Where are the Boys?
Our twenty year old rents the basement from us. He helps out by occasionally doing the dishes or taking the trash to the dump. When pressed, and if it is his day off, he will agree to take the golf cart down to the end of the drive and wait for the younger boys at the bus stop.
Last week, I called on his service. I had several appointments during the day and would end up meeting dad at the dermatology office to have a basal cell carcinoma removed from his shoulder. Our renter had the day off. Perfect. He could meet the boys and I would not have to worry.
As planned, I met dad at the dermatologist office. The nurse checked him and wrote in the charts. I sat quietly to the side and read my newest novel.
“Did you make arrangements for the boys to be picked up?” dad asked me.
“UmmmHummm,” I stated.
I retreated to my book and he paced around the room. Finally, the Dr. came in with the nurses and they proceeded to mark an area to be excised. They applied the blue drape and filled the needles with lidocaine. My phone rang.
I saw it was the renter so I decided to answer it. It was 3:10. I thought he was going to tell me that he had he boys and all was well.
“Hey, the bus isn’t here yet. What do you want me to do?”
“Well, sometimes they are late. Just give it a few minutes,” I counseled as I watched the nurse inject the numbing medicine into multiple areas on dad’s shoulder.
Back to my book. I could hear dad and the nurse visiting while waiting on his shoulder to get numb.
The phone again. I gave a heavy sigh. It was 3:18.
“They still aren’t here,” I could hear the agitation in his voice.
“Well, at least it is a nice day. Let’s give them a few more minutes.”
Dad raised his brows and said, “Do you need to go check on things?”
“No, I am sure they are fine.”
He lays back and the cutting commences. All the heads are bent over the work in progress at the shoulder when the phone rings.
Now I am a little nervous. “Still not there?” I say quickly.
“Nope, I am going back to the house.”
“Ok, let me call the school.”
I leave the room and call the school.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. I know it is after hours and I am hoping that someone will pick up.
“Hello,” I hear a voice with lots of noise in the background. I explain how the bus has not shown up with the boys.
“Well, I can see your first grader from here, let me go see if the fourth grader is here as well” and she lays the phone down before I can say a word.
I am thinking, “Why in the world did they not get on the bus? Now, I don’t know what to do because I need to stay here with dad. Maybe the renter can run pick them up.”
“Ma’am? They are both here.”
“Why are they there? I can come get them.”
“Well, the dance isn’t over until 5:00.”
The dance? The dance?
I totally forgot that I paid for them to attend the dance! I sent the money last week.
With a sheepish voice, I thanked her and called the renter to tell him that I found the boys.
“Way to go Mom!”
I hung up on him and re-entered the surgery room.
Dad grunted at me from the table.
“All is fine,” I mumbled and patted his leg.
Not everyone in the room needed to know about the dance!