A Little Rendezvous

Effervescent. Eff-er-vesent. Effervescent. Rendezvous. Ren-dez-vous. Rendezvous.

I can’t pronounce them. I can’t spell them. I can’t stand them. Just look at them. All bougie with their mix of similar sounding phonetic consonants, full words, and my personal favorite, the tacky gem of them all, “hidden letters.” Get real.

Let’s take Effervescent. First, just look at it. It’s got a couple “f’s” which sound similar to “v” and then the entire word “scent” at the end. Yet the definition ain’t got one damn thing to do with coins or odor.

And Rendezvous. Give me a break. For starters, I’ve never met a Ron who spells his name with an e. Then, the luxurious z solely aimed to employ English tutors and red pencil manufacturing companies. And, of course, it has to have the pompous French, cherry on top, vous.

Both words should be used merely for conversation purposes. Reserved for social occasions where men must wear tuxedos and women smoke cigarettes from long ivy holders.

I lost a good friend a few years back. It was tough. Recently, I was sharing a story about him with another friend when she asked, “do you ever feel him?”

I thought for a second.

“Ya know, I think I do.” I told her.

“When do you feel him?”

“This might sound a little strange, but I sorta think he’s Mud.”

“I was just about to ask if you feel him coming through your dogs!”

“Is that crazy!? They just both have so many of the same characteristics. Mud even likes Sour Skittles!”

“That’s not crazy at all! I’m positive it’s him.” She said.

“Really? I mean, how can you know for sure?”

“I just think anytime we feel their presence, especially if it’s a loved one or someone close to us we’ve lost, it’s for sure them. It’s like a little rendezvous.”

“Shut up!” I exclaimed.

“What!?”

“You did not just say rendezvous?”

“Yea. It’s like a little rendezvous? What’s wrong with rendezvous?”

“So many things! Have you ever met a Ron who spells his name with an e…?”

“What?”

“Nothing… Nothing. That’s for another day. It’s just so weird you said that. He used to mess with me all the time with that damn word. He knew I was super dyslexic and loved to remind me. And one night, we went downtown to throw a few back and were trying to decide where to go. And I looked up and pointed to this place and said, ‘let’s go to Rin-div-er-us. He said, “What the hell is Rin-div-er-us?” I said, “That bar right there.” He said, “Dude. OJ. You mean Rendezvous.’ I swear, we laughed so hard we cried.”

After the rendezvous pronunciation mishap, I found myself practicing words. Words like minuscule or resent. They sound simple. We use them all the time. But dadgum if an ole’ dyslexic like me still doesn’t find himself at a standstill of a good read anytime they pop up in a sentence. Where is the clever little hidden c in resent, or what happened to the e or the a from menu.

I don’t mean to get all fired up again. I’m just saying. I think ole’ Webster might’ve been a little heavy on the sauce, is all.

And one more thing, while we’re in the midst of an inclusivity trend, I think it’s about time for a dyslexic dictionary. Okay. I digress.

I have a million stories about William. I look forward to telling you more. But I’ll let Mud be the judge on which ones to share.

It’s funny, for a while, I thought they’d be too tough to tackle, and maybe for some of them, that’ll be true. But for others, there seems to be this, how would you say, “Heeling” effect.

I never got the chance to grace Williams' ears with, effervescent. And to this day, it drives me nuts. I practiced and practiced. Waiting for the perfect timing and placement. I even had the definition – all definitions – memorized.

If I forced it, he’d nail me on it. He could smell my fraudulent vocabulary like Mud on an armadillo. The man just had a nose for that sorta thing.

Sometimes, the words we don’t say have a stronger meaning than the words do. The empty space allows for the definitions of complex words to speak for themselves. A word is useless without a definition. Makes no real difference how it’s pronounced.

William was vivacious. William was enthusiastic. William was effervescent. William is Mud. So, for the foreseeable future, or as long as Mud’s around, I guess we’re having ourselves a little rin-div-er-us.

I miss ya, Willy. Hope to see you again someday.

Definitions

Effervescent

Dyslexic definition: A scent that stays forever, or something like that.

Vivacious and enthusiastic.

The fuzz in a fizzy drink.

If you, or anyone you know, is struggling to find the words needed to ask for help, please know you are not alone. Suicide is something that deserves much more attention, especially in an era where it seems we’re all expected to be perfect. It is our imperfections that make us human. There is no wrong way to feel. Your story matters, and it deserves to be heard.

Dirt and Mud would surely love to hear from you.

We all hurt the same.

Dirt & Mud

988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.