Anybody Want a Wiener?!

by Vanessa Lewis

In Southern California, the autumn air felt just right. Slightly warm during the day and crisp enough for cozy blankets at night. This particular autumn day was filled with me helping my mom prepare some sides to take to my uncle’s house for Thanksgiving. You know the usual fair, some homemade mashed potatoes and my mom’s recipe for green beans. At sixteen, and with a Mexican mother, I already knew my way around the kitchen. I was my mom’s sous chef to her chef.

We (we consisted of mom, dad, brother, me, and side dishes) were all packed into our families Toyota Tercel Wagon ready to hit the road. At the time, we lived in an up-and-coming area of Moreno Valley. A suburb of Riverside County. The houses in Moreno Valley were new, big, and affordable. My brother and I had our own rooms that we filled with what was ‘hip’ at the time. For me personally, it was my vast collection of Garfield the Cat. We even had a kidney shaped swimming pool that we wore out every spring through early fall. The downside to living so far into Riverside County was the commute my dad had to get to work. His, I suppose you could say, office was located smack dab in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. He worked at the Department of Water and Power as an electrical engineer. His job was labor intensive, but he got paid decent money. My dad grew up in Los Angeles, close to where he worked now. His memories of growing up were not fond ones but they weren’t all that bad either. He would mention to my brother and I how, when he was little Christmas gifts consisted of a new hair comb and a pair of new shoes. That was it for the year. Toys were few and far between. Especially since he lived with his grandmother who she herself was not only raising my dad but my uncle and a few of their cousins as well. It was a full house and a poor one at that.

Because of my dad’s extensive knowledge and history of the downtown area, every time we would visit my uncle, (who lives in Santa Clarita about two hours away from Moreno Valley) we would always make time to visit one of his favorite eating joints. We might stop at Olvera Street and eat at our favorite hole in the wall “restaurant.” I put restaurants in quotations because from the outside it technically was a restaurant. we sat at tables barely big enough for our family of four and we were served by what would technically be called a waiter. But believe me when I say, “hole in the wall.” Also, believe me, this particular place is so good that my family and I still eat there today. I’m forty-six now. Another of these favorite joints we would hit up was Phillipe’s, home of the original “French Dip Sandwich.” Both places have significant historical importance to Los Angeles as well to our family. After stopping at one of these places we would pile back into our Tercel and continue for another hour on the road.

My aunt has always favored wine. Any kind. That’s why whenever we got off the freeway exit, we would always stop at the nearest liquor store and grab a bottle or a box of wine as a gift to our hosts. Mostly hostess because my uncle did not drink. Once there we would unpack the car and graciously hand over the wine and the side dishes that we had kept chilled in a cooler.

We were a family of four and so was my uncle’s family. We mirrored each other. My dad and uncle, first generation Mexican, Americans. My mom and my aunt both born and raised in Mexico, English being their second language. My aunt and uncle had two kids, a girl, and a boy. With the former being older. The same was for my mom and dad. They had two kids, a girl (the eldest) and a boy. Going to my uncle’s house meant spending time with our older cousins. Even though we lived so far apart from each other when we did get together my brother and I were always eager to glom onto them.

For me, the quintessential facets of cool oozed from my cousin Anita flawlessly. When I was sixteen, she was twenty-two. She could not only drive but she could drink too. In my eyes it didn’t get any cooler than that. If coolness could be ranked from one to ten, ten being the ultimate level of cool or awesome, Anita was a fifteen. Especially, during thanksgiving in 1992. Our families enjoyed the traditional dinner together. Afterwards it was time for us to play board games, video games, or hang out with our cousin’s neighborhood friends. Our dads sat in the living room letting the food settle while murmuring to each other about football. Our moms were in the kitchen cleaning the leftover of the tradition. My aunt bragging about Anita and Danny. My mom doing the same but mirrored, with me and my brother. This thanksgiving though was not traditional. At one point during the visit, Anita approached me and asked if I would like to join her. “Where are you going?” I eagerly asked.

“I’m going to my friend Chris’s house. He’s having a little after Thanksgiving dinner get- together. We’re all bringing deserts to share. Wanna come?”

With that being said, I walked into the backyard where I loaded myself into a cannon. I scratched the match onto the side of the cannon lighting the fuse. I then launched into the air, landing in my cousins’ car and with a perfect 10, 10, 10, score from the judges. At least that’s what it felt like when I accepted her offer.

Chris’s house was not far at all. The house was a ranch style home built in the sixties and was more than enough home for the two bachelor’s that were living there. Although I was excited about going, having grown up to this point with shy tendencies, I was also nervous. But because this was my cousin’s inner circle, I brushed off those nerves the way a barber brushes the excess hairs off after a haircut.

Inside, the house was buzzing with laughter and murmured voices. I was immediately introduced to the host, Chris. He had zero shell to come out of as he was not shy at all and was the type of guy who would not shy away from an embarrassing challenge. He was average height and had red brillo-pad like hair. Because of his outgoing boisterous nature, he was the butt of everyone’s jokes. At first meeting him and realizing his friends ragged on him so much, I felt sorry for him. I too would someday fall into the other group though. I then met Steve. He had brown hair, wore glasses, and said in a low whiny voice, “oh wow” too often. After that I met Chris’s roommate, Tom. Compared to my 5’2 stature I considered him tall at 5’11. He had brown thinning hair, brown eyes, and glasses as well. A sixteen-year girls mind is laser focused on only a few things. Boys, music, our favorite actors, and at the time MTV. Back then MTV actually played music videos. I don’t know what they do now. Because of my obsession with music, I gravitated to Chris’s den where Tom housed his modern stereo system. In the den besides the massive stereo system which almost took up a den wall was two chairs in a corner where an older couple found his and hers chairs. Later I would find out that this was Tom’s mom and dad. His sister was there too. She was about two years younger than me. Tom turned on the stereo system and the big speakers boomed in the small den. My favorite genre of music at the time was rave or techno music. Tom had something playing that I became hypnotized to and started dancing to it. Alone in the middle of the small den, I was in my own private dance club. I maintained this one woman show for as long as I could endure then I made myself comfortable on the couch in the main living room.

This is when Tom approached and sat with me. He had a awkward smile. According to his dentist, his mouth was filled with too many teeth. Eventually he would get braces to correct this flaw. On the couch we engaged in small talk. You would think that a sixteen-year-old and a twenty-six-year-old would have nothing in common. For reasons that I still can’t explain It felt as if though we were long lost friends. Our conversation flowed like the wine that my aunt was enjoying a few miles away.

At the end of the night walking out to Anita’s car I told her. “I like that Tom guy; he was really nice.”

She agreed, “Tom, oh yeah he’s a sweet guy.”

About two weeks after that fateful Thanksgiving gathering, I received a call from Anita. We chatted about nonsensical things then she threw into the conversation that Tom asked about me. Intrigued, I sat up in my bed, and asked, “What did he say?”

“He wanted to know more about you, and he asked how old you were. But once I told him that you were sixteen, he said, “oh forget that.” She laughed.

Since my family would only visit my uncle’s family once or twice a year, I would see Tom seldomly.

I’m seventeen now and Anita calls to invite me to Chris’s again. Tom and he were having a big party at their house so once again I loaded myself into the cannon. This time I took baggage with me though. He was my boyfriend Jon, and he was also seventeen. The party was a blast. Anita had a bit too much fun drinking and going to her car with a small group of friends to ‘party’ with other substances. Fear being instilled in my generation with slogans like “Say no to Drugs.” I was not into her alternative ways of ‘partying.’ So, my boyfriend Jon and I stayed inside the house. I don’t remember slogans deterring us from drinking, so we enjoyed several wine coolers. I met new friends and saw Chris, Tom, and Steve again. Tom was outside grilling hot dogs and burgers. Jon and I sat on a picnic style table outside. At one point during the party, Tom picked up a cooked hot dog with a skewer and loudly asked, “Anybody want a wiener?!” A few wine coolers in and that’s all it took for me to burst into a cackling laughter at this juvenile joke. That’s what I loved about Tom, he was always so funny and always making me laugh.

The original plan was to enjoy ourselves at the party, go to my uncle’s house to stay the night, and head home the next day. But plans changed as the night went on. My cousin and her friends enjoying themselves so much that we could not drive back to my uncles. In retrospect, I think Anita was scared to go home drunk and high. The new plans were for us to all stay the night at Tom and Chris’s. The next morning, early, Anita woke Jon and I up and gathered us to leave. Just before walking out, she grabbed me by my elbow and stopped me. She said we should go say bye and thank Chris and Tom. I agreed and followed her. Chris had his door closed and was still asleep. Tom’s door was ajar, and we heard him talking. We slowly pried the door open and saw him sitting up in his bed talking on the phone. We stood just inside his room and patiently waited for his phone conversation to end. While waiting I couldn’t help but to look at him. He was not wearing a shirt and his bed coverings were sitting just above his waist. The focal point of his room, at that moment was his shirtless chest. His arms and pecs were defined. Not buff but defined. And he had a hairy chest. A hairy slightly sculpted chest. My eyes were hypnotized by this newly found attraction. My first thought at this new discovery was, wow, he’s a man! Squinting and blinking at his chest and giving my head a little shake, it was as if though each individual hair on his chest was a finger and it was extending and curling asking me to come hither. But once he’s off the phone reality sets in, and I give another little shake to bring myself back to reality. Oh yeah, I’m leaving with not hairy chested Jon. We express our gratitude, say our goodbye’s, and we depart from each other, until the next occasion our paths would cross.

That next occasion would find me being seventeen still but now single. A gathering at my uncle’s house for a birthday. Eager to see ‘the man’ I saw a few months ago I couldn’t wait to casually bump into Tom again. In my head I couldn’t wait to give him a big hug and take in his manly Drakkar Noir scent. Mingling in the backyard and catching up with my male cousin Danny, I spotted him. I excused myself from my cousin and started walking toward the house where I can see Tom through the glass sliding doors. My body was walking straight to the doors, but my head was turned slightly finishing my conversation with my cousin. When I finally fully turn and look forward, I inhale a gasp and stop dead in my tracks. For what was approaching me was more grotesque than what the audiences thought of Frankenstein’s monster when it first was released in theaters in the 1930’s. It was Tom holding his girlfriend’s hand. Once again face to face with him he introduces me to his girlfriend, “Hi Vanessa, this is my girlfriend, Leslie.” The mind of an immature seventeen-year-old is quite toxic for in my head I kept repeating in a childish voice, ‘thIs iS my gIrlFrieNd LesLie.’

My childish toxic mind aside, I was polite and gracious as I shook her hand. With her trademark wine glass in hand my aunt claimed how happy she was to see both Tom and Leslie in attendance. I later found out that they (aunt and LesLie) were coworkers, and it was through my aunt that they met. They were so enamored that there was talks of a wedding. Time forever moving forward brings us to the family picnic. In a park in Santa Monica, we all gathered to compete in friendly sports activities, eat, and just enjoy the beautiful California weather. It made no sense for my family and I to drive all the way to my uncles to gather supplies and food but that’s exactly what we did. From Moreno Valley we drove to Santa Clarita, and we all gathered there to get ready. But maybe it was meant to be. As we filled our cars with food, supplies and people, Anita suggested we ride with Tom. Since the last time we saw each other, I had now turned eighteen and he now had braces. Since the weather was so nice, he decided to take the T-tops off so now it was like riding in a convertible sports car. I felt like those girls in those MTV music videos. Just to recap, Tom has a sporty Camaro, braces, a manly chest full of hair and a girlfriend. This girlfriend was out of town during our picnic though as she was going to school to become a dentist.

At the park we participated in many sports like volleyball, baseball, and tennis. Tom and I were in all of the same areas at the same time. My mom noticed right away that Tom never seemed to not be by my side. She mentioned this little fact to my aunt who shot her down right away. “Oh no Christina, you don’t understand. Tom and my friend Leslie are going to get married.”

“They might be getting married, but he has eyes for Vanessa. Look at him he’s following her everywhere.” My mom shot back.

After meeting Tom that Thanksgiving Day in 1992 I knew he was different, special. In June of 1994 I graduated high school. That summer I would drive up to visit my cousin and stay with her at her apartment with her husband and baby boy. I would see Tom, Chris, Steve, and others. In late August of that same year, Tom broke off his relationship with Leslie. In early September we started dating officially. Since we lived two hours away from each other every other weekend we would drive to each other’s house and stay the weekend. On November 5th, 1994, he asked me to marry him. I tell him, “You had me at, “Anybody want a wiener?!”

Then on May 27, 1995, we got married in a church with all of our friends and family in attendance. My mom always one to say, “I told you so” rubbed it in my aunts face that she was right all along about Tom liking me.

We now have two boys twenty-three and seventeen. We will be celebrating our 27th wedding anniversary in a few days. There is not a day that goes by that he does not make me laugh. His chest hair is still ever present. It’s salt and peppery now but thanks to his English and Welsh background, it’s all still there.