THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

The house sat very still. It seemed as if the echoes of the day reverberated throughout the house, but noiselessly. Only memories of what transpired that day were left in evidence and testimonial to those that live there.

I slowly descended the steps, “Happy” my cocker spaniel trailing behind me, eager for a drink and a place to do her business. As I approached the bottom of the staircase, a sudden feeling of despair overcame my sleepy demeanor. I neared the kitchen with great trepidation; knowing full well what may be waiting for me.

Automatically reaching for the light switch on the wall, a momentary pause after upping the switch, I looked around. What I saw ran a shiver up and down my spine. Cold fear consumed my very being; the desire for an early death would be better than what I was about to see. #2 Son, had made a snack for himself, and had left proof!

At first, I was confused. I thought: “A terrorist in my home? How the hell did they get in. I didn’t even hear the explosion! Maybe I have to stop sleeping with the air-conditioner on.” Carefully I started to pick my way through the debris, moving about cautiously, careful not to step wantonly and perhaps trip a mine or booby trap of some kind. But no, this was all food related. This was the work of something far more sinister than a terrorist! THIS WAS #2 SON AT HIS BEST!

You’ve seen pictures of Hiroshima, and Dresden after the bombings; the kitchen had a “Nagasaki look” to it. Empty pasta box, pan turned on it’s side, cheese crumbs on the counter, and the ever present dish with fork stuck to the bottom, loaded with enough oil to lower the price of oil on the international marketplace if we could get it to market! A colander sat in the sink, ravaged by steaming pasta, perched over the cheese-encrusted dish.

The stove, what can I say about the stove? Painfully I looked about, a short, sudden jerking overcame me, a sobbing and then tears fell from my face, pieces of pasta lay in the gas wells, water stains lay on the top of the stove, laced with the starch from the pasta.

I closed the lights, and headed back toward the stairs, this was a nightmare, and nothing more. I will awaken in the morning and tell TLW (The Little Woman) about the silly little nightmare I just experienced.

Suddenly I heard a bark. It was then that I realized that I left the dog out, so I had to relive the nightmare.

When I awoke in the morning, TLW was already up and had gone downstairs. I lay in the bed wondering if it was real? Had I actually witnessed it? I showered and dressed and headed down toward the kitchen. There sat TLW in her chair in the den, the kitchen spotless, and a crazed look on her face. It was real.