The day didn't go as smooth as I wanted it to; it was a little more stressful then I had anticipated. But to make myself feel better, I kept on repeating that I was still smarter than those kids...well, I think so anyway. I must have done something right, because Mr. Bells asked me to come back on Tuesday at high noon. 

 "Sooooooo, how did it go on your first day of your entrepreneurial enterprise?" asked my brother, Ian, who was in the living room playing his guitar to Prissy and Johnny when I came in the door. Prissy was under a quilt and Johnny was sitting next to her pocking the poor little dog. 

 "Oh, ok, I guess," I said. "Not as I expected.”

 “Nothing ever seems to be the way we expect them to be,” he said in harmony with the melody he was playing on the guitar.” I ignored him like I always do.

 “I don't know if what I did was right or wrong, good or bad.”

   "What did you do?" asked Ian as he continued playing his guitar.

   "I sort of locked one of the kids in the closet," I said very casually as I sat on one of the recliners with my legs hanging over the armrests.

   "Cool. . . I mean, why?" Johnny asked.

"Because Erick Jr. was driving me crazy!" I said. "Oh, and you don't understand, the place I locked him up was his closet which is almost as big as my room. Erick has more toys in his closet that Ian and I ever had!”

Ian and I grow up together and we have shared a lot of things, like bedrooms, bathrooms, toys and even clothes. My mom would sew our clothes and dress us up the same. She would make a dress for me and some shorts and a shirt for Ian out of the same material . . . totally embarrassing! But what can you do at a very young age if you have no say in the matter?

We even slept in the same bedroom until we were around 4 or 5 years old. It was a small two bedroom apartment and my parents would lock their bedroom door to have some privacy. We didn’t want to sleep alone so we would end up in each other’s bed.  We shared the same toys too. I played with racing cars and building blocks while my brother played with dolls and my little play oven . . . although Ian would never admit to it. And now that we’re all grown up, we still share a lot of things. We like the same music, really into video games, obsessed with the Oriental culture, and share the same best friend, Johnny.

            "An old Chinese proverb says, 'The Wise men of the past do not consider that making no mistakes is a Blessing. They believe that the great virtue of man lies in his ability to correct his mistakes, and continually make a new man of himself.’” Ian said strumming his guitar to the words of the proverb like a poem.

            "What are you talking about?" I uttered.

            "It means, if you messed up, FIX IT!” Johnny said.

            "Johnny,” Ian said with a snobbish tone in his voice stopping for a moment from playing his guitar, “you are truly a great interpreter of philosophy." Prissy pocked her head out from under the covers and whined at Ian, kind of like agreeing.

            "Oh, I don't know, maybe I just don't have the patience for this stuff,” I said.

            "A great Greek teacher once said...”

            "Save it Ian, I got it.”  

****   ****   ****

            Nothing eventful happened on the weekend except that grandpa came over and we had a cook out.

“Cooking, horse meat again, Bambi.” Bambi was my grandfather’s nickname for my mom. And whenever he wanted to push her buttons, he would taunt her about her cooking. That would absolutely infuriate her!

 The weekend was over and I felt as lazy on Monday as I did on Sunday so I slept all day on Monday. It was one of those overcast, but non-rain days in Jersey, good enough to stay home and read a book, or just stay in bed with your dog and cuddle...and that’s exactly what I did. (I stayed in bed and cuddled, not read a book.)

The Bells had asked me to come back on Tuesday afternoon. And before I knew it, it was time to go to work. When I arrived at the Bells' house, Mrs. Bells wasn't home and Mr. Bells was in a workout outfit.

            "Running to the gym?" I asked.

            "Well, actually I have a teleconference in a few minutes, then a business luncheon with a client at 1:30 and then at 3:00 I have to pick up my dry cleaning. . .” Yep, just what I thought, running to the gym.    

            "The baby needs a bottle, oh and she takes her nap around one o’clock," he said as he was running out of the house.

Wait a minute, the baby had to take a what? "Mr. Bells, how do you put the baby to sleeee?...” To late, he was gone. 

             Okay, how do I put a child to sleep?  Well, mom use to sing us lullabies. . . like I know any. I quickly called Johnny, maybe he knows some lullabies. He picks up the phone, with Black Sabbath music blaring in the background. I hung up. I was taught to solve problems on my own. It creates character, it exercises your mind, and it gives you something to do when you just can't figure out what to do. Putting a baby to sleep shouldn't be a hard thing. It's a small child, it should be real easy. Right? 

Okay, around 12:30, after lunch, I went to Kayleen’s room and put her jammies on, gave her a blankie and her ittle doggie (which was her night time friend). Alrighty then, let’s try doing the rocking chair thing-of-ma-jiggy in her room, like I've seen in the movies and sing a lullaby. So, I belted out (or destroyed) a version of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star:

Twinkle, Twinkle little tar,

 What a wonder nut you are.

Up upon a swirl so far,

Like a sparkle up in Mars.

Twinkle, Twinkle little tar,

What a blunder butt you are.

            Repeat, repeat, repeat. After singing it for the 110th times, the baby finally fell asleep of boredom, and so did I. When I woke up I heard nothing but silence. Ahhhhhhh, how nice. The little girl’s room smelled like fresh baby powder and Butt-Butt cream. It was decorated in pastel pinks, pleasant purples and mellow yellows. It was whimsical, childlike, sweet.

“Holy Macro!” I yelled quietly. “Erick Jr.!” I woke up realizing I left a 4 year old toddler outside in the playroom by himself all this time! I placed the baby down in her crib and sprinted like a gazelle to find Erick in the kitchen with the one thing his mother told me he could not eat- # 7 on the list.... STRAWBERRIES!!!! My heart stopped for probably 10 minutes or so, I gasped for air, when I finally came too, I tried to think with my reasoning voice, but that ran out the door a long time ago. I immediately picked up Erick by his arm pits, ran to the bathtub and proceeded to turn him upside down grabbing him by his legs and started to shake him up and down, to see if some of the strawberries would come back up. After a few seconds, the kid became silent. I think I killed him! I turned him right side up, not knowing if he was dead or alive. His eyes opened, but they were hollow, glassy and dark.  I noticed he was breathing so I didn’t kill him. Rats! But then his breathing became heavier, more shallow and thicker. His cheeks turned all red, and he had that look on his face, but it was too late. Redemption had finally reached me. It was a look that I will definitely positively want to forget, but surely absolutely always remember. He’s eyes started to bulged, his neck contracted and his mouth opened wide, with his tongue sticking out. And before I knew it, all of a sudden, I was covered with  . . . red, hot, chunky. . . vomit goo! I swear he was laughing at me, but I couldn't make out his face because of the vomit in my eyes. Then, I drop him in the tub. . . Aw don’t worry, he didn’t get hurt or anything! I swear it was an accident! It was! Please, just don't tell anyone.