Me Ninja, You Karl’s Mom.
My friend Karl lived a few streets over. He was a nice kid. We liked to sit around and watch TV. Truthfully, I can’t really remember what it is Karl and I actually had in common, perhaps it was only loneliness, I can’t be sure. Maybe it was because our parents were friends. I don’t know. But Karl and I were friends. I used to go over to his place and watch TV in his den. It was a downstairs den. There was a door off the side of the house. I think it was a split-level or something. Who knows, really it was a long time ago. (I remember his toys though). Anyhow, Karl invited me over. Karl was always downstairs when I would come over. And I always rang the doorbell, (the front door) and Mrs.Karl’s Mom would open up, and say
HI Michele! Karl is in the den. Go on down.
And I would. We would watch TV and then I would go home.
One day, I decided to get creative. (WHY!? MICHELE! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GET CREATIVE?!) It seems (judging from most of my “creative” memories), getting creative did not prove itself well. There was that one time I caught Mrs. M talking to herself—like actually having a conversation with herself. (Something so totally and completely freaky for a kid watching an adult do). There was that other time, I saw her naked. (Holy shit! The HAIR!! THERE IS HAIR THERE
Anyhow, adding creativity to normal, every day things don’t always work out the way one wants. I only wanted to scare him. That’s it. Just a simple
watch him scream, and then sit down and watch TV. I was ready for that. So this time, on this day, I figured
To hell with it
And I went right around to that side door. I snuck in and moved my ninja body down the shag, carpeted stairs towards the den. Damn! Was I good. I even took my shoes off. I made not a peep. I rounded the corner, saw someone on the couch and yelled,
on the top of my 7 year old voice. I quickly got ready for a pee-your-pants-laughter. Nope.
Mrs. Karl’s Mom was so angry. After she stopped screaming from the amazing sneak, scare operation I had just completed she began to yell. The yelling turned in to a deep lecture which brought on my tears which turned into my apologizing over and over again. I didn’t visit Karl that day. I left, headed home and waited for the phone call and the lecture from my parents about not “breaking and entering” into the Stones’ home any more.
That phone call never came. But I think I told my mother out of guilt any way.
A note to all the kids: “Being “creative” is not always a good idea. Just do things as you normally would and you won’t grow up super freaky.