I’ve just gotten over the chills from my uninvited intruder some thirty-one hours ago. I tried to write about him last night but was still a bit overwhelmed by his presence. I’ve noticed myself looking under couches, the television stand, beds, anything not flush to the ground for a mate or an offspring of my spiraling visitor. I keep looking to where his carcass lies to make sure he has not been reincarnated.
Bright and early this morning, I received another unexpected transient. She delivered a beautiful fruit basket from my church family. It was sent in sympathy for the loss of a family member. This visitor was not unwelcomed and she was not slithering. She apologized for waking me up. I wanted to tell her that the dreams of being in an ancient Indian serpent cult awakened me hours before her arrival.
Mid-morning I had yet another unwanted guest, in the form of the little boy who rings my doorbell almost every day to ask my boys to come outside. I told him the same thing I told him yesterday, “They aren’t here. They’ll be back next weekend.” I wanted to hold up my fingers and ask him to count with me one, two…seven days. Usually he shrugs and rides away but today he asked “Do they still live with you.” Through laughter I began to explain to the eight year old on the blue bike that they were visiting their father while they were tracked out (we are year round school attendees). I’m certain we have had this conversation once, twice…a hundred times before.
Minutes after Curious George rides off, the boys are returned to me. Early. This makes my fourth unplanned “visit” in two days. I’m sure that George will see them unloading from the car and will think me a liar. For whatever reason, I am worried about what he thinks of his friend’s mother. Probably more of what his parents think of his friend’s mother.
A snake. A courier. A chimpanzee. My kids.
I should have gone out-of-town for the weekend. Definitely.