Dang Dumbo

I found you. It may have taken this long, but I never doubted you’d show up again. When you left, feelings of panic, concern, and disbelief consumed my mind, as I desperately attempted to pinpoint where you were. Although my faith to find you didn’t waiver, I struggled as more and more time went by, replaying the days leading to your departure, filling notebooks with every clue that pointed towards finding you. Finally, as days turned into months and months into years, my fears of losing the essence of your image arose and like a child, I returned to the last place we were together, my parent’s home of 25 plus years, the home of my youth.

Visiting my ageing parents was becoming more difficult as work and family demands competed for my time. I knew Mom missed me and a change needed to be made. Through no fault of their own, I was my parent’s only child. I felt a strong need, though they’d never ask it, to be around them more.  On the day I returned, having thought of you off and on, during my two hour drive, Mom brought you up, after some small talk. “Hey, did you ever find out whatever happened too…”

For the first time, since the day you’d gone missing, I shared my heart with her, something she’d been waiting for me to do.

Thinking for a moment, Mom said, “You were so disappointed, sad, and a bit irritable. No matter how much Dad and I encouraged you to be grateful for the time you shared, it seemed to fall on closed ears.”

She was right. It had. I was mad at no one, yet blamed everyone.

“I just wish I knew what happened, Mom. It’s childish that I still wonder about those final days.”

“It was a sudden loss of something special you put a lot of effort into,” Mom said, patting my hand, “and anyone who dedicated the time you did would feel the same.”

Mom would never scold me or make me feel in the wrong. Standing up, I said, “Maybe I’ll take a minute, before leaving for Aunt Dot’s, and chill.”

I followed the steps down into their finished basement that was my home within a home for years. Reaching the bottom, I found my eyes scanning the room for…for what? My God, it’s been frickin’ YEARS! How many times would I repeat the exact same act over the over, since you disappeared, every single time I came into this room? My memory could not be jogged to remember, accept it. Yet… after plopping down on the last step, I began to reminisce, starting with when I last saw you.

I last saw you at our yearly family reunion. During Christmas school break, Aunts, Uncles, and cousins from Dad’s side, drove from Chicago and Philly to my parent’s Grand Rapids tri-level home. I couldn’t wait for my nine cousins, ranging in age from seven to twelve to arrive: for snow angels and sledding, hot chocolate and sugar cookies, and best of all, overlooked bedtimes. This was back when televisions were counted as furniture, housed in large wooden boxes and a cot on the floor was good enough for a sleepover.

Upon arriving, my cousins sprinted down the basement stairs, marking their spot, by dropping their duffel bag. My spot was always beside the side table. That year one of my cousins, who I secretly nicknamed, Dumbo, arrived in a clown costume that Aunt Dot made for him for that years Halloween. Although he was only like 5.3”, the polyester costume swallowed him and he looked ridiculous! We got a great laugh from it. Aunt Dot justified that anyone could wear it, adult or child so it’d last for years of use. For the next six years, my cousin’s growth was measured by how he fit in that crazy costume, as he arrived every year in it. His sister never touched it, complaining it smelled like moth balls and body odor.

Thinking back on the events of our last day, I close my eyes and scan the room. Do I see you? I see one cousin standing before a large wooden bookcase, looking through the Britannica A-Z encyclopedia set, a subscription gift from Time magazine.

Next, I see three bean-bag chairs, one occupied by my cousin dubbed, ‘the spinner,’ for three of my cousins, entangled in a game of Twister.

Scattered on the rust colored carpet are yellow, white, blue, red, and black Legos, along with a partially built Lego house. I get up to collect my Lego’s and after placing the last handful in the torn box, held together with tape, I hear a victory shriek, coming from one of my older cousins. Her scream permeated above the already noisy room and commanded our attention as we watched her pound the controller, blasting the last asteroid, across the 26” television screen. We celebrated with high fives and hugs, before returning to our activities.

I put my Lego box in the corner, by the brown couch that another cousin sat on, a ready opponent, having chosen the next Atari game.

Next to the couch was a side table, with a round glass top. Oftentimes, the table’s floor length ruffled skirt was a great hiding spot to cover my non-sharing toys. Although I was having fun, I worried throughout the week that my special hide-out would be detected and Mom would make me share.

Walking towards the side table, I see my ‘Dumbo’ cousin, slowly waving his hand above the over-heated halogen bulb, of our table lamp, showing off to my younger cousins. Seeing my disapproving look, Dumbo called me out, “What?”

Ignoring him, I bent over to fake tie a shoelace, but really checked for signs of toys sticking out, from the underbelly of the ruffles. Smelling something horrid, I quickly stood to see the tassel from my green winter’s knit hat, sitting on the bulb! Dumbo laughed, as my younger cousins gasped, mouths dropped open, watching the fabric smoke.

Anger spread through me as I yelled, “Knock it off or I’ll tell.”

Dumbo stopped laughing and challenged me with an, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, as firmly as one could being three years younger and a good foot shorter and knowing full well he could throw me into snow bank, head first.

Throwing the scorched threads at me, Dumbo walked way, glaring at me as he went upstairs.

“How’s it going?” Moms asked, from the top of the stairs, interrupting my thoughts.

“Fine,” I lied. I don’t want her to worry about it and she’ll worry about it, if she thinks I am. Changing the subject, I asked, “How’s it looking outside?”

“The snows coming a bit faster, but plenty of time to get to Aunt Dot’s, before the storm hits.”

Kissing her on the cheek, I left for the five mile drive to Aunt Dot’s house. She was my Dad’s younger sister and although her boy was the one who tore the tassel off my hat, it didn’t take long for us to make up that night. Dumbo returned an hour or so later, with an armful of cold glass bottles full of soda and after handing them out, gave me the last one. It was piss warm.

When my cousins were 19 and 17, Aunt Dot divorced. My Dad found a home close to his and moms and asked his sister to move to Michigan. Many years passed, before Aunt Dot did, and with my cousins blessing, my wife and I bought her house. By this time, Dumbo settled into his nickname and told me the house was cleaned up, with the exception of a few attic items.

Once I arrived, I immediately headed towards the attic to finish cleaning it out. Located in the ceiling of the hall closet, I climbed through the small opening and knelt on the cool wooden beams. Clicking on my flashlight, it was crawling room only, as I saw piles of pink insulation, packed against the roof and walls, keeping out the cold air. I saw a huge lawn and leaf bag, a full-length mirror, and a small suitcase holding a man’s winter jacket, probably for Dumbo, for his Christmas visits.

I curiously opened the lawn and leaf bag and laughed hysterically as I pulled out a 6ft tall and wide clown costume! When Dumbo had first worn it, arriving at our ninth family reunion in it, my Dad and Mom tried it on and there was still room for more, that’s how BIG it was. Sitting down, I immediately called cousin Dumbo.

“Hello,” he answered. “Hey… man,” I stuttered between giggles of laughter. “I called to say….” My voice trailing off at the amusement of seeing this costume after so many years, picturing Dumbo at every family reunion, until he left for college, arriving in it, sleeping in it, and playing in it. It didn’t matter his height or weight because it always fit. He’d just gather the extra scratchy polyester material and tie it off with knitting yarn, where the excess was, around the stomach, thighs, and ankles. It was hilarious and colorful!

“Look inside the pocket,” my cousin chuckled.

“There were pockets,” I asked feeling the fabric, until I pressed on something hard. Reaching into its deep pockets, I pulled it out, “No way,” I whispered. There it was. After all these years wondering, asking, pondering, retracing, there it was. The reward of the long hours of effort and time, my Dad and I put into conceptualizing it, my Lego Championship Belt! The Lego’s gift, for my ninth birthday that spring in the early 80’s, was what I’d asked for, since the prior Christmas when I first discovered these building blocks. Dad and I watched wrestling every week and celebrated with those that won each championship. One day I said to Dad, I bet we could build a belt. Build one, he asked, put it on your Christmas list and I bet Santa would bring you one quite similar to the ones on TV. Grabbing crayons and paper, I loosely drew a black belt with outlined in yellow Lego blocks. I drew the middle like a rectangle, big enough to write a, “W,” in white lettering and, “Championship,” in yellow.

“Wouldn’t that look cool Dad,” I asked, full of hope.

“Yes,” Dad said. “And you think you can build it with your Lego’s? That could take a lot of time.”

“I know,” I replied. “You could help too!”

Smiling, Dad said, “I’d love to help you create this.”

And we did, every weekend for three months.

It was the smoking tassel reunion year that dang Dumbo stole my belt! I thought it was hidden within the ruffled table skirt. I asked Dumbo about it. My cousin explained that he saw my championship belt the first night they arrived and rehid it as a joke, intending to return it to me. But, I opened my mouth and embarrassed him in front of all the cousins so he took my love, my hope, my treasured pal that I enjoyed putting on at every weekly wrestling match.

“Why didn’t you give it back?” I asked. “You know I looked for years.”

“Because I forgot where I put it! I didn’t find it until I started sorting through Mom’s stuff for the estate sale. It was in my old duffel bag, in the attic! Sorry?"

The End