Did I ever tell you about the time way back when my cousin Jeremy used his ‘superpowers’ to get me out of a pretty sticky situation?

No?

Well, back in the 1950s, my cousin Jeremy and I were pretty close pals.

That kid had the luck of an Irish mafia boss, who could not only dodge bullets, he dodged traffic jams, the line into the Red Sox game during the World Series, bad grades when grading was on a curve, and he hadn’t studied one ounce and misplaced keys on that random day a black hole swallowed up all of his belongings. And he managed to accomplish such feats all on the same day. That was a normal day in the life of Jeremy O’Leary. It's as if luck and good fortune followed him like the sidekick of a four-leaf clover hidden beneath a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

Ok, ok, enough of that. You get the idea.

He was of Irish descent, he knew it, and he believed without hesitation that he had the luckiest of ‘Lucky Guy’ syndrome because of his potato planting, whiskey jigging, red-haired ancestors.

Seeing as we were both of Irish lineage, I couldn’t understand why he had the luck gene, and I didn’t. Looking back after years of being a history buff, the irony of his “Irish Luck” was hilarious because the track record of the Irish people being lucky throughout history was slim at best.

I’m sorry. I’m digressing. Where was I?

Anyway, he knew I felt this way about him, and it went without saying that his ‘Lucky Guy’ syndrome was infuriating at the best of times and infuriating at the worst of times. However, there was this one time he used his “luck” to help me out, and it put me in debt to him for some time.

I was having a particularly tough school year. My transition from grade school to high school had been rough. I had a bit of a speech impediment, and when it came time for finals, it was an oral exam. I was all nerves; no suave. I knew I was going to fail, but I needed that grade to ensure I could play baseball when second term came around.

I paced back and forth, trying to memorize my presentation on Theodore Roosevelt. It was no good.

“I give up,” I flopped down on the bed, resigned to my fate of failure.

“Aww, Arnie, don’t be so sore. You can do this,” Jeremy said.

“I can’t. Every time I try to recite all the words, it’s like my mouth sprouts another tongue, and they get all twisted up on each other.”

“If that’s the case, you’ve probably sprouted more than just two!” He grinned.

I sighed and threw myself back on the bed, staring at the patterns in the popcorn spackling on the ceiling. “Thanks a lot. Not helping.

Maybe I can get a miraculous case of laryngitis, and they’ll have to excuse me.”

“Not likely, Aunt Eileen knows when you’re full of shit. She can smell it like Uncle John’s pig can sniff out those awful truffles that look a whole lot like shit.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “You’re right. Mom always knows when I’m trying to fake illness.”

We were both quiet for a moment, and then Jeremy bounced up like a hot coal under his bum had suddenly lit fire, and he snapped his fingers.

“You wait right here. I’ll be back.”

“Uh, okay.”

We only lived a block from one another. He’d run home and back and, within 20 minutes, returned holding up a fancy-looking ballpoint pen.

“A pen?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s special, though—all the way from Ireland. Grandpa Jackie sent it to me for my 14th birthday. It’s lucky! Okay, you know, I really didn’t want to let you in on my secret, but you’re family. I gotta help you. It’s my obligation and duty as an O’Leary. The reason I can pass all my tests without studying much, is this pen. Ever since I got it, I use this on all my tests. I pass with flying colors! It’s lucky!”

I plucked the pen from his finger, dubious about his claims.

“That seems unlikely, Jeremy.”

“Arnold, just try it. Close your eyes, and I’ll impart some of my luck into this pen, which’ll make it super, extra, lucky!”

“That’s bullocks, Jer. No way, that’ll work.”

“What’ya have to lose, though?”

Jeremy was rarely so serious. More often than not, I found myself on the butt end of his practical jokes, but there was usually this glint of mischief in his eyes when he was scheming. I searched his face long and hard before I relented. “Okay, I guess you’re right. Nothing to lose.”

“Alright, Arnold, that’s my boy.” He clapped me on the back amicably. “Now, close your eyes,” and let me impart some of my golden magic to you and this here pen.”

I felt pretty stupid, but I followed through, still half expecting him to goose me good when I least expected it. However, he did nothing of the sort.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

I did, and he held the pen out to me as if gracing me with a rare and sacred artifact. I picked up the pen. It was heavier than I would have thought. It was one of those fancy pens you’d see businessmen or bankers using.

It probably cost more than both our allowances for an entire month combined!

I held it and then realized there was something different about this pen. I couldn’t explain it, but something definitely felt different!

I think Jeremy must have noticed and said, “Alright, go on. Recite your report. Watch how well you do this time.” Jeremy was so confident in the power of the magic pen that I got caught up in his total faith and conviction as well.

I began to recite my report like a politician at the top of the polls. I couldn’t believe it! Jeremy was right! This pen was magic!

That Monday, I aced my exam with flying colors. I was astounded. I didn’t believe in such superstitions, but maybe there was something to this Irish luck thing. Or perhaps Jeremy had imparted some of his superpowers into the pen.

Given that I had all the luck of a one-legged black cat that just broke a mirror whilst walking under a ladder, it was probably more likely that it was Jeremy’s luck, our ancestral luck, and Grandpa Jackie’s luck combined!

After class, I was reticent to hand the pen back to my cousin, but it was his birthday gift on loan. I withdrew it from my top shirt pocket and gestured to give it back to Jeremy.

I was shocked when he responded, “Nah, keep it. You need it more than I do. I got loads of other good luck charms.”

“You do?” I marveled.

“Yeah, my blue lucky rabbit’s foot, my pressed four-leaf clover, my Mickey Mantle baseball card, just to name a few.”

“But isn’t this one specific to your academic luck?”

“Nope. It’s all swell, Arnie. Keep it.”

“Gee, thanks!”

The rest of that year, I was unstoppable. I got better grades than I’d ever had in my entire academic years. I even beat out Jeremy’s marks a few times, which was unheard of. I was absolutely convinced that the pen possessed the Luck O’ the Irish, and I was its fortunate benefactor!

End of Freshman year, and I found myself with another public speaking ordeal. However, this time, it was a mock debate in our US Government class. We had to simulate politicians answering questions. We had to pick a past president, study them, and then respond to the question in a manner that we felt the deceased president would have answered.

This was a more challenging assignment because it required impromptu answers. We didn’t know what the questions would be. I wasn’t very good at public speaking, much less an improvised exam.

“Don’t worry, man. You still got the lucky pen. It hasn’t failed you yet.”

“Yeah, of course, you’re right,” I said to Jeremy. I was still a little on edge, but everything should be fine.

That night, I stayed up late studying every book I had on President Hoover. I’d already been reviewing all the content for weeks, but just in case…

The morning arrived, and I took extra care to ensure I had everything before leaving my bedroom.

At school, I sat impatiently, waiting for Wanda to finish up. I was next.

I patted my left breast pocket for my reading glasses. I checked my cards again. I slipped my hand into my pants pocket and…

“Wait, where was my lucky pen?”

“Pst, Jer!”

“What?”

“Did I give you my lucky—”

“Mr. O’Leary, do you have something you’d like to share with all of us? Something so important that you can’t pay Wanda the respect she deserves during her presentation time?”

“No, Ma’am. Sorry Mrs. Tomby.”

The second our teacher looked away, I frantically pantomimed a writing pen and furrowed my brow, mouthing the words, ‘Do you have my lucky pen?’ to Jeremy.

He shrugged and shook his head, ‘no.’

I was starting to panic. Sure, I’d prepared, but all that would be a moot point if I didn’t find the pen, and fast!

I looked over at Jeremy again, wanting him to do something, but he kept his eyes fixed on Wanda as she finished her last inquiry.

It suddenly hit me. I was sure Jeremy had been stringing me along, and he’d probably stolen the pen back. This was just like him to pull such shenanigans. The more I thought about it, I was sure I’d put the pen in my front pocket. Now, it was gone. I tried to think back to when he might have pick-pocketed it. It had to be during lunch when we were in the cafeteria line! He’d bumped into me under the guise that Steven had shoved him. But I didn’t actually see Steven do that!

Jeremy, you spiteful weasel. Of course, he stole it!

He wouldn’t even look at me now!

I was fuming! I decided right then, and there, I had to ace this exam. I had to.

Pen, or no pen, I had to prove Jeremy was the biggest dick on the planet and that he couldn’t outsmart or best me.

“Arnold O’Leary, please take your place at the podium and collect yourself.”

“Yes, Mrs. Tomby.”

I stood up, squared my shoulders, and walked right by Jeremy’s desk without so much as a glance. I’d show him!

The first few questions were a little rough, but after that, I loosened up. I answered every question as smoothly as water rolling off a duck’s back. When I finished, our teacher was actually smiling!

Well, maybe it was smirking. I was pretty sure that a crack in her stone facade she called a face wasn’t capable of an actual ‘happy’ expression, but it was probably the closest thing to a smile she could manage. I’d take it.

I could see from the corner of my eye that Jeremy was also smiling, but I didn’t give him the time of day. I won! I bested him.

Considering that was a rare occasion, I was going to savor my moment to the fullest.

That was our last class of the day, and I waited as we walked home.

I would keep my mouth shut because I knew Jeremy would crack under pressure. He wouldn’t be able to stand it for too long. To be fair, we only lived two blocks from our school, so it was a short walk.

To my surprise, he didn’t say a word. We arrived at his house first, and he slugged me on the shoulder.

“Hey, congrats. You’re acting weird. You okay?”

He sounded so sincere I was momentarily speechless. I grappled with my thoughts, wondering whether to call him out right then and there or run with his ruse a little longer. No, I was still certain he was yanking my chain, and I couldn’t take it anymore!

“Ah-ha! I yelled.”

Jeremy actually startled. “What the hell, man? What is your problem!”

“You—you,” I stuttered, “you stole the pen and set me up for humiliation, but I passed that exam with flying colors! So who’s the loser this time?”

Jeremy actually looked shocked. He held up his hand in the Boy Scout hand gesture. “Scouts honor. I swear I didn’t steal the pen. You must have lost it.”

This was odd. At this point, the gig would have been up. Was he being sincere?

“You had to have left it at home, Arnie. I’m sure you’ll get home and find it on your desk.”

“No! No! I made absolutely, positively sure that I put it in my pocket.”

“Which pocket?”

“This one.”

“You sure? Did you check all your pockets?” Jeremy said skeptically.

I patted myself all over and was about to say, ‘no,’ when son of a bitch, I realized—

No!

There was the thick form of a pen nestled in my back pocket. I pulled it out, frantically wracking my brain, trying to remember when Jeremy would have slipped it back in. But why? Why would he steal it and then put it back? Maybe I forgot that I put it there.

Then, it all came back to me. I’d put it in my shirt pocket, but when I bent down to feed the cat that morning, it had slipped out. I didn’t want that to happen again, so I slipped it into my back pocket. I’d been running late and rushed out of the house. The rest of the day had been so crazy with exams that I kept thinking it was in my top left shirt pocket.

Oh boy…

I felt foolish. I was so sure. I completely assumed, and I assumed wrong. I looked up at Jeremy, who was smirking. It was like he could read the entire story of my thoughts and had already figured out my plight.

“It’s okay, man, you had the lucky pen. It helped you pass, and all it right in the world.”

He strutted off with a swagger like he’d just bested me at my own game.

*****

I looked down at my 8-year-old grandson, hanging onto every word of my story.

So you see, Chase, the moral of this story lies in the word 'assume.'

When you ‘ass-sume’ anything, you’ll very likely make a complete ass of yourself!

Learn from your Poppa’s past mistakes, and you’ll be just shiny!

***

If you enjoyed this story, and want to read Episode One of The Adventures of A&J:

https://www.maryblackrose.com/ep1-adventures-of-aj/