For Miles

My wife and I had to leave the house the other day. That hardly every happens. Our teenage son is almost a man, and looks after his little brother like a lion, so we don’t worry overmuch.

Our older son had a friend over. We left them alone in the house. What would two teenaged boys do to get into mischief in your house if left alone? Ours went into this huge, overstuffed and tumbledown room we call a closet off our bedroom. It’s where everything goes to die, or to wait; whichever comes first. There’s a bare bulb depending from the ceiling in there, and clothes we don’t wear much, and VCR tapes, and a dishwasher we purchased three years ago that I never installed because the floor is too out of level in the kitchen, and I have to fix it first, and we ain’t got the dough for that. So my wife stands at the sink, listing to port a little, and washes the dishes by hand and dreams of a dishwasher she already owns.

Anyway, those two scamps broke open some boxes of lps. You know, records. Vi. Nyl. And they listened to Charlie Parker records and played board games until we got back. Full of surprises, those kids are.