In October of last year this guy, you may have heard of him, visited Bonanza High School out in Las Vegas. He was welcomed by a crowd of about oh I don't know. At least 10,000 or so. It was kind of interesting, see I got in pretty quick, there were lines and stuff but all I did was flash the security folks a little badge I had gotten from going and seeing this guy's friend just a few weeks prior to this event. They let me straight in. Its a good thing I'm not any sort of crazy person else they could've had some problems. Or maybe security there was really that good.
So after I walked in, oddly enough I saw someone I know quite well, and thought to myself "Oh wow, look there, that is Weston. How crazy to see him here. I thought he was up in Cedar City." As I walked up to him and met him with a cordial greeting I was instantly -but only minutely asphyxiated on the special badge (that was slightly similar to mine) he was wearing, but only in my head. I do not recall the entire conversation but it must have gone well. We parted our ways and in the midday sun I went to where I was supposing I was supposed to go.
The black boxes. This was not my first encounter with this special black boxes, I had stood upon them at the guy's friends' get together over at Morrell Park. But these boxes, they were quite a bit bigger, a bit more structurally sound too, they even had a special gigantic sun shade.
I was pretty sure it wasn't for all the people on the two black boxes because every time it seemed someone made mention of it, or the shade caught their eye, they seemed to give it a dirty look. As if the shade had done anything to them. They must just have been picky about their lighting.
After being infatuated with the series of events and my superior skills getting into the whole place, I looked around to see if I knew anyone other than Weston. Surely there were a few more people I knew, I mean there were like thousands of people there.
Well there was. Officer Chavez. Seeing him there was about as peculiar as seeing a phonebook on a dirt road.
I looked on, doubting that I had even seen Officer Chavez there, because he was just too out of place. I did end up seeing a few more familiar faces. I saw the lady with the darthvaderboot, that is what I call those strange boots people wear after lower leg injuries because as far as I'm concerned they are Darth Vaders boots. I'd known her for a few years up to that point, and Mr. Cannon. They were the most notable figures.
Now finally after spying out who I knew, I made my way to the black box on the right in front of the large shade. I went up the steps because on that black box was Mr. Cannon. I was nervous, I felt out of place for a moment. Kind of like when a little kid goes down a street on his Big Wheel, takes a left and sees a whole group of kids with nicer Big Wheels.
The nervousness faded. I was proud to be where I was at. I earned it, I went the distance and I was proud to ride my metaphoric Big Wheel, because it wasn't about the quality of my Big Wheel but what I could do with it, and I was not, not even for a moment going to let these chaps bully me around.
I could only hope Mr. Cannon would help me out because (I in sub-adult hope thought) he was proud to see that I had made it right up to that black box, just like he did. But he didn't help. I understood though, because he had a job to do. So did I.
By then I was sweating. Not sweating like I was shoveling dirt out of a pit but more so like I had just walked across a football field in the middle of a hot Las Vegas October day, I did not care though, because everyone around me were slightly saturated, at least I wasn't one of those people down in the crowd standing there like a herd of wildebeest, I would tell myself prior to the moments before the Big Man arrived.
Now I had never been in a situation quite like I was up to that point. The slightly less popular mans (maybe it was his hair plugs?) get together was like decaf diet coke compared to what I was taking in up on that black box. Standing in front of me were a lot of people but more specifically, two people. They looked out of place. Probably because they were speaking French. I could imagine them being the little who rode down the street on red tricycles. However, like all others on that ominous black box, they were there to do their job.
Things by now were getting pensive. The Big Man was off schedule and the wildebeest were growing impatient. (side-note: In no way am I insinuating insolence, ignorance, indigence or obsolesce on the part of the people nicknamed the wildebeest. In my very unimportant opinion wildebeest are magnificent creatures which are capable of incredible things when they work in a large group. For example stampedes, like the one seen in The Lion King.)
By now I was imagining myself as pretty highfalutin, I mean, I was on the Big Black Box To The Right and well quite frankly there were no peers of mine on any such black boxes. I was the Great One, to myself at least. I was even placing frivolous bets to myself of the probability that I'd get to meet the Big Man. If he would ever show up.
Well he did. Now this was about when a metaphorical stampede erupted on the ground floor, also known as Bonanza's Football field. Prior to the Big Man's arrival, I was thinking about how crazy it was that, on the following friday night football players would be tackling each other on that very grass, that very yellow grass.
This is pretty much a synopsis to how things happened when Mr. Big Man walked the plank to his soap box on crack. (Or better I say powder cocaine, I mean the two carry the same sentences if you're caught with either. But hey, that whole deal doesn't really relate to what I'm getting at right now does it.)
In the Lion King when Mufasa held up Simba the whole animal jungle went cluckin futs. Well that's what the wildebeests did til he (being Mufasa the King of flippin' Lions) basically told them to can it with a massively wicked roar.
But in this context, Mr. Big man was the baby cub Simba, who looks pretty cute and cuddly but can only do what his parents and or leaders teach him. Now don't get me wrong. I think Tamone, Poomba, the toucan bird character and Rafiki are pretty cool chaps but maybe they're not ideal role models. They seem to always be using Simba to get to something bigger and the whole utopia of living in trees, eating bugs and dancing in a forest, don't sit with me right. Well at least the bugs don't.
Enough with The Lion King segues.
As he walked up to his podium, Mr. Big Man waved to everyone, as for me it seemed in a way, I was viewing these series of events like it was television. His gestures, waves and demeanor just seemed to sit well. It was as if Mr. Big Man was, at the same time, Mr. Homeboy Who Got Yo' Back. I wanted to go along and be with the hype but I felt something was not there. It seemed, even after all that self (Muhammad Ali-esque) hype-up talk I did, I didn't belong where I was at. Mr. Homeboy Who Got Yo' Back didn't really seem to have my back. The only thing behind me was some bars and that sun shade that, by then had gotten on my nerves too.
I knew though, either way, it was a dang good thing I was there. Even if I was just another kid with his slightly less fancy Big Wheel on the block, even if I wasn't digging myself into the whole of all the hype, something about it all, I knew was history in the making, good or bad.