The week before, when I pick him up for the voyage home, I climbed into his apartment, which is shared with 5 others, over what looked like a landfill, or maybe it was somehow caught up in the tsunami from Japan, or maybe Purchase does have earthquakes, and viewed the devastation.
As we pulled into the parking lot, we offered to help him bring his ‘stuff’ up into his second floor apartment on campus. There were all kinds of canvas and plastic bags filled with the world of #2 Son, including clean laundry and 50 million bottles of soda.
TLW: “Do you want us to help you carry all these things up?”
#2 Son: “You don’t have to.”
Me: “Don’t be silly, this will make only one trip, no point climbing those stairs more than once.”
Off we went to the apartment, and climbed the institutional like steps to the big metal orange door. I was surprised that no warning signs of any kind were posted, not even a radioactive danger sign. Not ‘WARNING’ or even a simple; ‘CAREFUL’ was posted after all; this IS a room that houses college men, one being our pride and joy!
Pushing the door open with great reluctance, #2 Son leads us into what we expect is the immediate moments of Hiroshima after the blast.
As I step in, I immediately become disoriented! Something is terribly wrong! I can see the floor! Yes, the whole floor, all the way into the kitchen, which does have a wall behind the sink! The last time I looked, there were pots, pans and dished obstructing the view, it was all blind faith that led me to believe that there was a wall. Occupying the place were three men and a woman all sitting around talking.
My suspicion was we are in the wrong apartment: they DO all look alike. This was not the case: this WAS his place! One of the young men, greets us, and I comment: “WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!” The young man replies, “Oh, I cleaned it.” I point to the others and say: “You owe him a dinner!” I think #2 Son was happy to see me leaving.
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