• • • • •
After waking up sometime in the middle of the night, I hurriedly walk home, hoping my dad has gone to bed, because I can’t get back up to my room the same way I got down.
But I’m not that lucky.
The TV is still playing, and the sound is still low, and my dad is still in the recliner. “You’re in big trouble, young man,” he says as I enter the house.
He pulls the recliner handle back so that the footrest folds back into the chair, and he stands up. He faces me, his eyes heavy. “It’s . . .” He looks at his watch. “Nearly three.”
“I wasn’t doing anything bad. I just . . . fell asleep outside.”
“You purposely disobeyed me by sneaking out. You’re grounded.”
“Whatever,” I say, as I trudge upstairs.
“Watch your tone. Now get to bed!” he yells after me.
My dad is the worst at parenting. Seriously. My life won’t change at all with my dad’s “grounding.” For one, he’s never home enough to actually follow through with any punishments. He also doesn’t really know what to ground me from. He’d keep me home, except he’s always wanting me to go out and make some friends, almost as if his own social life depends on not having an outcast for a son. If my dad could ground me from anything, it’d be from staying inside or searching for UFOs. But history shows he has no luck with either. So he doesn’t even try.
I slam my door shut, just to show that it’s me who isn’t happy with him.
* * *
Geoffrey shrugs after he hears my story. “You know, my dad never understood me much, either.” Geoffrey coughs, and his face turns slightly blue.
I scoot up to the edge of the recliner, ready to stand and do something for him. “Everything okay?”
He puts his hand over his chest and hits it a few times. Finally the coughing subsides. “Fine. I’m fine.”
“You . . . might want to get that looked at?”
Geoffrey nods, but he doesn’t appear to be concerned. When I walked into Geoffrey’s house a few minutes ago, I could smell some sour odor—almost like rotting urine. I think it’s the same thing Seth smelled, only it’s stronger now.
Tickles’s bell rings by my feet. He was sitting by my foot, but he keeps standing up, walking in a circle, and sitting down. He repeats it again and again.
“I think Tickles is ready for a walk,” Geoffrey finally manages to say.
The sun burns through Geoffrey’s living room window. I enjoy the brightness, but he says, “Can you close the blinds for me?”
Tickles follows me over to the blinds, and I suddenly think about the time when Seth and I went walking with Tickles, and Seth had an allergic reaction. He didn’t know he was that allergic to peanuts. The doctor said allergies can sometimes get more severe over time.
I check my phone. Nothing from Seth.
Before I leave, I turn to Geoffrey and say, “Need anything while I’m out?”
He coughs once and says, “How about some cough syrup?”
I nod, and as I begin to close the front door, he shouts, “Oh, and some ice cream.”
I return later with his supplies, and as I walk in, I notice a pained and frightened look on Geoffrey’s face. “Charlie.” I also can smell the same sickly sour smell, but somehow it managed to get even stronger since the walk.
“What’s wrong?” I rush over to him.
He tries to sit up straighter. He looks at me and says, “I need you to do me a huge favor. Only for a couple of days.”
“Anything.” I don’t like where this conversation is heading.
“I need you to watch Tickles while I’m in the hospital. I figure you’re the best person for him.”
“Hospital?”
Geoffrey nods, his massive second chin shaking. “Just for a few days. Need to get a couple of tests. I’m leaving later today. When the ambulance gets here.”
“Holy crap. Is there anything I can do?”
Geoffrey coughs. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s Tickles I’m worried about.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. Seriously. He’s in great hands.”
Geoffrey smiles. “Thank you, Charlie.” He coughs again. “He can even stay at your place if that’s more convenient for you.”
I’m not entirely sure what is going on with Geoffrey. But I’m scared.
I sit down on the recliner, suddenly aware of how at one point Geoffrey sat in this same seat until he became too massive to fit comfortably. I wonder what it would be like to be so large that this recliner wouldn’t hold me. That would be such a different life that I can’t even process my thoughts on it. How could someone allow themselves to get so big? Wouldn’t even a daily walk fight against becoming basically immobile?
“Charlie?” asks Geoffrey.
“Yes?”
“Can you stay until the ambulance gets here?” He coughs again.
“Maybe we can watch something on the History Channel?” I say, getting situated in the recliner. I know it’s his favorite channel.