlier in the afternoon. I stood in the kitchen and pulled a cheese-topped cracker from one of the spreads until someone finally made their way into the lower-level bathroom. I headed upstairs, and into Charlie’s bedroom. I passed the door to the bathroom and slouched down so that I wasn’t spotted in the window. I reached under his bed for my duffle bag. The one that I’d left there after my first visit to the second floor lavatory. It was heavier than I remembered. Thankfully the two towels stuffed on top prevented any clanging around of any of the valuables. I went into the bathroom and slicked my hair back, took a deep breath and flushed the toilet and left. Coming down the stairs there were a few people watching TV in the living room but no one noticed me. One of the best tricks, I find, for being invisible is not being afraid to be seen. Charlie’s wife was in the kitchen sipping a glass of wine and practically cross-eyed drunk, talking about a woman named Pattie. “I don’t really care if she doesn’t want to come by here…” Her thick Jersey accent was slurring every other word. “Oh hi!” she noticed me and smiled politely. “Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt but I have to be going, I just wanted to thank you for a great time. Everything was really nice, thanks for having me.” “Oh you’re quite welcome. Thank you for coming. Do you want to take any of this food with you? We’re never going to eat all this.” “No, that’s alright. Thank you anyway.” I waved and nodded to the other women in the room and headed towards the door. “I don’t know probably one of Charlie’s friends from work,” I heard her say as I was exiting. That couldn’t have worked better. I walked down the driveway and to the street. I popped the lock to my trunk and placed the duffle bag next to the other three already resting towards the back of the trunk. Memorial Day weekend had been good to me. I was in no particular rush to get back home. Maybe I’d drive around for a while and enjoy the day instead of rushing to try and get paid for what was in the bags. I didn’t really need the money. Just the excitement. Things get boring the older you get, but I’m trying to start appreciate these breezy afternoons that I used to scoff at.
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here his wife was flirting with a mustachioed guy who looked like an over-aggressive gym teacher I’d had when I was seven. Charlie had practically ignored me, which was fine. There were at least fifty people here so he obviously couldn’t pay attention to everyone. Fair enough. I had to make one more stop and then I would get going. 
