The Great McCrae

Cleanup

You’re home alone, after school. You’re in a blind panic.

You consider calling a cleaning service. You consider calling Jay and saying you’re sick. Locking the door and running away. Setting fire to the whole thing.

But instead you stand there in the house, frozen.

You figure: cleaning the place up before they get here might make Bud angry, because then he’d be coming over for no reason. But leaving it filthy might make him hate you, because he’d have so much work to do.

You try to imagine you’re a Cro Mag, living alone with your brother. How would YOUR house look?

Like a prehistoric cave. Finger paintings of bison on the walls.

So you decide to do nothing because maybe a messy house is a good thing, like a badge of honor, and just the thought of this makes you realize you are OVERTHINKING and MAKING THIS TOO IMPORTANT, and maybe Jay was right and Bud has nothing better to do than come over and help out a friend of a friend.

Still, you’re constantly looking out the window for Ted. Maybe—just maybe—your brother would come home the ONE day you need him. But no. He’s probably stuffing his face with pizza and having a great time in your moment of humiliation.

The doorbell rings, and your hand shakes as you reach for the knob. You open the door, trying to look as macho as possible.

“Yo,” you say. “’Sup?”

But Jay’s not looking at you. He’s staring at the room behind you and his first comment is “WHAT HAPPENED?”

Lisa’s face is all twisted in shock and disgust, as if she just walked into a fertilizer sale at Sears.

Behind her is Bud McNally—and he looks amused. HE’S LAUGHING AT YOU.

“I’ve been working real hard with the decorator,” you say—just a joke, you can’t help it—AND YOU WANT TO KICK YOURSELF because that’s just the kind of sarcastic comment Cro Mags hate.

“How about a few more dustballs near the sofa, for atmosphere?” Bud suggests.

And you’re amazed. A Cro Mag with a sense of humor!

Jay rolls up his sleeves and asks if I have kitchen trash bags.

Soon we’ve started. We toss clothes into bags. We sweep. We throw out food. We fix broken hinges. Bud opens windows you hadn’t even realized were closed. We work, work, work.

And that’s when you make your discovery: YOU ARE A RAVING, STEREOTYPING, PARANOID, IMMATURE fool, just as bad as the Cro Mags.

Because Bud is a good guy.

You actually have fun. By the end of the day, everyone’s laughing at your jokes and asking you to do your imitations of Ms. Patterson and Mr. Dean.

And just before you go, Jay asks you if you want to go to his house Saturday. Just a “small hang with the guys,” he calls it, and Lisa is rolling her eyes and teasing him for not inviting girls, so Jay has to make excuses and claim that he TRIED, but the other guys wouldn’t let him—which makes you think this is really a Cro Mag gathering, but you don’t want to ask right out, so you casually ask who’ll be there, and Bud jumps in and mentions Sam and Travis and Marco—and you say you’re not sure you can come, and Jay says, “I’ll take care of Marco,” so you think about it awhile.

Before today, you would have said you’d go to the party when hell freezes over.

But you realize that you were wrong about Bud.

Maybe you’re wrong about some of the other guys.

Wouldn’t it be nice to actually have them ON YOUR SIDE? To have so-called NORMAL guys as your friends?

You picture a new life. A house that can actually be a HOME, even without Mom & Dad. Guy friends your own age.

It COULD happen.

So you say yes.