Missing pieces

When I was in college, I smoked Camels. One day, I took all my Camel Cash to the post office, hefted it onto the counter, and sent away for my prize.

The post office worker behind the counter blinked at me. "Why don't you just send them a lung?"

In time for my junior year, my dart board arrived. Just in time for my first off-campus apartment. My roommate and I used to order a case of American Light -- do they even make that shit anymore? -- delivered from the local distributor, prop the board up on the back of the couch, and play well into morning.

When we moved out of that apartment, we had lots of holes to plug from the steel-tip darts. We had heard that toothpaste was a great fix, but we had only AquaFresh, so we left behind a wall full of tiny teal dots.

I moved to Florida before I officially graduated and lost track of the board.

Recently, I was sharing with Zoe my love of puzzles. I actually didn't love them when I was a kid, but my mother got me one for Christmas every year. I told her next time we were over Pap Pap's, we could ask him if it was OK if we took a few of the puzzles from his attic.

While we were snooping around for the puzzles (we took four), I saw, tucked in the corner, the price my lungs paid for years ago. The old dart board.

I whisked it out of the house and the next night I sent Liam to WalMart for the hardware to hang it in my basement. And we played and played and played. Until the wee hours of the morning.


He's up one game. For now.

The dart board has good company in the basement. A few months ago I scored a cheap pool table from Liam's friend.


If the stars align correctly, I'll soon have a La-Z-Boy, a dorm fridge and a beer miester for the basement. My mid-life crisis will be complete.

And speaking of mid-life crises, I have been reflecting (in many ways) a lot on my youth tonight, as I put together one of those puzzles Zoe took from Pap Pap's.