LJ Idol Exhibit A - Week Three - If you could only see the beast you've made of me.
“Jessica, please tell me you remembered your key.” I am frantically patting myself down in an attempt to make my house key appear somewhere on my body when I know very well that it is inside on my desk, taunting me with its uselessness.
I am met with an eye roll and that withering, accusatory stare particular to younger siblings whose responsibilities only apply when you’re not there. “Obviously not, why would I remember mine if you forgot yours?” She looks at me expectantly. All of the doors to our house are locked, and we do not have mobile phones. House keys are completely new to us; it is a strange and cruel world we have entered that requires houses to remain locked during the daytime. We need to come up with a plan to get us into our family's abode, and I have not yet reached the point in my life where I discover my latent talent for the subtle art of breaking and entering via the windows in my father’s study. This has never happened to me before, this business of being locked out of my own home. I chew on the inside of my cheek as I consider our options; fortunately I remember the key-code to the garage.
With Jessica on her scooter-sans-brakes and I on my bike-sans-brakes, we careen around street corners in an attempt to reach our aunt and uncle’s house only to discover that they are not home. “Curses!” I cry to the heavens, as I shake my fist. But wait! Providence has sent us a miracle, in the form of my aunt’s Honda pulling onto the driveway. Salvation!
I use my aunt’s phone to call my dad at work; he cryptically informs me that our spare key is hidden under a rock in our backyard. “Why couldn’t we just keep one under the welcome mat?!” It has been about an hour at this point, tensions are running high. In any case, we thank my aunt for her services and continue on our determined way. She informs us that she will be home for another ten minutes if we can’t find it. I thank her, but fancy myself quite capable of locating this key.
We kick up dirt for twelve minutes. We do not find the Key.
I look grimly at my sister, my hair strewn wildly about my shoulders like some jungle vagrant. “Well Jessica,” I say gravely. “There is only one thing we can do in situations like this,” she looks at me quizzically.
“When life gives you war, you make war paint,” I say to her, and proceed to palm a large amount of the muddy soil we have disturbed on our search. I smear it along my cheeks in two identical lines, with another down the bridge of my nose, scowling in what I believe to be a ferocious manner. She mocks me, but follows suit anyways. She even adds a unibrow to her loamy maquillage in the process.
Our futile search results in total destruction of the yard. I climb a tree and howl like a madman. The neighbours stare, but they don’t know us so they don’t ask. The fog begins to roll in, creeping over the fence like a surreptitious wraith. The damp cold sinks into our bones and we retreat into the garage to await the imminent homecoming of our father. We give up hope of ever locating the Key that must not exist. We forget what it feels like to be warm.
The garage offers some semblance of heat, but that does not stop me from pulling a fluorescent orange garbage bag over my head to create an armless poncho for insulation. Jessica creates a plastic cocoon for her bare feet (in November-“you can’t wear socks with flats, Alex!”) I decide that a broken umbrella is appropriate cranial attire, and try my best to fall asleep in my four-year-old sister’s stroller.
The grating sound of the garage door fighting its way open has never been more welcome to my ears, startling me awake from my half-conscious slumber. What a sight we must have been to my father, strolling into the garage as if it was just a regular evening. He takes one look at his dirt-encrusted daughters and promptly exclaims, “What the HELL?!”
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This has been an entry for Week 3 of therealljidol, under the topic of "shenanigans." Thank you for reading!