Under The Sheet


I. Ride Freely

He knew it would be there.  It had to be.  But, maybe it not.  The grades were rather lousy.  He’d gotten in a fight with the little turd (a.k.a. “baby” brother).  Somehow he’d forgotten to take out the trash – “it’s your only chore!”.

In a redemptive move, he’d taken the little turd to the park for the morning.  He’d forgotten how fun the swings were.  The little turd was happy.  He pretended he wasn’t pretending that he was happy too.

That was a start.

Dad had gone golfing with Uncle Jim and left his car behind.  In the driveway.  He hosed it down, soaped it up, dried off, polished it shiny.  It felt good to see it gleam.


Mom loved her barbecue and he knew she’d be grilling turkey tonight… “god I love that woman!” Dad would sing.  Brillo pad and Mr. Clean never worked so hard.  Cold winter sweat dripped as he hummed a favorite… carol?… it WAS beginning to feel a lot like…

…so tired…

The little turd was calm.  Dad’s car was bright. Glories grilled… he lay his head down… dreaming of a new bike, by the tree, covered by a sheet.