Imagine My Surprise! (18)
In which Keenan gets a reminder.
18. Kids These Days
The effect of losing her lover was heavy on Louisiana Solomon Harris. The explanation Mama Lou gave to Papa Drew about Wade’s sudden unavailability was pretty convincing: “He was reprimanded for taxiing civilians in a patrol car.” For weeks, she was taciturn, lachrymose. I felt a little sorry for the broad — just a little. I’d come to appreciate — even love — my milquetoast father, who may have been hapless, but possessed qualities that I strongly admired — curiosity, humor, and vision. And by vision, I mean believing that if you try at things, those things sometimes work out.
Anyhow, in his new pest control job, Drew had built a little bit of confidence, and it showed. This self-confidence bled over into his brewing life, and he entered a few cases of his home brew into a local brewing competition. A strong brown he called Brownout Ale and a breezy lager dubbed The Lou Lager. Both had placed in the contest. Cash and prizes were at stake. My father was giddy; my mother perplexed, both pleased.
It was the night of the awards ceremony in the spring of my fourth year that these honors were bestowed upon my father. As usual, I read my tablet on the living room floor. Lou, looking fabulous in a little black dress and black heels, puffed on a cigarette outside the front doorway, sipping her martini. She had cut back on her smoking while also taking said habit outside onto the porch. The social worker had finally gotten to her.
Drew appeared in the hallway in his one threadbare suit, fussing with a striped burgundy tie. He asked, “Honey? Can you…?”
Lou and I gazed at this nervous, forlorn man, handsome even in that ratty suit.
“Hell, Drew — what makes you think I can do it?” Lou replied. “You’d have better luck with Keenan.”
“I meant Keenan.” A beat. He winked at me. “Kidding. Come on.”
She closed in and took each end of the tie, experimenting, remembering the knot, figuring it out and pulling it taut. Then Lou kissed Drew on the lips. Not a peck, but a real kiss, a kiss of…what? Love? Yeah, a wife’s loving kiss. Drew hesitated and smiled.
“Thank you, honey,” he said. Drew snaked an arm around her and returned his own lingering kiss. They got lost in that moment and my little four-year-old heart jumped for them. This was something new! Then they looked over at me and caught my slack-jaw expression. I averted my gaze back to the tablet, and they laughed.
“We better get going,” Lou said.
“Where’s Tabitha?”
My head jerked back up. Tabitha?!
The doorbell donged.
My little crush for Tabitha had grown over the ensuing ten months since I’d been at Happy Feet Daycare. It was difficult to maintain my four-year-oldness all that time. And yet, there was Tabitha at our front door, all of twenty, dressed conspicuously normal: no death metal t-shirts, no goth eyeliner, no black lipstick. The door closed behind her, she sloughed her denim coat and dropped an overloaded book bag to the floor.
Drew put on his suit jacket, Lou, a red suede coat. Lou said, “We should be back before midnight.”
“I’d ask you if there is anything I should know,” Tabitha said, “but it’s just Keenan. He’ll probably bury his head in his tablet. He’s had dinner?”
“Yeah,” Drew said.
“He’s been going to bed late,” Lou added. “It’s best not to fight it.”
Oh, yes, I’d trained them well.
Tabitha walked over to me and rubbed my wispy hair, which was losing its towhead strawberry, turning brown. “I can tell who wears the pants in this family.”
“Be nice to Tabitha, Keenan,” Lou said on her way out.
Tabitha stood in the doorway as the car pulled out of the driveway; she waved and closed the door. As soon as the parents had left, she quickly sat down next to me and declared, “Now Keenan, I know you’re not a normal four-year-old — shit, I don’t know what you are — but I do know you know what’s going on around you, so I won’t beat around the bush.”
This was interesting. After a moment, I replied, “Yes?”
She grinned. “Is it cool if I invite some friends over? I mean, can I invite them without you spilling to your parents?”
This wasn’t surprising. After a momentary knee-jerk reaction of infantile jealousy, I considered the possibility of some real excitement around the Harris household. Young adults on drugs! Drunk boys and girls! Petty dramas!
“Don’t worry,” I told her, “Just don’t let it devolve into pandemonium. And don’t let anybody get into my Dad’s beer or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Oh, shit — I just said pandemonium.
Tabitha wore a stunned expression. “‘Devolve into pandemonium,’” She repeated, then hugged me. “Oh, my God, you little freak! You’re so awesome!”
And so, she began texting her friends.
~~•~~
Not long after, her friends came over. They were quite something. They referred to themselves as G-Punks, which was short for goth-punk, and their style was indeed a marriage of the two, with new variations thrown in.
We had Sterno: an obese, mohawked g-punk in black clothes accented with a zillion zippers. We had Slade: a tall, skinny girl with long, iron-straightened red hair, alabaster complexion, multiple facial piercings, vibrant manga-style sleeve tattoo on her left arm, costume contact lenses (cat eyes — all the rage). We had Jasper: a pretty, young drag-queen who could pass for female even without the get-up. Jasper’s pronouns was they/them, and insisted they were gay and not trans, and frankly it was too confusing for me to quibble. We had Gigi: abundant proportions held in place by what might be termed casual fetish-wear. She had a big silver spike through her lower lip, black lipstick. Finally, there was the alpha dog of the group with the unassuming name of Phillip. Philip was something like Tabitha’s boyfriend, but I’m not sure he knew this. He was handsome and tall with a physique toned more from drugs than the gym (I should know). He had a face conceived by Caravaggio.
They were all so over-the-top — I loved them. They reminded me of the theater geeks of my former life.
I nestled myself into the corner of the couch as the five of them got stewed on alcohol and a variety of drugs. These youngsters (and I’m sorry, it’s the only way I could view them) spread out in the living room with their drink of choice: Bloody Mollies — Remy Red, Compari, and strawberry liqueur on ice. Within an hour, the living room was strewn with jolly supine forms and clouded with the strong scent of marijuana and fruit-scented vape.
Not long after they showed up, I announced to them, “Lovely meeting you. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go read the Times in the kitchen. You kids have fun.” I trotted away. They were all stoned and laughing their asses off and I had the tiny thrill of conversing almost normally and semi-wittily for the first time in four years. I wasn’t an adult, but they were sort of treating me like one — or perhaps like a quirky but not-unpleasant space alien.
After waiting a few minutes, I sneaked into the hall, darting into my parents’ bedroom, closest to the living room. I listened from behind the door.
Philip said, “That kid is …”
“Weird!” Sterno interjected.
“Stern!” Tabitha chastised.
“I was gonna say he is like the little sister in Dune,” Philip finished.
There was a silence. I liked this kid. I approved. Gigi laughed.
“Oh, Philip! Reading books is so cute!”
“Sean just texted,” Jasper blurted.
Sean?
“Where the hell is he?”
“He’s on Camden. He’ll be here in a sec.”
An excited titter swept through the room.
Then from Tabitha, searchingly: “Keenan, you okay? Another one of our friends is coming over.”
My breath hitched. I scrambled from my hiding place and down the hall.
“Keenan?”
When Tabitha poked her head inside the kitchen, she found me stretched on the linoleum.
“Oh,” she said.
“Yes?” I replied nonchalantly.
“Another friend is coming over.”
“Alright.”
“You okay in here?”
“Fine.”
“Alright.”
She disappeared. The clock over the doorway read 9:45. They probably had a couple hours, give or take, before Lou and Drew returned.
A short while later, the doorbell rang, and this Sean fellow was greeted with enthusiasm. I was reasonably sure I knew the source of this enthusiasm — he was the drugs.
The provider of drugs is in a tricky position of power. Take it from me — you are the best friend, the hero, the savior, just as long as you come through. I didn’t recognize it at first, but the buzzing vibe in the room wasn’t just the large amount of pot the kids had smoked and Bloody Mollies they’d drank, it was the promise of drugs (powdered, no doubt) anticipated from this Sean fellow.
“Hello, my pretties,” Sean greeted devilishly in a gravelly baritone.
I had to see this guy for myself. Rising from the floor, I crossed to the kitchen doorway and peeked into the living room. Sean wasn’t what I expected at all. He was mid-twenties, with a thick chest and ponytail down the middle of his back. He wore a black fedora and a dark gray blazer. It was such a dorky contrast to these g-punks that I had trouble deciding if his attire was serious.
But that wasn’t all. I knew him.
I was astonished and must’ve stood walleyed in the doorway because Sean was suddenly looking at me, clearly wondering what the fuck a toddler was doing in their midst. Tabitha saw me.
“Keenan? You okay?” Tabitha asked.
“Hi,” I managed.
“You wanna come in and meet Sean?”
Sean smiled, took two steps toward me, and knelt down. “Hello, little man. How’s it going?”
Little man.
“Alright, I guess,” was all I could muster, tarrying in the kitchen doorway. This response, coming from a little kid, made Sean smile. The others tittered, knowingly.
“Careful, Sean,” Jasper warned. “He’s an alien.”
“Jasp!” Tabitha said.
“Are you from another planet, Keenan?” Sean inquired good-naturedly.
“I am from earth.”
“He knew the capital of Portugal,” Sterno offered.
“Really…?” Sean drawled. Sean probably didn’t know the capital of Portugal himself, but he was getting bored with this. I saw Philip nod at Tabitha, who crossed toward me.
“Hey, Keenan…can you entertain yourself in the kitchen or your room for a little while. We have to talk adult things with Sean.”
I rolled my eyes. “Adult things. Sure. I’ll be in my room.”
“Thanks, Keen. We won’t be long.”
Temporarily sidelined from the party, I lay on my bedroom floor, studying the Manet and the Lichtenstein, and thought of Sean. Sean was, is, Franks’ younger cousin. On the growing list of cosmic accidents in my new life, I had to add my henchman’s American cousin. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it reminded me that I’d gotten sidetracked from my mission of righting the wrongs of my previous life. It reminded me of the nightwalks and that guy Stoli. Stoli hadn’t seemed like an accident either, but the plan I’d hatched had vanished from my own carelessness. Anyhow, maybe I could still find out something about his cousin Franks, whose exact location was not easily found by a simple web search. There were a lot of former addresses. On top of that, after Franks got his citizenship, he immediately went off the grid and seldom if ever filed taxes. I wasn’t entirely sure Franklin Franklin O’Donnell itself wasn’t an alias.
Shutting off the light in my room, I slowly turned the doorknob and peeked out. Coast was clear. Creeping down the hall, I again darted into my parents’ room, wedging myself behind the door.
Bauhaus thrummed in the living room. I heard the telltale sniffing of drug usage, the idle chatter, the clink of glasses, the smell of cigarettes and pot. My parents would not be pleased with the stench.
I think it was Philip who asked, “How much time do we have?”
Tabitha: “Not long. Probably be getting a text anytime, unfortunately.”
Big snorting sound, then Sterno: “This is Uncle Frank’s?”
“Always.”
Confirmation. Franks was still I the area. Jesus Christ. I wondered if there was an Aunt Dolly.
“It’s kinda stepped-on.”
Sounds like Franks to me.
“Fuck you,” Sean said casually.
“Where are we going to bounce after this?” Jasper asked.
Silence.
“C’mon you guys,” Tabitha said. “I gotta straighten this place up a bit. Someone open a door. It smells like a dispensary in here.” I heard the squeak of the front door.
“Maybe you should check on the prodigy in the other room,” Philip suggested.
“That kid gives me the heebies,” Sterno confessed.
“He’s cute!” Gigi said. “You just don’t like the idea that a four-year-old might be smarter than you.”
I scrambled out from behind the door and darted down the hall. Smack dab into Tabitha with a dish towel in her hand.
“Keenan,” she hissed. “Go to your room and I’ll get rid of them. Punk.”
I shrugged. She held my bedroom door for me, closed it softly behind me. A short time later, she tapped on my door. “They’re gone, Keenan, and your parents are on their way home. Wanna come back out and hang until they get here?”
“Sure.”
So, we sat in front of the tube, Tabitha trying to suck down as much diet soda as possible to cut the effects of the booze, pot, and blow.
“It smells pretty bad in here,” I told her.
She got up and re-sprayed the living room with an oppressively scented air freshener, waving her arms in the air near the door as though the miscellaneous aromas of vice might all magically flow outside.
“I told them I had a few friends over,” she explained.
“Don’t expect a tip.”
“Do you think they’ll get mad?”
“It depends.” Then I had an idea. “I’ll vouch for you if you tell me something.”
She looked at me. “Name it.”
“What’s Sean’s last name?”
Tabitha gave me a look. “Um…O’Donnell, I think. Why would you want to know that?”
“Just curious.”
“Keenan, you’re not thinking of saying something are you?”
“I would never cause trouble for my favorite babysitter. Seriously: I was just curious.”
Really, I wanted to be sure. Now I was.
“You’re something else, Keenan.”
“Listen: I wouldn’t trust that guy if I were you.”
“I don’t really know him.” She gazed at me hard. “You’re not going to get all Just Say No on me are you?”
“How would I know what that even means?”
“Because.”
When Lou and Drew arrived home around eleven-thirty, they were plenty lit themselves, both holding trophies and ribbons and certificates, falling inside the door, giggling, greeting us. Then they stopped, smelling the night’s sin.
“Whoa,” Drew said.
Lou’s smile faltered and she tilted her head at Tabitha. “Just a few friends over, huh? Smells like a burned skunk.”
“Well…we may have smoked a joint…”
Drew tried to head off his wife’s wrath. “Lou, no biggie.”
Lou thought she was being smart when she turned to me. “Keenan, what went on here tonight?”
I resisted the urge to glance at Tabitha, holding Lou’s gaze. “Her friends came by. They were nice. Then they left.”
Lou narrowed her eyes at me, then Tabitha; then she sighed. “Okay. Whatever. Anyway, Drew won three prizes! He was like a beer superstar!”
I was actually really surprised: my ne’er-do-well dad had achieved something. I stood up on the couch and bounced. “Way to go, Dad!”
Drew, who was still holding his trophies — two bronzed beer steins overflowing with stylized hops and barley — set them down on the table with a clatter and grabbed me.
“I did it, Monkey! They liked my beer!” And he planted a sloppy beer-smelling kiss.
“Everyone likes your beer, Dad. Put me down.” He gave me another kiss and tossed me onto the couch where I collapsed into the cushions.
“That’s great, Mr. Harris!” Tabitha said.
Lou said, “Don’t call me Mrs. Harris. It gives me the creeps.” She whipped out her wallet and handed Tabitha three twenties. “Keenan likes you too much to give you a hard time. Thanks, Tabby.”
“Sure, Mrs — um, er —
“Louisiana.”
“You’re welcome, Louisiana.” Tabitha turned and tousled my hair. “G’bye, you little punk. Be good.”
I winked at her. “Be good.”
