We were in our late teens. We were cool and knew everything we needed to know.
My cousin came to spend the summer at our house. We devoted ourselves to the pursuit of things at only the pinnacle of importance; girls, music, road trips, and a great tan. Everywhere we went, we were cool.
One of the routine activities was to make the pool circuit. Living in a large master-planned community, there were several neighborhood swimming pools. We would grab a Frisbee, hop on our bicycles, and ride from pool to pool performing our Frisbee freestyle routine. If there were plenty of young ladies to impress, we’d stay longer. If not, we’d move on to the next pool.
Toward the end of the summer, we developed certain skills. We thought alike, we talked alike, and our actions were synchronized. We were a team and we practically knew each other’s thoughts. Although two, we functioned smoothly and efficiently as if one unit. Our Frisbee freestyle routine was pretty good. And we were cool.
On one such swimming pool tour, we were riding bikes and chatting. We were choosing the next swimming pool location and it was time to make a decision about which way to go. We came to an intersection and needed to turn left or right. A quick, efficient conversation and off we’d go. A word or two of momentary coordination and we’d be on our way to more important achievements.
We were riding side-by-side. Me on the left, him on the right. He says, “Left turn?” I say, “Right!”. Maybe you can guess what happened next. He thinking “Right!” means “Yes, correct, left turn.” Me thinking “Right!” means “No, not left, let’s turn right instead.”
So on a smooth road, with no traffic, no distractions, no obstacles, and no excuses,…and in one synchronized moment…, we turn directly into one another, crash, and tumble to the pavement. After a second of silent confusion, in the middle of this unusual breakdown in communication, we both burst out laughing.
Since we were guys in our late teens, we still thought we were cool.