The Well Has Run Dry
It was my greatest fear, realized.
Coming home that evening, I was greeted with an empty house. But that wasn't the greatest fear. That happened, on occasion, and as everyone was out at my wife's parents' house, visiting for Grandparents Day. I had been left behind, a casualty of having to go to the RMV to fill out a missing car report.
It wasn't missing, the car. Or, sorry, I phrased that wrong. I wasn't missing the car. It was a hunk of junk, and more often than not it wouldn't start. This is also where it wasn't quite missing. The thing just wouldn't start, and my wife abandoned it, walking nine miles back down relatively busy streets. So I... listen, this isn't a RMV story. When I said it was my greatest fear, realized, I didn't mean spending time at the RMV, filling out the form (C-19), and getting it stamped, only to find the stamp was an invalid stamp, which the kindly RMV employee explained meant I must fill out another C-19 and mail it in, not bring it in to the RMV. I didn't mean that was my ultimate fear, realized. It was close, a thought which hit me in the middle of standing in line, watching news crawl across the circa 1980s moving text board. But not the whole banana.
No. When my wife and kids got home that night and found the house in disarray; walls with holes beaten into the plaster, massive dents in the kitchen counter, the awkward bend to the door of the fridge where one half crumpled in, forlornly. The pictures strewn about the floor with smashed glass and broken frames, a small, umm, hammer-shaped hole in the front window, and a hammer, stuck claw end first into the tree in the front yard.
Well, someone had left that hammer on the kitchen counter, first thing I saw when I came in... and what did you know, my life long fear, when faced with the circumstances I had been so very concerned about for years, was that, indeed, everything did look like a nail when I had a hammer.
disclaimer:
We hope you enjoyed that, too.
And we're not really melting too bad this week in New England.
And speaking of New England... it's a damn shame the New England of my youth doesn't seem to be the same one we're in now (is it ever?)... If you're ever in Falmouth... Falmouth Heights, in particular, I would recommend you not bother with it.
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