Shelter
Dear Surprised Finder of the Time Capsule Under the Bleachers:
If you are new to planet Earth and looking for shelter (a place to live), I have two things to say:
1. Welcome.
2. Do not buy a house with a deck. You will live to regret it.
I found this out after I asked my parents for my own room.
Why does a twelve-year-old boy need his own room, you might ask. There are lots of reasons, but the top two are called Bea and Perrie. My twin baby sisters. Not only do I share a room with them, my bed is in between their cribs.
Between the crying, teething, spit-up, and diapers, Ive slept about seven minutes since they were born.
Needless to say, Ive been working on my dad night and day to let me move into the tiny spare room in our house.
“First of all, I need that room for my job” is his usual reply. “And second, the only way Id consider giving you your own room is if you bring your history grade up. Way up.”
Judging by how Im doing in history, its going to take a miracle. Even though its only October, Mr. Tupkin has already given us ten pop quizzes and tests. So far, Ive gotten the same grade on every single one.
HINT: My grade is a letter between C and F. Words that start with my grade are Dang, Doomed, and Duh.
“No son of mine will fail history,” my dad says every time I bring home a test. “You must do better, Hal. History is who we are and why.”
“Boy, do I love history too, Dad. But the thing is, sharing a room with two babies makes it so hard to study. If we had a bigger house…”
“Here we go again with the ‘bigger house. You know I work at home. And Ive got my whole shop set up in the spare room. It would take months to pack it up. Besides, business is a little slow. Theres no way were moving.”
Usually, at some point during the “Hal, youll never get your own room” speech, I look to my mom for help. But shes got her own “very good” reasons for not getting a bigger house.
“Sharing is nice. Youll establish an everlasting bond with your sisters.”
Or: “A small home is greener. Much better for the environment.”
And then theres my personal favorite: “If youre feeling tired, honey, I could put some needles in your feet.”
Thats the other thing about my mom. Her big plan to help out with the family income is to go to night school. Shes studying for a degree in acupuncture. Its this Chinese medicine thats popular today.
They say its been around for thousands of years in China, which I really dont get. Because the idea of acupuncture is to stick needles in people. To make them feel better.
Normally, the conversation about getting my own room ends with me right back where I started. Sitting on my bed, listening to the twins nonstop jibber-jabber.
The other night, Perrie was trying to talk. She was holding her favorite puppet, a seashell with a hermit crab inside. “Sell. Sell,” she said, showing me the shell.
I put my hand inside the shell and made the hermit crab pop out.
“Boo!”
Perrie loves it when I do that. She pointed to the shell again, and said, “Sell.”
Thats it, I thought. Sell! If only I could sell our house. Get someone to make an offer my parents couldnt refuse.
Sure, they kept telling me theyll never move. But for the right price, maybe my mom and dad would reconsider.
So last Saturday, when my parents said we were going to visit Grampa Janson, I told them I wanted to stay home and study. As soon as they left, I printed out a sign on my computer. It said OPEN HOUSE. It means anyone whos driving by can come in and look at your house to see if they want to buy it. I even decorated the sign for good measure.
Next, I put on a suit I borrowed from Arnie. It was the one he wore to Billy Cohens bar mitzvah. I have to admit, the suit was a little flashy for me. And not just because Im not the suit-wearing type.
The thing about Arnie is he actually likes dressing up because “girls notice that stuff.” The other thing he does is put gel in his hair because it looks “sophisticated.”
About half an hour after I put up the OPEN HOUSE sign, I heard a sound that was music to my ears.
Ding-dong.
I opened the door and saw a nice-looking couple standing on the steps.
“Hello, were here for the open house,” said the man.
“Come in.”
“Is the homeowner here?”
“Hell be back shortly. In the meantime, why dont I show you around?”
We started to walk through the house and right away the man started firing off questions.
“How close is the nearest school?”
“The Stowfield Middle School is just a stones throw away, sir.”
The couple walked into our kitchen and looked at the ceiling. “Have you ever had problems with mold?” asked the woman.
“Yes,” I said. I figured it was best to be honest. I grabbed a hunk of my dads favorite blue cheese out of the fridge and tossed it in the trash. “But not anymore.”
The man looked me straight in the eye. “Are there any structural issues or deferred payments we should know about?”
Ding-dong. Luckily, I was saved by the bell.
The next people to come to the open house were an older lady and her “friend.” After I showed them around a little, I found out her friend was a home inspector.
“I like to bring the inspector with me,” said the lady. “So Ill know if there are problems right off the bat.”
The lady and the inspector walked down the hall and stopped in front of the spare room. The one that should be my bedroom right now.
“Whats in here?” asked the inspector.
“This room is, um, under renovation,” I said, locking the door. “Dont want the dust to get out. Very harmful.”
The inspector gave me a look like he knew something was up. But then he turned to the lady, and said, “Why dont we go see the outside of the house?”
As the two of them went to look at our back deck, I stood in front of the spare room. I knew the real reason I didnt want to open that door.
I was embarrassed.
The thing is, the room is filled from floor to ceiling with old microwaves. And DVD players. And toasters from the 1970s. Because my dads job is fixing appliances.
There are little screws and wires and tools everywhere, and everything is greasy and dirty. Every time I look in that room I cant help but wonder why it has to be my dad who surrounds himself with used stuff. Didnt he ever want anything new, like a normal dad?
I was still standing in front of the door when the inspector suddenly walked up and handed me an official-looking piece of paper. As soon as I saw it, my hands started to sweat. Could this really be it? An offer for the house? I mean, it seemed a bit soon. But if you love a place, you love a place, right?
I stood there holding the paper and I couldnt help but imagine what my new room would look like. Arnie and I would set up RavenCave (the best video game ever). Wed have a special table for chocolate-glazed doughnuts with sprinkles.
I was lost in the thought of where the doughnut table would go when I heard the inspector say, “You have a violation. Code one-thirteen. Section nine. Deck railing.”
“Thank you. Um, what?”
“Your deck railing is not built to code. The rails are five inches apart. They need to be four. Judging by the toys lying around everywhere, Im guessing small children live in this house.”
“Small children. Yes, two.”
“Young man, Id fix that deck if you want those children to be safe. And if you want to avoid a fine.”
It wasnt until later in the day that my family got back from Grampa Jansons. My dad was pretty surprised to see me on the back deck.
“Havent seen you holding a hammer in years, son.”
“I just want to make sure Bea and Perrie dont fall off the deck. These rails are a little far apart, dont you think, Dad? What do you say we fix them together?”
“Thats my boy! Why buy new when you can fix the old!”
I spent the first two weeks of October working on the deck, thinking about how Id never have my own room.
And how Id be spending the rest of my life next to two girls who have five teeth between them.
Copyright © 2013 by L. A. Campbell