Chapter Twenty-Two
I can’t say it was the least stressful time in my life. A third rough night of sleep proved that pretty well. Fortunately for my ego, I was appeased by the discovery that my “chain of lymph nodes” had already gone down in the night after one dose of that pill the color of a red fire hydrant – an article we passed packed onto a trailer bed with yellow fire hydrants this morning on another cold gray passage east. But not before I was greeted with Puck’s favorite new game. I can hear him whispering to The Bear in the other room – just like he does when he asks him to buy me a surprise cookie or chocolate bar…
“Dad! You go run in there and give Mom a big squeeze. Then I will do it. We’ll take turns!”
BAM!
The first round was actually Puck, who couldn’t wait any longer. He ran away pretty much squealing with the success of tackling his mom…
“Your turn, Dad!”
Another squeeze…
“What is this? A hit and run?”
“No,” The Bear laughed with Puck. “It’s a hug and run.”
Francis didn’t seem incredibly bothered about his procedure that morning, aside from the fact that he would be awake through the whole thing. Twilight medicine, or something like that. He was busy teaching Puck how to fly helicopters on the simulator, laughing as the machine cavorted wildly through the skies. Linnea sat down with a grumpy face to her math notebook, a plate of blueberry scones, and a mug of hot cocoa. She was in trouble for not cleaning up the dishes from last night’s quesadillas or something. Joe, who had contributed to the snack, delivered the law of the land…
“Thou must cleanest thy pots and and and then thou can thenst thinest proceed with thinest plans and then thinest canst talk to hot boys till sundown.”
Then he joined Francis in convincing Puck that giving me apples would get him out of school for the day. Puck took the bait. Then Francis had to leave. Right as he and Mom drove away in Shelley, the snow starting falling, very tiny flakes of it. Puck was having trouble, though. High energy masked concern, apparently. He began punching a canvas-like pillow on the couch.
“I! Can’t! Believe! Francis! Is! Having! Heart! Surgery!”
“He’s going to be fine, bud.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Francis’ doctor has given this surgery to thousands of people and he’s never had a problem.”
“I don’t believe you! Those doctors should be punished!”
I had some explaining to do… So finally Puck finished the first half of his reading lesson to sit at the kitchen table with his new paints. He always had ideas…
“Could we flatten this, Mom? It is, shall we say… bent… at the corners? Mom, would it be an honor for you to give me some more to paint?
The snow globe was actually very beautiful about now. Soft slow-falling fluff more than an inch over the lawn. Puck accidentally brushed a fleck of washable brown paint on Mom’s glass dish…
“Mom, will you take that off Grandma’s val-oo-bles [valuables]? Thank you.”
He added Cheerios to the ensemble of artistry in his hands…
“I’m just painting little chocolate cakes. I bet your brother will be disappointed that they’re not real cakes, Lila. I lahve [love] it…”
It was just Puck and I for awhile. Carrie at work, Linnea at choir, Joe riding his bike stationary in the basement. I called Mom shortly after two to check in on the young man…
“I have something funny to tell you,” she said. “We get here and Francis has to verify that I am his guardian. So the receptionist asks him to tell her my birthdate.”
“Uh oh.”
“I know. So he starts saying. ‘April?… No?… Uh…’ So he clearly couldn’t remember. I threatened to slug him when we got back for not knowing it. And then the receptionist says, ‘Well, do you know the year then?’ ‘Uh… Well, I know Eisenhower was president…’”
When we reconvened through snowed roads and forgotten bowls of yogurt and berries at the table, Mom called at four. Francis was done and fine. Apparently it was a good thing he had the surgery done earlier than later. Something about electrical signals eventually crossing into other chambers causing more serious problems for the future if he hadn’t, etc. So while Francis was recovering his body, Puck was busy roughing his up. All it took was…
“Look, Mom!”
Running face plant into the floor, just missing the couch pillow. A little blood on the gums. Slightly swollen nose. Ice pack. Old family home videos. That last part wasn’t necessary, but it was eighteen degrees outside, and with a wild youngster on my hands, I was running out of ideas for the day. When The Bear blew in with the cold, he informed us of his own conversation with Francis over the phone…
“Hello?”
“Francis?”
“Oh, yes, this is Francis. I’m in Heaven.”
“So how are you feeling?”
“Oh yeah, I’m good. My chest hurts a little still.”
“So you’ve been doing your calisthenics?”
“Ha ha ha… Wait, what are calisthenics?”
Puck also eagerly shared the story – or requested to have me tell it for him – of his bloody tooth, which was still a little red at bedtime. Brave chap. Of course he also slid on his rump down the bottom steps of the basement stairs when he went to feed Crackers.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
I wound down the evening with a phone call to Rose, picking up cage free eggs and a new toy for Stinkerbelle at Schnucks.