Home for holidays, I think
Jackson has been home on his Christmas break from college for two weeks now. His parents are over the moon about it — you’d almost think they had seen him.
“We know he’s here,” beamed Millie, “There are dirty clothes are all over his bathroom and bedroom, and the kitchen looks like we had one of those bear attacks you see on TV. Certainly, a stranger wouldn’t sneak into our house and throw ugly, smelly clothes on our floor, would they? It has to be Jack. It’s so good to have him back home.”
Yes, what a pleasure that must be. It was hard to contain my enthusiasm. Although more people have caught glimpses of Sasquatch than those who have seen Jack, there is mounting evidence that he is actually at home — or at least in town. Giant, muddy footprints trail across the living-room carpet. There are turkey bones and half-eaten remains strewn around the house, treasured possessions are randomly broken, missing or moved, seemingly without rhyme or reason. One car is missing, the other has its fender dragging from the back.
“Maybe you should report the car stolen,” I said. “And have security cameras installed in your kitchen. Channel 11 would pay a lot for real video of a bear ransacking your kitchen.”
“It wasn’t a bear,” said Dan, Jack’s father. “Bears don’t know how to use pop tops. Besides, we know he’s around — a lot of the girls he went to high school with that I haven’t heard from in six months are suddenly calling, leaving messages. What does ‘IM me’ mean? Of course I’m me.”
“His bed looks slept in — by several people,” Millie added. Then suddenly a shadow passed over her face. “I hope he’s not having group sex. Yet. He’s so immature about some things. I don’t want him to be hurt.”
“Yeah, I hear it’s painful.” I said. “I still don’t understand why you’re so sure it’s Jack eating your food, stealing your car and ransacking your house. Remember that scene at the Swanson’s last Christmas? Ed came down for breakfast and saw his son, Chuck, sleeping on the sofa, then Betty comes down for breakfast and sees Chuck sleeping on the sofa.
“Rough night,” she says to Ed. They laugh, remembering their own college years when the phone rings. It’s Chuck telling them he’s sorry he missed his flight and he’ll be home that afternoon. Then who is on the sofa?
Ed grabbed a broom and poked the snoring body with its handle until a groggy, startled student woke up?
“Who are you? Stop hitting me, I’m sleeping.”
“Who am I? I live here! This is my house! Who are you?” Ed yelled. Betty recognized the poor child before things got nasty, it was the Johnson kid, who grew up three houses down the street. An honor student. After Ed chased him home, he found Betty looking at the sofa.
“He had an accident. We’ve really got to start locking the door.”
“I remember,” said Millie, “I helped her pick out the new sofa. But we know it’s Jackson who’s here and not some stray lamb. We know he got off the plane because Kirstin Caldwell’s parents saw him at the airport when they picked her up. He was waiting for his roommate to come through the baggage claim.”
“His roommate flew in the baggage compartment?”
“Don’t turn your nose down. They say it’s better than coach. More legroom. And you never get bumped. Besides, he’s from some country that’s so poor, their president travels that way.”
“And they say you never learn anything useful in college.”
“No, they say you never learned anything useful in college; the rest of us learned a lot.”
Just then, there was a loud crash and the sound of swearing from upstairs. It sounded as if someone was hopping around on one foot. I heard a door slam shut. Millie and Dan smiled.
“Maybe we’ll see him for dinner,” she said.
Jim Mullen can be reached at [email protected].