The Stardust Lounge_ Stories From a Boy's Adolescence - Deborah Digges [51]
Still, Jaws—its plot, characters, dialogue—becomes for us a code of ethics, words to live by, much as verses from the New Testament were my mother's.
As a child I would hear my mother call out to a beautiful spring day, “ ‘This is the day the Lord hath made. Let us be glad and rejoice in it.’ “
Our Jaws version is double-edged: “It's a beautiful day… the beaches are open …, “ which carries the multiple meaning of “Watch your back. This could be the day of a major shark attack.”
If as a child I attempted to twist the truth to turn it in my favor, my mother might have quoted, “Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free …”
When Stephen or Trevor offer diluted excuses, I might affect Hooper's disgust at the carnage of the first shark attack and the mayor's attempts to cover it up.
“Come off it,” I say. “ ‘This wasn't any boating accident
When the dishes are stacked high in the sink, the laundry piled up to mountainous proportions, when the boys are behind in their schoolwork, Buster is going through a cluster of seizures, my mother might revert to her favorite verse, Romans 8:28, a wonderful disclaimer: “For we know that all things work together for those who love God and who are called according to his purpose.”
The Jaws version also recognizes the magnitude of the daily: “We're going to need a bigger boat.”
Heading down the basement one evening to gather the boys’ clothes for the laundry, I see what looks like the apocalypse escaping from beneath the storage room door, open it to find the cats basking before a great light, basking in the warmth of several huge grow-lights, the shelves inside lined with thriving illegal weed.
My mother might be reduced to the belting out the words of the prophets from the dreaded Old Testament, “Get thee down, Moses, for thy people have corrupted themselves!”
Charles, drawn downstairs by cries, shakes his head as he rubs his hands toward the warmth.
“Hmm. Well, well, well.”
“ ‘Take a good look,’ “ I answer. “ ‘Those proportions are correct.’ “
“ ‘Like to get your name in the National Geographic.’ “
We stare into the brightness.
“Actually it's lovely” I say. “And green.”
“Just listen to the electric meter ticking.”
“Busted. They are busted … .”
“ ‘Chief,’ “ Charles says, beginning to clear the shelves, “ ‘put out the fire, will you?’ “
Dear Frank,
I'm so glad you'll be coming to dinner, but ever since I invited you, I've been worried sick. Maybe I haven't been entirely honest with you about the nature of this household, and thought to write to prepare you If you decide not to come, I understand.
You should be forewarned, especially since you'll be coming on a weeknight.
This is a wild household. Dogs sleep on beds no questions asked. The boys of en do their homework in my room—Steve at his word processor (his mouse Frederick in his pocket!), Trevor spread out on the floor, Buster and Rufus snoring as the pizza man arrives with dinner, cats leaping in and out of the windows (we ‘ve removed all screens for this purpose, the upshot of this that the most beautiful moths grace the walls and ceilings now and all through the summer and fall)!
There may be phone calls from teachers, more often the cops. Yes, cops. As you know Buster goes through cluster seizures, and I'm afraid he is about due.
I suppose I had some sort of fifties fantasy when I invited you out. To be honest I'm not a very involved cook, the volume of food required here forbidding little more than whole bags of things dumped in to boil.
If you'd rather not come, I understand. I'd love for you to, but I'll take it in stride if you decided against it. From what you've told me, you live a very different life.
Hey, I'm not trying to scare you, but let's not entertain false assumptions
Sincerely,
P.S. If you decide to come, I should explain the smell in