Benny Jay: Sleeping With Billy

March 29th, 2009

It’s the Illinois Prep Top Times annual state high school indoor track championship and I’m down in Bloomington, Illinois ’cause, you know, I just eat this stuff up.

Here’s the deal. I’m sharing a room at the Hampton Inn with Caldow, my old pal the track coach.

The high schools with the smaller enrollment run on Friday and the schools with the bigger enrollment run Saturday.

Caldow’s skipping the Friday meet. But he knows we’re sharing a room — I think….

The Friday night meet goes longer than expected. So by the time I get back to the hotel it’s nearly two in the morning.

The clerk at the desk — call him Waldo — gives me my key. I wander up to my room.

Only the key doesn’t work.

I swipe it one way, then another. I flip it over and swipe it again. Nothing. I know I’m clumsy with technology, but I remember mastering the key swipe thing years ago. Something’s definitely wrong.

Back I go to the front desk, where Waldo — by now we’re old pals — breaks me the bad news….

If the key doesn’t work it’s cause Caldow’s bolted the door. And there’s nothing we can do short of waking him up with a phone call.

Don’t think I’m not tempted.

That’s how I find myself blurry-eyed in the lobby, chatting with Precious, a shot-putter from Chicago, who’s got her own situation.

She left her luggage in another girls’ room — now they’re sleeping and she can’t get in.

“I knocked on the door, but they don’t wake up,” she says.

“So let me get this straight — you have the key to one room but your luggage is in another room?” I ask.

“Yes….”

“Well, why don’t you just go to sleep in your room and get your clothes in the morning?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. And I remember: I don’t understand teenagers and teenagers don’t understand me.

Meanwhile, into the lobby walks Billy, an assistant coach. He’s a young guy — still in his early twenties.

“Hey, Billy,” I say, “can I sleep in your room?”

“C’mon,” he says.

“You’re not leaving me?” says Precious.

I shrug. What can I do? It’s either Billy’s room or the parking lot.

It’s a small room with one big bed. Billy takes one side, I get the other. I’m thinking: Abraham Lincoln used to share beds with a law partner. Back in the day.

I wanna tell Billy all about it. But he’s asleep. Dude put his head on the pillow and — bam — he’s in sleepy land. I hear him snoring. Not really loud. Thank goodness for that.

Oh, to be young and fall asleep in a heartbeat!

Me? I can’t sleep. Lie in bed thinking about the Bulls — what else?

They play the Pacers tomorrow. Oops, make that later today.

I notice it’s light in the room. Billy’s laptop’s glowing. Probably radiating me and him.

I look at the time. Three o’clock. Damn!

Ring! Ring! Ring!

What the fu….

I’d been sleeping. Somehow or other I managed to fall asleep. Now I’m fumbling to kill the sound. It’s the phone. By the bed. I pull it to my ear.

“Yeah?” I say.

“Billy?”

It’s Bob, the coach.

“No, it’s Benny,” I say.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” I lie.

“Devyn‘s coming up,” he says. “She needs the key to the van.”

“Great….”

The clock says it’s 7:15. Four hours of sleep. I roll on my back and look at the ceiling.

Billy’s still sleeping. Of course, the phone didn’t wake him. Dude could sleep through a tornado.

Knock, knock.

I crawl out of bed, stumble to the door and look through the peep hole. It’s Devyn, Daddy Dee‘s daughter.

I lower my voice and growl: “Who is it?”

“Devyn….”

“Devyn who?”

“Devyn Tee….”

“I don’t know no Devyn Tee….”

She looks puzzled, like she’s thinking — oops, wrong room.

Hee, hee. I open the door. “Fooled ya,” I say.

“Pops — that’s not funny,” she says, as she marches into the room.

She sees Billy just rousing. “Oooh, you and Billy shared a bed….”

“It wasn’t like that….”

She grabs the key and is gone.

Down in the breakfast room, I see Caldow. “Nice play, Shakespeare,” I tell him. “Lockin’ me out.”

“I swear — I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says.

I tell him I shared a bed with Billy. He says he had to share a room with Billy at another meet. “I woke up and he was hugging me,” says Caldow. “I think he likes older white guys…..”

I can see he’s happy with that joke cause a few seconds later he repeats it. I can’t blame him. A good joke is like a good horse — you wanna ride that baby forever.

Hours and hours later, after the final race of the day, we’re eating at a Steak `n Shake somewhere in the middle of Illinois. Caldow points to me and says to Billy: “Which one do you like best?”

“Man, I feel like I’m in a love triangle,” says Billy. “I feel like the inside of a reverse Oreo cookie….”

I like that joke so much I repeat it a few times. Matter of fact, I’m repeating it now.

Like I was saying — a good joke’s like a good horse….