We all know what it’s like, to be parents. Clean up someone else’s mess, wipe a geriatric’s ass, change the sheets, walk the dog, watch the dog, feed the dog, vet the dog, bury the dog. None of that’s on my list of priorities, unlike making my children happy, who want their cousins, all seven of them, to spend the day swimming in our pond.
Times were tough. We made the best of sour lives. We swam, we collected cans, we bought ice cream. Being a father comes with an instruction manual, but my Sears catalog forgot to send it. The kids get done swimming, go collect their cans and sell ‘em at the Five & Dime and come back commanding I take them to Tastee Freeze. Cousin Four had a friend with her, a boy, fifteen I guessed. My car seats five, comfortably, so Mr. Fifteen had to ride hatchback. He dutifully hopped in and I closed it on him. He was comfortable. It was an open-air car plan. Plenty of real estate to stretch, no seat belt.
We took Fifth to Spring before we hit Main Street. A truck wanted my spot, and took it. The adverse maneuvering forced a sideswipe turn-off on Chestnut. The kids were screaming and crying and my greatest desire was to put my foot up the gorilla’s ass who pulled out his traffic rage and upset my litter.
I tried to calm them once stopped but they kept yelling unintelligible things at me. It mattered not what they were saying, less than what I was seeing. The hatchback was fully open, and Mr. Fifteen had vanished.
Take a moment to collect yourself. This almost always looks worse at first glance. It was. Fifteen was still on Main Street, portions of him trapped under 18 wheels of commercial death coupled with a side of existential dread. The brakes locked up on the rig, the trailer jackknifed after I was off the road, not knowing I had ejected Fifteen, leaving him in its path.
Things are almost never as bad as they seem, unless they’re infinitely worse. I put Fifteen in the hatchback like a spare dog you drag to the pound. All Fifteen wanted was to impress C4’s uncle. He had a crush.
You should hate me like C4 and Fifteen. I know I do.
Hate me! Just, hate me.