Charlie’s off to a birthday sleepover this evening for twin boys he’s befriended during his many years at Bradford Elementary School. For their birthday gifts, the twins got instruments: one boy was gifted an electric guitar, the other a drum kit.
Charlie insisted on bringing his acoustic guitar when we departed from chez Bollinger and I couldn’t really see why we needed to do that. Until we arrived at the twins’ home. The rocker twins rushed at us as we parked, curbside, in front of their home. I scrambled to gather Charlie’s pillow, an overnight bag and his favorite worn stuffed animal leopard. Charlie carried his acoustic guitar.
Twin #1: Dude, you’re like forty-five minutes late.
Charlie: (nodding his head in my direction) Sorry. She works. She had to do an email.
Twin #2: My Dad’s still building the drum kit.
Charlie: Cool. Nice guitar. (Charlie slides his fingers along the sleek ebony colored electric that Twin #1 is holding) Okay. Let’s go.
(I followed the boys across the front lawn, shouldering the overnight bag. The pillow and stuffed animal were squeezed in my right hand. We entered a rather grand foyer with a geometric chandelier overhead and a wide and curvy staircase that gracefully swept upward to a vast second floor, which I could not see beyond the landing. The boys began their ascent, to some room past the top landing that had been staged, no doubt, for a full-on rock concert.)
Cassie: (calling up to the kid, who had not even wished me a farewell) Well, okay then. Don’t forget to get some sleep.
(From the top stair, Charlie The Kid shook me off with a not-so-subtle jerk of the head)
Charlie: You just don’t get it. (sighing, then sharply) Good-bye, Mom.
(Oh I get it, you little rocker child, you. I know a Garage Band when I see one.)