I'm in the woods of New Hampshire with my family. I'm preparing for a three-month stint in Southeast Asia, I'm preparing for my 30th birthday, I'm preparing for the last trip before I really settle down and (ahem) grow up.
My brother, who will also be embarking on a great adventure in the next week (he's traveling to North Carolina with a teardrop-shaped trailer that fits only his comfy bed and a few electronic devices), yells to me, "Frones!" (nickname), "Frones! In ten minutes come out to the trailer. I have a surprise for you."
I wait ten minutes and walk outside. The moon is large and the air smells like wet leaves. He waves to me from his trailer. "C'mon in," he says with a warmth that already sounds Southern.
I squeeze into his cubby hole - it's a full size bed with a tempurpedic mattress and a sea of fluffy blankets. It's like being in a secret playroom fort. We're sitting next to one another, just like old times, propped up by the pillows behind us. Maps of national parks and family photos decorate the walls. There are small, white cabinets that open to eye level. Our legs stretch out underneath them.
"Joey, it's awesome in here!"
"Thanks," he says. Then he opens one of the cabinet doors. There, sitting in the little square space, is an itty-bitty television,
perhaps the tiniest I've ever seen. He flicks a switch.
I hear a song that transports me to a time of innocence and
simple joy. A pure feeling arises, unsullied by the worries of
adulthood. The baby tv screen comes to life and there he is...
It's Mario. He is jumping, in all his glory, to reach a mushroom. Not just any Mario, it's SuperMario of SuperMarioWorld. And Yoshi appears, hatching from a green speckled shell, and he makes that sneezy sound and I'm almost crying it's so exciting.
For the better part of the evening we play, nestled in the bedroom trailer, beneath the soft moonlight, among hoots of nearby owls.
