I was walking through a ruralish neighborhood with my friend Duane. The houses were all lower middle class one story homes with car ports instead of garages, many of the lawns were brown and filled with weeds. Most of the houses had junk and old cars piled on the front and side yards. It was the very type of neighborhood that made up most of the ruralish city where I grew up. It was the kind of neighborhood that made MY middle-class neighborhood seem totally UPPER-class even though half our neighborhood, including my family, were on some kind of Mormon Church welfare and the heads of the families had jobs as welders, janitors, truck drivers, avon ladies and such. This neighborhood was obviously filled with people who just missed the mark, the kind who just couldn't find success because they had no idea where to look.
The sun was low in the sky and the light was a gray green and there was a cool breeze blowing just hard enough to evaporate the sweat caused by our fast pace. It made the air feel like a cool drink of water.
In front of this one particular house there was a vintage Kushmann type police scooter probably used by some haggered traffic enforcement cop way back in the late sixties. I could tell that whoever owned it wasn't appreciating it like I would have appreciated it and I thought about approaching and making an offer. It looked as if the house was empty, no lights were on, the car port was empty revealing a rather large oil stain on the cracked cement where it would have been parked. I felt comfortable enough in their absence to approach this scooter thing for closer inspection. It was really a fascinating piece of machinery with lots of cool little details like chrome knobs and fancy levers and such. I got in it and attempted to start it with the key that was left in the ignition but there was nothing there. Completely dead. There were brown cob webs and gray spider webs all over it as if it had been parked in that same spot for many many years. This is the way my brain starts to think when I am about ready to rationalize my way into stealing something.
"I'll bet it would be years before these people even noticed this thing was gone if we took it" I said to my friend Duane who was on the other side of the yard snooping through a pile of other junk.
"No kidding, they don't deserve to have such a cool thing if all they are gonna do is let it sink in the mud."
"For all we know, nobody even lives here. The place looks all junky and abandoned to me. How would we get it back to my place?"
"Does it roll?"
I put the gear in neutral and with a little push I was rolling down the driveway and bumping out into the street. My adrenaline started pumping because at this point if someone noticed me they would obviously think that I was stealing it. I put on the brakes and pulled it back into the driveway. Although I was really trying to talk myself into the crime, I still felt pangs of guilt realizing inside that the person who would hold on to such a vehicle would probably be someone with whom I would get along, especially since a lot of the other junk scattered about was stuff that I would pile in my own yard waiting for the never coming day in which I'd hose it off and make it beautiful again.
I noticed a neighbor watching and I became nervous. If I left just now I'd surely be giving myself away as a thwarted thief, Instead I decided to take a wrench out of my pocket and I began to disassemble the scooter thinking that it would make me look like I was a mechanic friend of the owner or something. The thing came apart very easily and all the various inoperable parts were revealed. I thought to myself," well shit, it'd take me about an hour to fix this thing, I know how to put it back together and now that I have taken it apart surely it would be of less value to the owner."
"Do you think I should just box it up and take it?" I asked Duane.
"Totally dude -- totally, these people will never miss it and you'd be doing the neighbors a favor."
"Yeah, but -- maybe I should check to see if anyone is home first, I mean, the dude would probably take like 20 bucks for it now that its all taken apart like this."
I looked at my greasy hands and knowing that they would give me away as the culprit, I wiped them down on the dry grass and used dirt and sand to scrape off the remaining blackness.
I approached the carport and began clapping my hands to call attention to anyone who may have been in the deserted looking house:
"Hello! Anyone home? Hello?"
I heard some rustling from within -- someone was coming to the door. What was I thinking taking apart somebody's vintage traffic scooter in front of their own house while they were inside? I must have been an idiot. My body began to buzz with nervousness.
A small messy haired boy not more than 4 years old came to the screen door.
"Hi, is your dad or mom home?"
"Hey everybody, we have visitors in the front yard!" The boy yelled back into the house.
One after another, children of obviously the same blonde, blue eyed genetic stock piled out of the house with big smiles and grins across their dirty faces completely happy to see their new guests. The four year old, beaming with excitement began climbing me like he was a monkey and I was his favorite tree.
"Where are you guys from? Do you know my dad? Are you our cousins?" The questions came at a million miles an hour.
I didn't feel quite comfortable breaking the news that in fact, no, we were just a couple of dudes who were just about ready to steal some shit from you.
"Well we're certainly friends now." I said, much to the delight of the ten or so kids that had encircled us with smiles ten inches wide. "Where is that crazy dad of yours?"
"DAAAAAAAAAAAD COME OUT HERE YOUR FRIEND IS HEEEEEERE!!!" The pre-teen girl yelled back into the house as if to tell him he was missing out on all the fun.
"I'll be right there." A friendly voice yelled from way back in the house.
A few seconds later, a middle-aged, handsome gray haired man came to the door with the same smile that was permanently plastered across the faces of all his ten or so kids. His eyes were the kind that held no mistrust, agenda or pretense, the kind that completely engaged you and you knew you had his full attention. He was shortly thereafter joined by a cheery wife.
"Well how are ya neighbor?" The man said to me extending his hand for a handshake. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?
He sounded so friendly and familiar that I was suddenly scanning my brain for any indication that I had already met him some other place and some other time. I wasn't coming up with anything.
"I'm the dad, this is the beautiful mom and these are our great kids what are your names?"
"I'm Merkley and this is my friend Duane."
"Say hi to Merkley and Duane kids"
"Hi Merkley and Duane." They all said in one singular voice followed by laughter and a bit of jumping up and down by the younger ones. They certainly do like company.
"What can we do for you?" The dad asked.
"Well Duane and I were just strolling through your lovely neighborhood, checkin out how the better half lives and we couldn't help but notice the great collection of stuff you have collected here in your yard and we were both particularly interested in that old traffic scooter sitting over there in a pile and we thought we might ask you if you'd be interested in parting with it." I said as I began feeling very guilty for having taken it all apart.
"Boy oh boy, that scooter -- I should really put that thing back together again and get her runnin. I don't know what I was thinking taking it apart and just leaving it layin around like that, I oughtta be ashamed of myself. She's a beauty to ride. The kids love it. -- Say, you guys hungry? We're just about to eat dinner and we'd be honored if you'd join us and we can talk about the possibilities of that there scoot --- by the way, WE WON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!" He insisted as he smiled and pulled my arm towards the house.
"Well it looks as if we have no choice" I said to Duane as we both entered the house with our new friends.
Entering the house was quite surreal, even though the outside facade was nothing more than a common tract house, the inside was a gigantic maze of hallways and corridors all fashioned quite artistically, with every square inch adorned with the tiny details only an eccentric or team of eccentrics could muster. Although none of it was done in an aesthetic that really appealed to me immediately, the fact that I was in the presence of a person or people who gave a shit about having a unique environment in which to live and sleep was quite exciting for me. Plus -- holy shit were they ever nice.
Dinner was fabulous, lots of good old fashioned unpretentious food, the kids all told stories about what they did that day, the parents were completely attentive and not even the slightest bit condescending when talking to them. Any idea or opinion given by one of the children was treated with more respect and thoughtfulness than was given to any adult I had ever seen.
There is a small chance that I was sitting amongst the most functional family that ever existed.
Duane and I kept exchanging bewildered glances with each other and at one point it struck me that this family was actually a lot like Duane's family. It made me a little sad for a second when I remembered that just hours earlier I was yelling my fucking head off using every vulgarity and obscenity I could muster to drive into my mother's ultra-Mormon brain that I was in fact the Satan her church told her that I am. Oh how lovely it would have been to have a functional family like this.
Just then, I looked at my hands and I noticed that they were still black with grease, I thought I had washed it off. I obviously didn't do a good job. I quickly put them in my pockets. Worse though was that I looked at the dad's hands and I noticed that the one I had shaken earlier was smudged with black grease as well.
After dinner we were taken on a tour of the place. There was hallway after hallway with sculpted walls, interesting stairways, sliding poles and indoor hills to climb. No passage was treated as an ordinary passage, everywhere you stepped had a game to it, a way of traversing that was completely uncommon. Why have stairs when you could have rocks to climb or a slide or a basket on a pulley? Why have square walls when you could have tubes or twisting cave like dealies? It was like a giant fun-house with the operative word clearly being FUN. No wonder this family was smiling the whole time. It was also clear that the evolution of the house was a group effort as every room had a different theme and although it was never really mentioned, it was clear that the kids were involved with the ideas and it was also clear whose idea was whose because the guilty party would be standing there beaming with pride as the tour lead us through their particular "neck of the woods".
The whole thing was absolutely brilliant. In my mind I just kept thinking that I had finally found a family operating in a completely functional and ideallistic fashion. All voices were heard. All ideas were given credence and room to flourish. No ideas were rejected out of hand. When an idea was expressed in this house, there was an attitude to see it though, everyone acted as supporting cast for individual ideas. Sure, the place wasn't at all like an interior decorators prize winner, but it was much much more than that -- it was a place where ideas were respected not rejected.
And here I was as an insincere guest invited in on false pretense having nearly stolen from this wonderful family. My shame was only overshadowed by the fact that if anyone would be capable of forgiveness it would be this family.
After the 2 hour tour, (I'm telling you, this place went on and on and on, never once boring and always completely interesting) Duane and I were ready to say our goodbyes and leave them be.
"OH LOOK AT THE CLOCK!" The dad yelled with a great sense of excitement in his voice "What time is it?"
"It's SLEEP OVER TIME!!" The kids all yelled in one voice.
"It's too late for you guys to walk home, besides it's raining and we ordered too much food for breakfast in the morning so it looks like you two are gonna have to sleep over." The mom said.
The room got really quiet as everyone awaited our response. I looked at Duane, he looked at me.
"Well twist our arms, we can't ignore the clock, I mean RULES ARE RULES!" I said.
The kids all erupted in applause and the dad showed Duane and me to our respective rooms. Duane's was right by the kitchen. I got taken down a series of hallways way to the back of the house to probably the most normal looking of all the rooms, as if it was a room that had yet to be decorated or transformed by any of the family members crazy ideas.
Suddenly I got a little paranoid, maybe I got this room because they had seen me taking apart the scooter. Maybe this was his way of telling me.
I got in bed, the blankets were warm and the mattress was very comfortable and I quickly drifted off to sleep. I had lots of pleasant dreams about comfortable stuff like big huge chairs and giant fluffy birds, everything was soft and warm. Despite my guilt about the butchering of the scooter outside, it was one of the nicest nights sleep I can recall ever having.
I was awakened by the morning light in my eyes. As I opened them, right there one foot in front of my face was the smiliest morning face I had ever seen. It was their two year old daughter and she was laying down beside me smiling the biggest morning smile ever, an absolute angelic sight for sure. She had that baby head smell mixed with that baby food smell of sweet oatmeal. It was one of the nicest ways to wake up that I could Imagine.
But then I had a thought that I wish I never had to have. I thought, "why the fuck are these people thinking putting their little baby in a bed with a full grown man who is basically a stranger? Are these people crazy? Have they never heard of Michael Jackson?" And then my thoughts got worse, I started thinking, "What if they are trying to set me up? I mean, this just doesn't look good, who would look at a photograph of this situation and not have gutterish thoughts? Why do we even have to think of things like this?"
Right then the baby reached out and grabbed my beard, still grinning her huge grin. Although completely cute and endearing, I pulled back, but feeling really stupid about it.
"There is nothing wrong with a baby grabbing your beard Merkley -- It's the world that's fucked up, not this baby grinning at you in the morning light. This is the way life should be Merkley, happy people, waking up smiling, not worried people waking up fearful about how things appear, this is what this house is teaching you Merkley, relax." I thought as I tried to expel the outside world's negative, moment destroying influence.
Just then the door knob jiggled and again I thought, "maybe I should act like I was asleep, I don't want things to look weird" -- but then I thought, "Fuck that -- fuck that, there is a baby playing with my beard, that's an awesome thing." Then for one second I had complete and utter rage at the world for stealing a beautiful moment from me and the face that came into my head was Montell Williams, he was the face of the world that turned every beautiful moment into something salacious and disgusting. Fuck Montell Williams.
"Hey lil' pumpkin bumps" the mom said as she picked up her beaming child, "did you guys sleep well?"
"Wow, I had the best sleep of my life and to wake up to that face smiling at me, well I just can't say how lovely that was." I said.
"Sorry if it was an inconvenience to sleep the baby's room"
"No no, not at all, I didn't even notice til I woke up to her smiling face..."
"It's just that we feel like sleeping is a really important time to feel good and that a lot of our good feelings and attitudes come from our sleeping experiences and we just think you are such a nice guy we thought maybe some of your personality and creativity would float in the air and keep our baby feeling happy, we wanted your energy to permeate her new room."
This sounded so hippy to me, but I'll be honest, I could feel myself beginning to cry, my eyes were all watery, my throat was all choked up, my chest felt all tight and weepy, I didn't want her to see me cry. But I couldn't help it, it was one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me and the person saying it to me was one of the most angelic creatures I had ever seen. My lip was quivering and I just couldn't hold back.
"Awe honey, you're so sweet, and this is exactly why we put you back here with our baby." she said as she sat down beside me and hugged me."
Look , call me a faggot, I don't care, I let loose and bawled like a fucking baby for a minute or more. I pulled myself together, and we both began laughing at what a baby I was. The actual baby laughed hardest.
We went into the kitchen and ate breakfast. It was just as lovely as the dinner the night before. Duane and I knew it was time to leave, although I could have just as easily moved in there, I looked at my watch and said:
"Well, this was easily some of the most edifying and enlightening 15 hours of my life and I really thank you for everything, but we better be going."
We exchanged numbers and pleasantries as we slowly made our 10 minute journey to the front door. Nobody wanted it to end.
"About that scooter" the dad said.
"I was thinking about that, I think I could get that thing running in no time flat" I said.
"No, you don't need...."
"I insist."
I went outside, Put the scooter together, fixed it, started it up and gave him the helmet.
"Why don't you take the scooter." he said. "You'll enjoy it more than we will."
"Absolutely NOT, these kids should be riding this thing." I said as I looked into his eyes. "It stays here. I'll ride it when I come back."
I could see in his eyes that he knew I was the one who took it apart and tried to steal it. I looked at him right back as if to confess. Nothing else was said, we gave each other a strong gentleman's handshake and I got his hand all black with grease.
"Oops" I said.
He just laughed and slapped me on the back leaving a big black print of his hand in my grease on my bright yellow suit.
As I walked home I felt like I had finally found the secret to the success I had been looking for for all these years. Turns out, *I* just didn't know where to look.
1 comment:
very sweet. you are the poopiest, shmoopee EVER!
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