Benny Jay: Sleeping With Billy

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 gonna share a room at the Hampton Inn with Caldow, my old pal the track coach. The high schools with the smaller enrollment are running on Friday and the schools with the bigger enrollment are running 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. But it really doesn't matter cause it's just off-the-charts. They got this kid Zack Riley -- remember the name -- a high jumper out of Herrin, Illinois. Which is somewhere south near -- I don't know -- Kentucky? The kid's killing the competition and I swear I don't see how he does it. He's a wispy thing, light as a feather. Jumps about seven feet. Can't really call it jumping. He just sorts of floats over the bar.

Anyway, 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 about a decade ago. So 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 that means Caldow's got the door bolted. And there's nothing we can do short of waking him up with a phone call. Don't think I'm not tempted. But I start feeling guilty about it cause I know how hard it is to fall asleep in the first place, much less after you've been awakened.

That's how I find myself blurry-eyed in the lobby, watching Middle America walk through the door. I'm thinking -- there's a lot of people up late in Bloomington, Illinois. Where's all action?

I start chatting with Precious, a shot-putter from Chicago. She'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.

"Why don't you just go to sleep now and get your clothes in the morning?" I ask.

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

We're just sitting in the lobby chatting about this and that when in 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. Tell you the truth, I'm envious. Oh, to be young and fall asleep in a heartbeat. I lie there thinking about stuff. Think about that kid Zack Riley. I wonder what it's like to fly through the air? I think about the Bulls -- what else? They play the Pacers tomorrow. Oops, make that later today. I notice it's light in the room. No wonder! Billy's laptop's glowing. Probably radiating me and him. I look at the time. Three o'clock. Damn! I think I'll go to the bathroom and read "A Passage to India." That ought to knock me out. Hell, don't even have to go the bathroom -- there's almost enough light to read it right here. What with Billy's freakin' computer glowing....

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?"

How can I possibly answer that question in a way that won't end in sarcasm?

"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. But, as I was just telling you, a good joke is like a good horse....