Just Like That

Just Like That

So, I’m sitting at my desk, finishing a report for work. I could see out my office door, across the living room, to where I had the sliding glass door open leading onto the deck. I knew I had closed the screen door, but it was half open. I moved into the living room and there he was. Sitting on the carpet on the oak floor, looking at me kind of like that. I sat down on the couch, and he seemed surprised, or confused.

I said, “What are you lookin’ at, Booboo?”

He just kept looking at me. Just like that.

Finally, he said, “This is just weird, man. You guys always go crazy when I’m around, jumping up and down like baby foxes, banging on pots and pans with wooden spoons, cackling like crows. I hate that shit. What’s up with you being so chill?”

“I’m just having a nice quiet day, Booboo, working here alone. I can get some pots and pans if you’d like.”

“Please, no. That sound makes me crazy. I really lose it, and I start breaking stuff. Can you tell your people to knock that shit off?”

“I’ll try, Boo. Can’t promise anything. We’re pretty tightly wound. But it sounds like you can relate. By the way, you and your folks have cost me a bundle over the years. You ate my hot tub, busted a teak deck chair into toothpicks, ate my Subaru, ate the door to my shed, dragged off a forty-pound trash can. I mean, what the hell?”

 

He just looked at me. Just like that.

“Then he said, “Look. My life is pretty simple. I got three priorities. Eat. Sleep. Make more bears. I don’t care about your Subaru or per se your trash cans. I do care about that chicken carcass in your clever “bear proof” trash can. And I care about the empty Shake Shack bag in your car. I can smell that thing. Maybe it has a bite left in it. I broke into your hot tub because it was warm in there. It ain’t about you, man. Do you think everything is?”

“Well, Boo, you wouldn’t be the first one to suggest that. Point taken. Tell you what. I gotta finish this report I’m doing. Why don’t you grab an apple on me and be sure to close the screen door on your way out. Oh, yes. I know you can do that. Remember, you’ve been in here before. The watermelon? The vegan muffin? The salmon out of my freezer? The turd? That was a nice touch.”

He looked at me, just like that, clawed an apple out of the bowl, and let himself out, gently sliding the screen door closed behind him.