I am so tired. I can only sleep mere minutes at a time, keeping one eye open for the menace stalking the house. Nothing is safe. He'll rob us blind if he has a chance. My only defence is my cat-like reflexes and constant vigilance. I'm doomed. Cat-like reflexes aren't exactly my specialty; more like three-toed sloth-like reflexes, unless the cat is really sick or something.
Constant vigilance isn't exactly my strong suit either, although I have been working on that since the threat has become too great to ignore. I now know that any lapse in attention is fraught with peril for when leaden eyes droop too low, too long, BANG! There's goes our coffee maker.
The problem isn't that I live with kleptomaniacs or in the rough part of town. Calmar is so small, the closest we have to a “rough part of town” is the Senior's Knitting Club where they meet daily to share needles. No, the reason I must guard my possessions like the last human alive in a zombie movie, is that my son Matt is moving out of the house to go to college. Everything that isn't nailed down or chained to something solid is at risk of being packed off to Matt's dorm against its will.
“You're kidding, right?” I grunted when Matthew announced he was taking the stereo with him. “That was a gift from Uncle Gordon for all of us.”
“Well, I own a quarter of it and I'm taking my share. It would be a shame to break up the set,” he advised me matter-of-factly, although distractedly. His eyes furtively darted this way and that, looking for things to make his new digs more homey.
“I am going to need some money for essentials,” he went on, his gaze resting suspiciously long on our toaster-oven. “Mom said you'd help me out.”
“Your mother cannot dictate my actions,” I responded imperiously.
“Yeah, sure, Dad,” he snorted in derision. “Since when?”
How much influence Cupcake may or may not have was not something I felt confidant arguing at that moment. I decided to deflect.
“Never mind that, I gave you my debit card so you could get some “essentials” last week and what did you do? You bought a flippin' drink mixer! How essential is that? You see one in our kitchen? No! We don't even own one! How essential can it be?!”
“Man,” Matt cringed, “I hope the lectures in college won't be this shrill.”
“SHRILL?” I blurted out shrilly. “I'll show you shrill!”
“Look, I swear I bought a ton of strictly essential stuff,” Matt pointed out. “Mom bought the drink mixer to see if it would get a rise out of you. Shall I tell her it did or didn't?”
“Oh really? And did your mother say it's okay to rob us blind of our DVD collection?” I fixed him with a accusitory stare.
“Why do you care?” he shrugged. “You have a hard time sitting through a half hour TV show. I can't see you voluntarily watching any of the movies I've borrowed. Besides, lots of them are mine anyway; Christmas presents, birthday gifts, that sort of thing. How can we identify which ones are mine? Or does every DVD that ever entered the house belong to you? Makes getting them as gifts kind of hollow.”
Since I didn't have a good answer, I switched tactics.
“I'll want a full accounting of every item you're taking from the house,” I challenged.
“You can inventory it all you like while you help me lug it into my dorm,” he parried skillfully.
“Now I have to help you move?!?!” I gasped. “Back in my day, that's what we had buddies for!”
“Really, Dad, if I hear you use the words 'back in my day', I'm going to hurl,” Matt scowled. “That's all you talk about. This isn't back in your day. This is my day.”
“I don't mind you having your day but must it be on my dime? Hey! That looks like my shirt you're packing!”
“Hardly, Dad,” snickered Matt. “I can't see you wearing a Drive By Punch shirt. Or any rock band shirt for that matter.”
“I'd wear a Pink Floyd shirt,” I responded defensively.
“Ha! More like a shirt with “The Emeralds” on it!” he chortled breaking into a duh duh duh duh duh duh dut version of that scourge of every wedding; The Bird Dance. I blew my top.
“Listen, you ungrateful, disrespectful, sassy...” I sputtered in rage.
“Hold it! Hold it! Hold it! Jeez, Dad, why do you seem so angry about this?” Matt challenged.
“Angry? Angry?” I blustered ineffectually. “I'm... not... I'm... a little jealous. And... terribly proud. And sad. I'll... I'll miss you, Son.”
“I'll miss you too, Dad.” He held my gaze steadily, confidantly. “And I just want to say...”
“Yes, Son?”
“I asked Mom and she said I get the stereo.”
No comments:
Post a Comment