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Jeff Raiola is my cousin on my mother's side once removed... or something. When I was little I didn't so much understand that he was kin as much as I knew he was cool to play with. He liked a lot of the toys I liked. He taught me stuff about school and girls and life. He was and still is my original definition of cool.
My favorite story to tell about Jeff involves a hot tub and an iguana.
Growing up in Florida, most of my friends had a pool in their backyard. I did too. I remember it being dug; I remember walking in it after the concrete was poured but before it was filled. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon to six year old me. But not many people owned a hot tub. I suppose in Florida, really, what's the point? You wanna be hot? Step outside. 102 in the shade, son. So what point did anyone have for a hot tub or Jacuzzi or anything like that. There were kids in school I knew vaguely who had things like that at their houses. But that seemed part of the ultra-wealthy lifestyle.
But Jeff wasn't ultra-wealthy. In fact, part of what always impressed me about him was how content he was with what he had. I don't want to make him sound poor, because I don't think he was. But whenever we got together (he only liked like 30, 40 minutes from my house) I remember talking about what I didn't have and he would just comment about the toys he liked and how much he enjoyed them. I learned this lesson fast: don't get whiny. People will something else to do and somewhere else to be, fast.
Of those things Jeff counted as his was this hot tub, right out back of his house. It was fantastic because unlike a pool, this thing had bubble jets! Oh now! See, swimming in a pool was calm, relaxing, individual. Hot tubs are, by design, party machines. The water is calm, probably air temperature. Then: vroom! The jets. Suddenly you couldn't see the floor, you couldn't see your feet; hell, you couldn't see your waist. Hot tubs were great playgrounds for kids with an imagination.
Once, when I was visiting, Jeff taught me a great trick. He took a great gulp of air and went under the bubbles. I followed and watched as he lined up on one of the jets. He pursed his lips, exhaled through his nose and... I couldn't tell. He was just hanging there. Like he was kissing the side of the tub. I got a little uncomfortable, honestly. But before I could decide to surface for air I saw him exhale again. Wait... he had more air in his lungs? I watched. My own lungs were beginning to scream but I held myself down. Sure enough, moments later, another breath exhaled. Ok, what kind of demon trick was this? I tapped his foot and popped up.
"How-" I started.
Jeff was shaking water out of his ear. "What do you think the jets shoot out, dummy?"
It wasn't that I hadn't thought of the air they blasted. I just never thought to breathe the stuff. "But," I remember asking, "is it safe? Isn't it like chemical or toxic or something?"
"Nope," he replied. "Try it."
I thought about the posture he had adopted and sank down. I lined up on a jet, exhaled, lined up my mouth and... received a huge gush of water into my lungs. I surfaced, coughed like an chain smoker, and shook my head. Jeff was sympathetic though. He showed me the shape his twisted his mouth into. I tried again.
I don't remember how long it took I just remember once I figured it out, it was AWESOME. We just sat down there. Breathing. For a long time. After one long bout we surfaced and I felt a little light headed but it was just too much fun. We shouted for an adult to come out. "Let's show them," we said. And before the adult (who was it? his grandmother? someone else? can't remember) could open the door to come out, we slide under the roiling bubbly surface.
We sank to the bottom and breathed the air bubbles.
As a parent today, I understand why after several long panicky minutes the adult reached under the water and yanked us both up. They were frantic, an angry. I couldn't understand it then. This is cool! Didn't we impress you?
That wasn't the moment that solidified Jeff's coolness for me. But it was definitely on the spectrum.
The last time I ever saw that hot tub I was a teenager but just barely. 13, 14? I remember putting on my suit and heading to the sliding door our back. "Hot tub!" I yelled. But Jeff wasn't with me. I yelled again for him. "You coming?"
From down a hallway, he replied "no, but say hi to Bubba." I stopped short. Bubba? He had another friend over? A relative? Were there really people in this world named Bubba?
I opened the latch to the screened in porch containing the hot tub and stopped. The whole thing was... like overgrown. There were plants on the ledges and around the hot tub. It was like it got an extreme makeover and someone went with the Amazon Rainforest theme. Before I could close the door, I saw why.
I met Bubba.
Bubba was a four foot iguana who conveniently lived in the hot tub. Like full time. He slithered out of the water and took two steps toward me. I suspect my screams were girlish but I also suspect I didn't care. When I ran back in the house, Jeff was smiling. "He's not bad. He's just Bubba."
I've never been in a hot tub since. I don't chalk that up to fear or iguanas; I think it's because the only hot tub that feels right is the one with a smiling, cool-ass cousin.
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