Transplant
“I would go down like a meteorite on this hill with my bicycle,” said Puck.
We were driving to church on an unconventional route, if any route could already be considered unconventional in three weeks of attendance. With Mom and Dad still in L.A., we picked up Linnea while Carrie took Rose to sign lease papers. Who does business on a Sunday morning at ten o’clock?
Linnea was tired. A little pick-me-up was necessary during the sermon. Carefully she removed an entire package of Andes mints from her purse. In a feat of devastating stealth, she removed four mints, stuffed them up both sleeves, and returned the package, all, without catching the eye of her nephew two seats over.
He was sort of busy anyway. Folding the hymn insert into fourths, he took a pen from the seat in front of him and painstakingly penned the following…
“Hi I am your brother.”
Then he pulled an offering envelope from the chair back, slipped the note inside, and whispered solemnly…
“Mom. Do not tell him I’m his brother until I give this note to him. And then he will know.”
After awhile, his project was complete, and he hunched forward on the chair to half-listen while I rubbed circles in the soft blue and white stripes of his Polo. The weekly Sunday massage.
After the service I found Puck hanging out with his South African buddy in their “secret headquarters” Sunday School classroom, involved in some deep conversation…
“Sticky pistons! OF COURSE! Why didn’t I think of that?!”
Rose was moving again. Two years of the sunny white 1930’s apartment across from the Zoo, and she wanted a shorter commute. Creve Coeur had become my middle siblings’ destination of choice in recent years, including the lake and beach.
The whole thing took three hours, I think? Thunderbird and Donna joined the crew of myself, Carrie-Bri, Joe, Rose, and Francis, anxious to return to the pool for a rare Sunday in-service.
Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. I was roundly impressed that the total of Rose’s bathrooms equaled four times what I could boast back in my own cracker box. Rose was doing well for herself.
“We should move in,” Donna suggested to her hubby.
“I should move in,” Joe added, also impressed.
A few deer scattered themselves around the wooded hills while half the kids collected pizzas and sodas to consume back at The Big House. Bær and Puck dropped in after the movies – Cloudy with a Chance of “Meatbulbs” 2. And a run to Michael’s for Bible-spine-repairing materials and a tiny wooden chest for Puck to paint.
We drove back up around twilight. By the front porch on the white milk can sat a small water snake coiled up in a banana chip box with a note penned by Bær…
“Hi. My name is Snake. Snuggles found me.”