Catastrophe

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’ll believe it when I see it.

I love them, I do. But almost a year and a half of quarantine and I’m starting to lose it. Dad says we’re fortunate to have so much extra family time. Mom tells me she must be the luckiest mother in the world to have been handed so much extra time with her son.

It’s not normal, I think. I sigh, stumble over to the couch, close my eyes. 

“He doesn’t know how good he has it. One day, he’ll learn,” Dad lectures.

“Give him time,” Mom says.

I awaken from my slumber to the un-zipping, zipping of suitcases. It can’t be.

I roll myself off the couch and creep outside their bedroom door to eavesdrop. I hold my breath, perk up my ears.

“I checked the weather in Maine and it looks like it’s going to be chilly. Don’t forget to bring something warm. And pack your sunglasses, will you? Remember last time? I don’t think you want to buy those cheap ones from Walmart again.”

“Let me pack my stuff and you pack yours,” dad tells her. He swings the bedroom door open. I scurry away, unseen. I don’t like to get in the middle of their bickering.

As I make my way down the hallway I consider what I just overheard. I can’t believe it. A trip? They’re going on a trip? It seems too good to be true. I’ve been waiting a long time for this news. I become worried in the moment that I’ve heard them wrong, but this would be a first. Since I was little, I’ve always had this ability to hear conversations and sounds that are typically out of other’s range. It’s definitely come in handy on more than one occasion.

Let me back up for a second so you don’t think I’m the most spoiled, ungrateful son in the world. In the beginning of this whole thing, the Netflix, the family movie nights, the snacks… everything was great. Mom and dad totally spoiled me to help distract me (and themselves) from the daunting twenty-four hour news cycle. We did different things together that we didn’t normally do. Like I remember one time early on when dad found out about ‘Tiger King’ and the three of us binged the whole series in one night. Dad did try to cover my eyes at some points (he’s a bit too overprotective at times), but the feeling of being cozied up on the couch under a warm blanket and watching my parents stay up later than normal, it felt so special to me. For the record I wasn’t a huge fan of the series (that Joe Exotic guy and that Carole Baskin lady are both nuts), but it was pretty fun to do something like that as a family.  

But then, it just became a little smothering. What we thought was two weeks turned into two months, then three, and so on. Fairly often, I’d stay up too late watching tv and pass out on the sofa just before dawn. Within minutes, mom would stumble, eyes nearly closed, into the kitchen nearby and start grinding coffee beans. Annoyed, I’d drag myself from the living room, collapse onto my bed, and I swear, just as I was starting to really doze off, dad would do this crazy tapping thing on his desk when he was annoyed with a client or when his Zoom calls dropped. It really felt like they were doing it on purpose, just to bug me. I’m sure they don’t even remember the last time they pulled an all-nighter.  

The next morning, my prayers are finally answered. The day before, mom wrote down all of the emergency numbers, stocked the pantry, cleaned incessantly. I eye the fridge where she hung pages upon pages of house instructions. I wish she’d trust me more, but my annoyance is a small price to pay for freedom.

The goodbye hugs nearly crush my ribs. “Remember, we love you more than anything. We’ll check in on you,” mom utters through her tears. “We’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“The Uber’s waiting,” my father tells her.

I walk them to the front door to see them off and then race over to the window to watch their driver pull away. After months of waiting, I finally have the place to myself.  

Without wasting a beat, I race over to the kitchen and begin rummaging through all of the snacks mom stacked in the pantry. In this moment I am particularly grateful for Costco and their massive portions. When I’m done stuffing my face, I survey the kitchen, littered with open boxes and bags. Success, I think to myself, my belly puffed out like a balloon. I plop down on the couch, my head on dad’s favorite pillow. I choose my favorite show on Hulu and put the volume up louder than mom would ever let me. I breathe in deeply, ahhh, the sweet, sweet scent of solitude.  

I stay like this for hours, basking in my own space, my oasis. I know I need some exercise, but that can wait. Everything can wait. There’s no one here to nag me, no one to tell me what to do.  

I close my eyes during the commercial breaks and visualize how I will spend the coming days on my own. I imagine myself doing all of the things mom and dad never let me do, and smile as I picture myself sliding down the bannister, jumping on the furniture, playing with dad’s toys. Mom’s always getting on dad’s case and telling him I eat too much meat, but what can I say, it must be the animal in me. Over the next few days, I’ll eat meat for breakfast just because I can.

Just as visions of red meat start floating around me, I’m suddenly startled by the sound of footsteps, keys rustling, a door clicking. I hear a woman sigh, a purse drop. An intruder? In the middle of the day? I freeze, my body as stiff as a board.

The footsteps come closer and closer to where I remain frozen on the couch. Suddenly she’s standing over me. Who on earth could this be? And what is she doing in my home? And why is she acting like everything is perfectly normal?

“Hey you! How ya doing cute boy? You have a good sleep? Aww looks like someone needs a little company. Lucky you... I’ll be your temporary mama for the next few days!” 

She takes out her iPhone and snaps at least one-hundred pictures as I stare at her in horror.  

And when she finally reaches down to stroke my belly, I’m too pissed off to purr.