“Another Saturday Night.” The song, from one of Mom and Dad’s Jimmy Buffett records, played in my head as I walked to the Dankers’ house for another weekend out with a five-year-old.
Another Saturday night, and I ain’t got nobody.
Which reminded me of the funny tune that Adrian sometimes played, “Poor Poor Pitiful Me.” He liked the cover recorded by the country singer Terri Clark. Mom and Dad have the Linda Ronstadt version on an old LP, and it’s one of Mom’s favorites. The differences between the two have been a source of heated debate between Adrian and Mom. Naturally.
“Dan-ielle-y!” Humphrey sang out when he opened the door.
“Hum-phrey-y!” I said.
They’d been playing dominoes, Humphrey and his parents; their game was spread out on the kitchen table.
“I already ate my dinner!” Humphrey said. “So we can play, play, play all night!”
“Sounds great!” I said.
“And we can go to the park if we want, right, Mommy?” Humphrey said.
“That’s the beauty of summer,” Mrs. Danker said. “It stays light late out there.”
Mr. Danker came downstairs. A get-together at some friends’ house, Mrs. Danker said. They would not be home late.
“So—what shall we do first?” I asked Humphrey after his parents left.
“Want to play dominoes?” Humphrey asked.
We played a few hands, and then Humphrey blew out a long sigh.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” I asked. “If you don’t like this, we don’t have to play.”
“I do like it, and I don’t like it,” Humphrey said. “I like the way they feel. But playing is a little boring.”
“If you want to go to the park, now’s a good time for that,” I said. “If we head out now, we’ll have a nice long time before it gets dark.”
As we made the turn onto Quarry Road, Humphrey said, “Let’s talk about something. Something interesting.”
“Okay,” I said. “First we have to think of something interesting.”
“Something highly interesting,” Humphrey said.
Of course the son of a brilliant lawyer would have high standards for making conversation.
“What would you like to talk about that’s highly interesting?” I asked.
“No—you talk about something highly interesting.”
Oh, yes, I thought, I’ll just delve deep into the treasure trove of sparkling ideas that have made me such a dazzling conversationalist.
“Hmm,” I said.
We walked.
“Danielle!” Humphrey said.
“I don’t have anything,” I said. “Sorry. I’m coming up empty. I have nothing highly interesting to say. I have nothing even a little bit interesting to say.”
“Of course you do!” he squealed. He thought I was joking; I could tell from his squeal, which was part laugh. He thought this was some kind of game: me withholding highly interesting conversation. It became his mission to find the key to my highly interesting thoughts.
“What do you think about … dominoes?” he asked.
“I think … they should be called domi-yeses,” I said.
“Yes!” he said. “And what do you think about … that tree?”
“I think … I’m glad we didn’t invite it over for dinner, because we’d have to wait so long for it to wash its hands before eating,” I said. “If you catch my—”
“I do! I catch your drift! Ha!” Humphrey said. He craned his neck way back to look at the branches and leaves, which caused him to swerve a little. I caught his hand. “How many leaves, I mean, hands, do you think that tree has?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Eight hundred and eighty-eight?”
“Nine thousand and ninety-nine,” Humphrey said. “That’s what I think.”
I could see he was turning something over in his mind.
“Trees don’t eat with their hands,” he announced. “They eat with their feet. So the tree wouldn’t have to wash its hands before dinner.”
“They eat with their feet? You’re right! Now I’m even more glad we didn’t invite the tree for dinner!”
We were at the entrance to the park.
“See how interesting you are?” Humphrey said.
“See how interesting you are!” I said.
“We should be on TV,” Humphrey said.
It’s Saturday night and I ain’t ain’t got nobody, I thought.
As Humphrey and I walked up the path into the park, we realized that we’d forgotten the football.
“Aargh!” Humphrey groaned. “I wanted to play catch.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Next time.”
“I guess we’ll just have to visit the Bumble-Boos.”
We took our imaginary journey to Thrumble-Boo. We swung on the beat-up swings, with their beat-up black rubber planks for seats. We climbed the little jungle gym, pretending it was Mount Olympus of Thrumble-Boo.
“You know what else I want to do?” Humphrey said.
“See the first star,” I said. “I didn’t forget.” I’d checked online for the exact time when the first star—Venus—would be visible that night. We had half an hour until it was scheduled to appear.
“Let’s play hide-and-seek while we’re waiting!” Humphrey said.
I didn’t think hide-and-seek could be much fun with two people in an open field with no hiding places. So we made up our own game, a land-based version of the swimming pool game of Marco Polo. In our game, both people had to close their eyes. The person who was “it” called out “Thrumble!” The other person had to respond, “Bumble!” No one could take more than twenty steps per turn.
“This is the best game!” Humphrey said after we played a few rounds. “Now let’s look for Venus.”
But clouds had rolled in.
“It looks like rain, Humphrey,” I said. “I don’t think we’re going to see that first star tonight.”
“Hmm,” Humphrey said. “I know what. Let’s do a don’t-rain dance.”
If there is one thing I am not, it is a dancer. There just never seems to be a right place to put my long legs and arms. Plus—could you be more on display than when you’re dancing?
“I don’t really dance, Humphrey,” I said.
“Everyone dances,” Humphrey said. “Just do what I do.”
What Humphrey did was to gyrate wildly, twisting his little body, shaking his butt, punching his arms in the air, kicking his feet.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again another day,” he sang. “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day.” He kept repeating the line, changing the style and tune each time. “Come on, Danielle, you can do it!”
“I really don’t dance, Humpty.”
“You have to dance! I need a dance partner!”
I had to laugh at him. He hadn’t stopped twisting and turning. “You need a dance partner?”
“Yes, I do. Be my partner, Danielle. You can do it!”
I did it.
“Rain! Rain! Go away! Come again! Another day! How’s that, Humpty?”
“Go, Danielle! Go, Danielle!” Humphrey cheered.
I rapped, I crooned. I rocked out. Somehow dancing outdoors felt easier than in a school gym or hotel party room. Plenty of space for my arms and legs. I let myself lose control, and danced like crazy on the planet of Thrumble-Boo.
“You look like a beautiful daddy longlegs!” Humphrey said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Humphrey!”
“You’re a good dancer! Not as good as me, but as good as anyone else!”
Then the skies opened up, and we hurried home.