The phone was ringing and from just having visited my mom, I thought I knew who it would be. Whenever any of my brothers or sisters called me to baby-sit, I didn�t say no unless I was already committed for the night they needed me. But I wasn�t such a generous younger brother, or such a popular uncle, necessarily. By the time they called me it�s because the grandparents were busy, the girl on their street had a date, and there wasn�t anyone left to ask. And I could enjoy the company of people with single-digit ages as long as I knew I�d have it for only a few hours. But picturing eighteen to twenty years in the company of children was a thought I couldn�t yet get used to, and that�s another reason I didn�t say no. If my siblings were brave and foolish enough to take on the task of raising kids, the least I could do is let them escape for a few hours at a time whenever they asked me. After all, our parents raised nine. Now that�s brave and foolish.
I said I wasn�t a popular uncle, but a �dummy uncle� was close. �Bachelor uncles� was the wording the family used to describe my younger brother, one older brother, and me until Shane�our oldest nephew�came up with wording more accurate, if less complimentary. In his way, Shane intended �dummy uncles� as praise. He meant Luke, Kevin, and I were the only uncles who went in for full-contact playing and never said no or got angry like real grown-ups could.
�Hi, John. Are you doing anything Friday night?� It was my sister-in-law Kim. She and Dennis have a boy and girl, Paul and Adrianne, who were four and two at the time. Paul was particularly nonstop. The only time he dropped one toy was to drag out another. And if you told him to watch TV awhile or play by himself, he whined complaints until you wanted to gag him. He was the first one I broke a sacred dummy uncle rule with, by saying no. But that�s getting ahead of myself. Adrianne was a silent little girl, adorable with straight blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. But she was overly fond of goodies and disliked having anyone but Dennis pick her up.
�No, I�m free,� I said. �What do you need, someone to watch the kids?�
�You were talking to Josie.�
�She is my mom, after all.�
�Yeah,� Kim said. �Dennis and I were invited to Tom Buckley�s housewarming party. He and Vicki just moved to Haddonfield.�
That made sense. I remember Dennis at my graduation party saying Tom just married recently. He knew Tom since college, where both played basketball and roomed together at away games. That was six years ago. Now they�re married CPA�s, playing in weekend and summer leagues and having kids.
�What time?�
�Den�ll pick you up around eight, okay?�
�Sure. Bye, Kim.�
�Thanks a lot, John. See you Friday.�
Just before eight on Friday, Dennis beeped the Buick�s horn out in the street. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the car.
�Am I early?� Dennis asked as I buckled the seatbelt.
�A little.�
�Good,� Dennis said. �How�s the job hunt going?�
�It ain�t,� I said. �I keep filling out applications and sending résumés, but keep getting back the same �We�ll keep you on file for a year� bullshit.�
�Hang in there,� Dennis said. �At least they�re answering your letters. Most accounting firms just ignored mine. And September�s five months away, right?�
�Yeah,� I said. �I�ll just go through the motions and hope something turns up. I won�t panic until August.�
�Worked for the rest of us,� Dennis said. �Ready for a jay?�
�Twist my arm.�
Dennis pressed in the car lighter, found the joint in his jacket pocket, and put it between his lips.
�Aren�t you afraid I�ll be too goofy with your kids?�
The lighter popped out, ready. Dennis held it to the end of the cigarette. �You can�t be goofy enough for those two.� He passed the joint, then turned on the stereo.
I laughed, �I guess not.�
�You trying to grow a beard?�
� �Trying� is right,� I said.
�John, a mustache is ambitious enough for us. A beard is really pushing it, don�t you think?�
I couldn�t argue with that. I was spending the same time trimming stray hairs as I would have shaving. And making beard tending even less worthwhile is the fact Dennis and I were the blondest Hunts until the third generation came along. I was going to tell him I�m just letting go because I dislike shaving.
Instead I said, �Well, I decided not to shave until I have my first job interview. And up until yesterday that�s all I was doing. But now I guess I have to say I�m trying to grow a beard.�
�What changed yesterday?�
�I shaved the neck to get it shaped like something.� I passed the joint back to Dennis.
�Hmmn.�
We didn�t talk much more on the ride up to Bensalem, where Dennis and Kim�s house is. But it wasn�t an uncomfortable silence. Seated on the passenger side of the Buick, listening to the songs and feeling the relaxing effect of the THC, I started copiloting our way up Interstate 95. Dennis is one of the better drivers in the family, but his greed for speed makes it seem as though he�s ever in a hurry. And if he weren�t so skillful, many of his maneuvers would be easily construed as reckless. As my dad, who taught us all to drive, put it, �He drives like a goddamn cowboy.� My own tendency to pick out a lane and stick with it had me pressing my right foot to the carpet�where the copilot�s brake should be�as Dennis worked in and out of the four lanes, passing seemingly still cars.
�Did you see that?� Dennis asked.
�What?�
�The two people kissing in the back seat of that car we just passed?�
�No,� I said. �What about them?�
�It was two chicks.�
�Sure one wasn�t a guy?� I turned to look back.
�Maybe,� Dennis said. �Hope so, anyway.�
The rest of the drive passed uneventfully. I ignored the traffic, turning my attention to reading the factory signs and billboards instead. There�s an advertisement for fur coats that I particularly hated but always watched for. The woman on the billboard was in her twenties, or early thirties. Like they always are in ads, unless age is the point being made. She�s gorgeous and the man slipping her into the fur�which looks to cost as much as a car�is a handsome bastard, too, of course. Ads for the good life bother me.
�Hey, John,� Dennis broke my ire, �you starting to notice the Playmates getting younger than you every month?�
I turned sharply to Dennis� profile. His question surprised me like telepathy, though I knew he had a Playboy subscription and had saved every issue since he graduated college and moved out. At my graduation party, I told Dennis I started having Playboy delivered. That was our last conversation, two months ago.
�Yeah,� I said. �I wish they�d go back to not putting the birth date.�
�It�s Playboy,� Dennis said. �If you don�t like one page, turn to another.� I remember Dennis saying the �data sheet� was one of the first pages he read every month. He knew it wasn�t the Playmates getting younger, of course, but us getting older. I decided not to argue if he didn�t. We were exiting I-95, anyway.
Then we were in Dennis and Kim�s housing development in Bensalem. As I was getting out of the car, I pushed down the lock knob. Dennis said, �Leave it unlocked. Kim should be ready by now.� He came up the walkway behind me.
Kim was out of view in the kitchen, Paul and Adrianne in front of the television in the living room, as I opened the door.
�Dukes of Hazzard?� I said.
�Hi, Uncle John,� Paul said. �Yeah, it�s almost over.�
�Hi Adrianne,� I said. She looked at me and smiled. Kim came in from the kitchen as Dennis came in the front door.
�You like this show, Paul?� I asked.
�He likes the scenes General Lee�s in,� Kim said.
�I like the scenes Daisy is in,� I said.
�That�s all I watch it for,� Dennis said. �But Catherine Bach�s never in it enough.�
Kim came down the split-level�s steps and over to the closet for her coat. The lower level, where we all stood, is the living room. The upper level had a carpeted dining room�which Dennis and Kim didn�t yet use for that�and led into the kitchen and beyond, to the yard. Kim pointed with the arm already through her sleeve.
�I have some pictures there for you from your graduation party.�
I saw an envelope on the end table left of the sofa. �Good.�
Then she looked at me and I could tell Kim was going to start through the litany of things to tell the sitter.
She did and I cut in, �Kim, I know where everything important is. I�ve been here more than a few times, right?�
�Okay,� Kim said, then smiled. �I know I don�t have to tell you where the refrigerator is.�
�Yeah,� Dennis said. �Go easy on the lunch meats, pal. They�re for work.�
�This is the last time I baby-sit here,� I joked.
�You�re as bad as Adrianne,� Kim said. Then, facing Dennis, �Is there anything else to tell him about, Den?�
�Yeah,� Dennis said, snatching up a white toy rifle. �Check this out, John.� He set up a small platform at the top of the split level�s steps, next to the door leading to the basement. Four plastic missiles were positioned on the platform so that when you hit the target with the lightbeam from the gun, the missiles ejected in turns. Dennis missed, then launched a missile with his second shot.
�Neat!� I said, ever one to appreciate a new toy.
�I wanna play,� Paul said.
�All right,� Dennis said. �But John�s next.� He handed me the rifle and I stood where he had, about ten feet from the target. After three shots, I hadn�t moved anything. Then Dennis said, �You got to aim a little low.�
�Low?� I said, and fired. The second missile went up.
�My turn,� Paul said. As I handed him the rifle, Dennis and Kim moved toward the door and motioned me over.
�Does it work better with the light out?� I asked, hitting out the lightswitch by the front door. Because the television, dining room, and kitchen lights were on, our loss of light was noticeable, but not crucial. Paul liked the difference because the gun�s beam showed up much better as he fired. But Kim, in her jacket beside Dennis, had another concern.
�Is he all right?�
�He�s John,� Dennis answered.
�I�m fine, Kim,� I said, staring into her eyes. �Go have fun.�
�All right,� she said, looking at the red, white, and blue of my eyes. Then she turned to the kids. �G�night Adrianne. Be good, Paul, and go to bed when Uncle John says.� Dennis walked over to Adrianne, lifting her off the sofa.
�Okay,� Paul said. �Bye.� He held the laser rifle easy as he watched The Dukes� final chase scene.
�G�night, my little girl,� Dennis said. When he kissed her, Adrianne kissed back. Then he lowered her back to the sofa, where she sat up silently looking at our three faces in turn as Dennis and Kim went out and I locked the door behind them.
When I turned back, the credits were flipping by on the television screen and the Waylors were playing. Paul was standing at the bottom of the steps with the laser rifle about three inches from the target, and Adrianne was seated right where Dennis left her, with a thumb in her mouth. The last two missiles went up.
�Paul, you�re standing too close!� I clicked on the light.
�No I�m not!�
�Get serious, buddy,� I said. �Stand back here.�
�That�s too far,� he said.
�All right,� I said. �Forget it, then. I�ll play with Adrianne if you�re going to cheat.�
�I ain�t cheatin�! I ain�t cheatin�!�
�Shhh,� I said, walking over to Adrianne.
�What do you feel like playing?� I asked. Adrianne just looked at me and smiled uncomfortably. �Want to play Tickle Fingers?� I said, wiggling my index fingers into her ribs.
�No, no, no,� she said. �Doan dickle me!�
�Okay,� I said. �No more Tickle Fingers. I�m pulling them off, see?� I pulled at the tips of my fingers as if pulling off gloves. �What do you feel like doing, Adj?�
�TV,� Adrianne said, then something I didn�t follow.
�Huh?�
�A Strawberry Shortcake special is comin� on,� Paul explained. �Mommy said she could stay up for it.�
�Well, Dallas is on this channel,� I said. �See if you can find Strawberry Shortcake, okay Paul?�
�Okay.� He went up to the cable box under the television.
�Yea!� Adrianne said when Paul found the right channel. We sat quietly for a few minutes, finding out what the animated special was to be about.
But by the first commercial, Paul had lost any interest and started asking me to play basketball against him. I wanted to go clicking around the cable, but Adrianne looked on the brink of tears since becoming parentless, so I didn�t risk it. Hoping that as long as her show was on Adrianne wouldn�t mind the lack of company, I went up to the dining room level with Paul. I asked him to bring up the basket and ball from the basement so we wouldn�t leave Adrianne alone. When he returned, I noted the cardboard pole which held up the backboard and plastic rim was adjusted to its highest position. At four, Paul was getting too big for it already. No surprise. At ten and a half pounds, he was born biggest of my nephews and nieces and wasn�t one to waste his head start.
I put the basket in the corner with the backboard on a diagonal supported on each side by the dining room wall and the metal railing which ran along the split level�s edge. Paul threw a long shot which bounced off the rim. I grabbed the rebound and slam-dunked it. When I jumped up and down with my arms in the air, imitating the noises of a cheering crowd, Paul�s face flushed red.
�You can�t do that,� he whined. �That was my shot!�
�You�re right. You�re right,� I said. �I didn�t take it out first. The light looks like half court. Let�s make sure we take the ball out under the light when we get it, okay?�
�Okay.�
�Your ball,� I said, and tossed it to Paul. He took a shot from the middle of the room, right under the light. It went right through the net without touching the backboard or rim.
�Nice swish, Paul!� I said. �We�ll play up to ten, all right?�
�By twos?�
�Wow.� I realized he and Dennis must do this a lot. �Even better. You got me, two-nothing.� I took the ball over toward the kitchen as Paul moved to the net. My shot bounced off the ceiling and rolled short of the basket.
Paul laughed and I said, �Welcome to the Pit, right?� Paul quickly scooped up the ball and ran under the light. He got off a shot before I got to him, but the ball bounced off the rim. He ran forward and tapped it in.
�Four-zip,� he shouted.
�All right,� I said. �Gimme the ball.� I took a shot from under the light. Standing in front of the net, Paul batted the ball away.
�Goaltending!� I shouted.
�That�s not goaltending,� Paul challenged.
�If the ball is still going up, it�s not goaltending,� I argued. �But that ball was coming down!�
�I blocked it!�
�You goaltended!�
�No I didn�t,� Paul said. �It would have missed anyway.�
�Get out of here, you cheater,� I said. �Adrianne, did you see that play?� She looked up at us slowly from her spot before the television, like our argument wasn�t worth removing the thumb from her mouth to get involved in.
�Never mind,� I said. �I ain�t playing basketball with a cheater, anyway.� I went back down to the easy chair across from where Adrianne was on the sofa. Paul came down the steps behind me.
�Come on, Uncle John. You said up to ten.�
�I didn�t know I was playing a cheater when I said that.� I swung a throw pillow at him, holding onto its corner.
�I ain�t a cheater!�
�Oh, yeah?� I said, and bounced the pillow off his head.
�Hey!� Paul grabbed the seat cushion off the armchair next to me, but it was too heavy for him to swing. So I forced a trade, then Paul came around behind me. Since I was kneeling and he could reach, he gave me three quick shots to the back of the head. I pivoted around, still on my knees, and dropped the seat cushion.
�Oh, you creep,� I said. �Just for that I�m calling out the Whisker Patrol.� I pinned down Paul�s arms on the easy chair and rubbed my chin and cheeks against his. He tried to push me away with the throw pillow, but Paul was laughing too hard to manage it.
�Stop!� Adrianne called out from behind me.
�Trying to save your brother, ay?� I said, coming toward her, �All right, we�ll see about that.� I rubbed my chin into her neck and face. She began to laugh and turn from side to side. But an instant later, Adrianne was screaming and beginning to cry. I stopped and lifted her to my hip.
�I�m sorry, babe,� I offered. �No more Whisker Patrol. I�m sorry.� My apology clearly not accepted, Adrianne leaned away from me and brought her left palm down on my nose with all the strength she could muster. For a two-year old, it was a blindingly forceful shot, and I had to put her down quickly to avoid dropping her.
�Ow!� I screamed. �Adrianne, I can�t believe you did that!�
�She only likes Dad to lift her up,� Paul explained.
�I wish you would�ve reminded me of that thirty seconds ago, Paul.� I was growing annoyed with this daddy�s-little-untouchable-princess bit, and almost said, �See if I ever pick up you again.� But I realized holding a grudge against anyone is silly; and holding one against a two-year old is plainly ridiculous. Besides, my nose was hardly stinging anymore, and I wanted to be friends again by the time they went to bed, so I asked Paul what he felt like playing, since Adrianne had gone back to watching television.
�Let�s pillow fight again.�
�No,� I said. �But I got an idea. Help me stack these cushions.� Paul and I put five seat cushions in a pile on the living room floor. The only one we didn�t use was under Adrianne on the sofa.
�Jump off the couch, Paul.� The stack was about six feet away from the sofa. Paul thrilled to the idea immediately. He pushed off hard and bounced high above the cushions. Rolling off the stack on the second bounce, he landed�fortunately enough�on his feet.
�Neat!� he said, running back to the sofa.
�All right, don�t break anything,� I said. �I�m getting something to drink.�
When I returned from the kitchen with a beer, Adrianne was laying on the stack of cushions. Paul was standing on the sofa, looking at the bottle in my hand.
�You goin� to get drunk?�
�Not on one beer, buddy.�
�Did you ever see my dad drunk?� Paul asked. I was too surprised by the question to answer right away. Paul stepped off the sofa. �He looks like this.� Paul hunched his shoulders forward and hung down his arms loosely. Then he stumbled across the floor with a blank look in his eyes and his chin hanging. Never did he look more like a miniature version of my brother than when he collapsed onto the easy chair. I almost laughed. If Paul said he was imitating Frankenstein, I probably would have laughed easily.
I put down my bottle and picked up Paul, tossing him backward onto the cushions. He landed right next to Adrianne, causing her body to bounce up and roll off the stack along with his. Paul thought that was pretty fine, and told Adrianne to climb up there again as he went over to the sofa. Paul made a few more jumps as I sat on the split-level steps sipping my beer. Each time, he came closer to landing right on top of Adrianne.
�Don�t stop until somebody gets hurt,� I said quietly. I knew as I said it, it wasn�t my own line. But I had to reach back through the years to realize I borrowed it from my mom. Then I was panic-stricken at sounding like a parent before the fact. However, the unfortunate sound of Adrianne�s crying snapped me back to reality. Paul was apologizing between each of her screams.
�All right, Adrianne.� I moved to pick up my niece, but she only screamed more. �You hurt?� More screams, but I didn�t notice any tears. �Come on, Adj. Paul said he was sorry. It was an accident.� I was going to add, �Why the heck were you just laying up there anyway?� but decided it would only aggravate this predicament.
�Look,� I said, �your Strawberry Shortcake show is over. How �bout if we hit the kitchen for a bedtime snack, okay?� When she didn�t answer, I said, �Come on, Paul.� I turned off the television and headed for the kitchen.
Paul sat at the kitchen table as I threw out my empty bottle and walked over to the refrigerator. �What do you want to drink, buddy?�
�Juice.�
I was looking at the shelves, my back to my nephew. �Apple or orange?�
�Orange juice.�
Adrianne entered the kitchen and climbed up on the chair next to Paul�s.
�How �bout you, little girl?� She just stared at me.
�What do you want to drink, Adj?� Paul asked her.
�App juice, please,� she said to me.
��Please,� huh?� I said. �Politeness will get you everywhere.� I put the pitcher and jug on the counter and looked at the cabinets. �Which one is cups, again?�
Paul pointed. �That one.�
�That�s right,� I said, and got out two plastic cups and a tall glass for my own orange juice. As I gave the kids their drinks I said, �Now, what goodies do we have around here?� Just as I finished the question, I spied a decorative tin on the counter above the dishwasher.
�Ah-hah!� I was over to the container in three quick strides. Popping off the lid, my joy impossible to conceal, I let out, �Homemade brownies! All right!� I held the tin before Adrianne. She lifted the biggest of the remaining brownies.
�Can you eat all that?� I said, spreading a paper towel at her place. She took a hefty bite of it even before resting the brownie on the paper towel. �Silly question, I know.�
Paul already had a napkin open at his spot and he chose the most perfectly square brownie.
�Watch this,� I said, picking up the smallest of those left in the tin. �Now you see it.� I threw it into my mouth. �Num ya dome,� I finished.
Paul had a good laugh, but Adrianne just stared at me again. �Don�t you think of trying it, guys. My mouth is plenty bigger than yours.� I could picture Kim later this week saying, �You learned that from Uncle John, really?�
I put another brownie with my glass, then put away the pitcher, jug, and tin before I sat to snack with the kids.
�Yo guys, how �bout drinking some of the juice, too.�
�I�m finished it,� Paul said.
�You are?� I looked in his cup. �Want a little more?�
�Okay.�
I poured him some from my glass. The next time I looked at Adrianne�s spot, her brownie wasn�t on the paper towel.
�Did you drop it, Adj?� Hoping so, I lifted the edge of the tablecloth to look under from my side.
�No, John,� Paul said. �It�s right there.�
�Adrianne!� I said, half in exasperation and half in disbelief. Both cheeks were puffed out like she was holding her breath. �You better chew that slow, little girl. Then finish your juice.� Despite how misshapen her facial muscles were, I thought I detected a smile�s trace, which the glint in her eyes reinforced.
�If you would eat meals like you eat goodies, your parents would have no trouble with you.� I guess I said it too sharply, because the smile vanished from Adrianne�s face.
�I always eat everything,� Paul said.
�I know you do, Paul. That�s how I grew up, too. If you want to make the NBA, you better keep it up.�
�I know.�
�How tall are you shooting for, around seven feet?�
�Six-seven.�
�That ought to do it,� I said.
I gathered up our paper towels for the trash, then put our cups and glass in the sink.
�Do you know what time it is, Adrianne?� I said. She looked up. �It�s bedtime for little girls.� I half expected an argument, or some kind of trouble, anyway. So I was relieved when she quietly slid off the chair and started climbing up the steps. I followed her with Paul behind me.
�I�m allowed to stay up, ain�t I, Uncle John?�
�I know they let you up awhile past Adrianne,� I said, stopping for a landing turn on the steps. �See that clock, Paul? When it�s a 10 and a 30 next to each other, that�s your bedtime, okay?�
He looked at the digital 9:47 and 10:30 sounded satisfactorily distant using his preschool math. �Okay.�
�Do you have to pee, Adj?� The last time I watched these two, she wasn�t potty-trained yet. Now they could both go to the bathroom by themselves, and Kim had them dressed for bed before I arrived. Kids get easier to baby-sit every year, but for some reason they never seem any easier.
�No.�
�Okay,� I said. �But go in and rinse that brownie out of your mouth, anyway.� I filled the cup with water. �Here.� She drank some. �Take another sip and spit it in the sink.�
Paul came into Adrianne�s room with us.
�How �bout a bedtime book, Adj?� I asked. �What do you like?� On top of her bookshelf I noticed Sesame Street volumes. �One of these?�
�Okay.�
I pulled one out of the order: �volume 12, featuring the numbers 4 and 7, and the letter D.�
�Hah, just like the show.� Then I noticed the volume was packed with activities, jokes, and stories. It would have to take more than an hour to read it from cover to cover. I sat on the edge of the bed and Paul moved around to sit on the opposite side.
�Have you been through this one, Adj?�
She nodded.
�Then what if we do it this way?� I said. �I�ll turn each page and if you want me to read it, I will. But if you want me to skip any, I�ll turn the page.�
�Okay.�
This clever plan saved me from reading forever and Adrianne got to skip what she knew to be boring parts. After an updated version of �The Emperor�s New Clothes� and the Count displaying shapes in groups of four, Adrianne was the one turning pages and stopping at pages for me to read.
By the time she reached the back cover, Adrianne was still awake, but looked drowsy enough to drop off. I got up to reshelf the book, then returned to her bedside.
�Good night, Adrianne,� I said. �By the time you wake up, Mom and Dad�ll be home.� Then I made a move to kiss her, but she turned away, toward Paul. At first I didn�t understand her reaction. I knew she wasn�t so crazy about me after the Tickle Fingers incident and Whisker Patrol, but I thought the brownie made us friends again. Then I realized from her look it was only the beard she didn�t want near her.
�Hey, Adrianne, don�t worry. I can kiss you without one whisker touching you. Watch.� I puckered out my lips ridiculously far. Paul laughed and even Adrianne started to giggle. I realized that was the first time I saw her laugh that night, the first time I ever heard her laughter. I kissed her quickly.
�There,� I said. �Did I itch you?�
She shook her head.
�See?�
�Good night, Adj,� Paul said.
I clicked off her light as we left Adrianne�s room. Out in the hallway Paul said, �I have to pee now.�
�Okay Paul,� I whispered. �So do I. But let�s go down to the basement so we don�t bother Adrianne.�
The basement was where most of the toys were. The perimeter of the room was lined with big toys, like a blackboard and wheeled riding toys. A wooden toy chest in the corner closest to the stairs stocks smaller toys. I was hoping we�d just urinate then go back to watching television, but seeing all these toys and knowing Paul, my hope was slim. In the back of the basement, under the front of the house, the laundry room was on the right and our destination on the left.
�Let me go first,� Paul said.
�We can go at the same time,� I said, motivated by beer.
�The same time?�
�Sure. Your uncles and dad used to do it every morning getting ready for school. Sometimes three or even four of us would be going at once. We used to race and cross swords. Maybe you��
�Cross swords?�
�Come on,� I stood before the bowl. �You stand at the side, there.� I lifted the seat. �Ready, g�set, fire.� As soon as Paul�s stream started, I crossed it with mine. �On guard, buddy.�
Paul was quick to take up the challenge. He got so involved in crossing swords I was glad I remembered to lift the seat before we started. But his urine foil slowed to a stop first.
�I out-fenced you that time,� I said. �Let�s go catch some TV, okay Paul?�
�No. Let�s play somethin� down here.�
�All right. What do you have in mind? Something not too noisy, I hope.�
�Let�s play darts,� Paul suggested from down the hallway.
�Darts?� I thought at first he meant the pointed, feathered ones and knew there was no way Dennis and Kim would ever let him play with darts at four. Even on second thought, I was too tired for the rubber-headed plastic kind. I emerged from the hallway ready to say, �Forget it, pal. Let�s go upstairs.� But when I saw Paul holding three yellow plastic Ping-Pong balls with black Velcro strips around them, I finally understood.
�Oh,� I said. �Go ahead. I�ll be second.� Paul threw a 25, a 50, and one that hit the paneling and attached itself to the carpet. �I got to beat 75,� I said, gathering up the balls.
As I got into position to make the first toss, Paul said, �You can�t stand that close!�
�This is right where you stood!�
�No it ain�t!�
�Yes it is!�
�John, come on.� Paul slowly whined out each word.
�All right, Paul Where do you want me to stand?�
�Here,� Paul said, standing as far away from the target as he could get and still be in the basement.
�I�ll do better than that.� Running halfway up the steps, I stopped to throw all three balls at once, then continued up the stairs.
�Ah, come on,� I heard from below.
�I want to watch some HBO,. Paul.� I was shouting too loud down the stairway. �Play by yourself. Do whatever you want.�
I went down into the living room, turned on the television, and started putting back the cushions. Paul came up a minute later.
�Help me straighten up these pillows, will you?�
�No,� Paul said.
�What do you mean, �no�? You sure had enough fun jumping on them, didn�t you?� I tossed a throw pillow at him. Paul was at the top of the split-level steps when he caught the pillow.
�Good snag,� I said. �Now let�s straighten up.�
After Paul and I had all the pillows in their places, I went to click the channel knob, but Paul stopped me.
�You can�t do it that way, Uncle John. You need to use this.� He flicked a lever on the cable box underneath the television. A boxing match came on.
�Which one�s HBO, Paul?�
�Lookit.� Where Paul pointed were labels on some of the levers, but about ten of them were blank.
�There it is.� I flicked, and a stage show came on. A woman in a g-string was dancing around with a liberally styled lion�s headdress on. Her back was to the camera first, then she turned. Topless, her breasts were so well shaped and firm, they looked fake. Paul and I were both staring.
�Let�s watch this.�
�Yeah,� Paul said. We stepped backward until we settled onto the sofa.
The dancer spiraled down a bar from the downstage upper level, then slinked her way upstage as four men in tan bikini bottoms and lions� manes came up behind her.
�She has a nice butt. Don�t you think, John?�
I smirked at Paul, thinking Dennis was at it again. Well, he�ll regret it in a few years when he can�t find certain Playboys because they are under Paul�s mattress.
�She has a beautiful butt. And she�s making the most of it.�
The dance ended with the woman elevated in a split and two chorus guys holding up each leg. She was smiling, but breathing heavily and her breasts rose and fell. Then the MC identified the show as a French cabaret. He was speaking in English, but with a French accent. The next dance was Las Vegas-looking, with chorus girls in extravagant plumage, and not a whole lot else. But Paul missed most of it because he nodded off, leaning against me on the sofa. So I missed most of the next number carrying Paul up to his bed. He�d fallen asleep with his right thumb in his mouth. He looked too big to be sucking his thumb, but I did until I was eight, so I wasn�t about to stop my nephew at four. It surprised me how heavy and long he was. He just might make six-seven by the time he�s fully grown. Better stop the thumb sucking by then, though.
I decided to watch the rest of the cabaret from the easy chair because I was afraid if I got too comfortable on the sofa, no noise the kids might make could wake me. Dennis and Kim said they�d be back around one-thirty, but I didn�t begin to expect them until after two.
Some movie came on after all the French women stopped dancing around. But I was too tired and distracted to concentrate on a movie, even a though it looked like a good one. Then I noticed the pictures over on the end table. I got them and slumped back into the easy chair. Even though I got them out of the inside envelope, I didn�t get to look at the pictures before I dozed off, planning to only rest my eyes before I looked at my graduation party pictures Kim took.
Then I was snapped back to consciousness by the key in the front door tumbler. I didn�t recognize any of the stars in the scene on the television, so I figured it was a different movie from the one I fell asleep during. I turned my head to the door. Dennis gazed at me flatly. Then, slump-shouldered, he made his way heavily across the floor and collapsed into sleep on the sofa. Kim walked in shortly afterward, and could tell from my eyes that I�d been asleep.
�We called you to baby-sit, not sleep over,� she started.
�Hey, I was awake until two, I swear. They wore me out. What can I say?�
�How were they?�
�Pretty good,� I said. �No problems.�
�Kim!� Dennis sounded like he was shouting her name down a tube.
�Okay, Den.� Kim headed for the kitchen.
�What time is it?� I called as she was passing the clock.
�Almost four.� Kim came back with a bucket Dennis started to fill just as she positioned it on the floor in front of him.
�Good timing,� I said. �I guess you drove home.�
�Yeah,� Kim said. �I tried to get him to leave earlier, but I really didn�t want to go either.�
�Good party, huh?�
�Well, we knew almost everyone there, you know? By the time we got around to talking� Sorry.�
�Hey, it�s all right,� I said. �I don�t have to wake up early. And I caught a nap anyway.�
�I�ll drive you home in just a second.� Kim tried to get Dennis� attention. �Den, are you all right?�
�Fine. Look at me.� He looked less than fine.
�I have to drive John home.�
No response.
�Will you hear the kids?�
�Yeah, sure. G�head,� Dennis yelled. Then he softly added, �Don�t be long.� Closing his eyes, Dennis repositioned the throw pillow under his head.
�Oh, great,� Kim said. Then, motioning me to the door, �Let�s go.�
When I got out to the Buick with Kim, I said, �That�s the great thing about having a wife: you can get completely wasted without worrying about getting home.�
��Completely wasted� is right,� Kim said.
I started to laugh. Kim could tell I was amused by something more so she asked what.
�The way Den just walked in,� I said. �Earlier tonight Paul imitated his dad drunk and I didn�t realize how good his impersonation was until now.�
My laughing again covered up the sound of the car�s engine as Kim started up.
�That�s pretty sad, isn�t it?� she said.
�In a way, I guess. But it�s good for him to know that his father has to get out of it, too, sometimes.�
�I suppose.� Kim drove out of the development, headed for I-95, and clicked on the radio. We didn�t talk for awhile. Kim was getting into her driving and I was getting into the songs coming through four speakers. It seemed like one regret song after the next, but maybe it was just me listening for regret songs. Or maybe a lot of love songs are regret songs. A lot of the best ones are, anyway.
Kim must have been thinking something similar because she asked �Any new girls in your life?�
�No,� I said. �I�m getting to dislike dating these days. One of the first questions is always, �Are you married?�.�
�What�s so bad about that?� Kim said. �When I was your age, Paul was already one.�
�Don�t remind me,� I said. �My reaction is usually, �MARRIED?� and it�s all I can do to calmly say no.�
Kim laughed lightly.
�That�s what I like best about being an uncle; it�s only part-time.�
�You�d be a good father. You�re just being lazy.�
�No I�m not, am I? I think I�m a good uncle. I try. The idea of being what psychologists call a �significant other� in the lives of my brothers� and sisters� kids��
�But if you don�t have your own kids, what do you have that�s going to last?�
�Good point.�
�I�ll admit Paul and Adrianne can get me more aggravated than anyone else can. But I can�t imagine what I�d do without them. And I try not to let myself even think about all the ways I could lose them. Planning for and loving them is worth it while they are here. Worrying about and planning around them doesn�t seem so bad compared to that.�
�Yeah,� I said. �I just don�t feel ready yet. Maybe I�m chicken, or maybe just lazy, like you said.�
�You just haven�t met the woman who�ll make you know it�s all worth it.�
�Should I hold my breath until I do?�
�She�s out there, John. There�s no hurry, when you realize marriage is for life. You�ve got all the time in the world.�
�Marriage is for life, huh?�
Kim turned her face from the road briefly to look at me. �I know it doesn�t seem that way anymore. But that�s the attitude you have to go in with, or you�re done from the start.�
We didn�t talk again until the Buick was nearing my street.
�Did Den give you anything for baby-sitting?�
�Two jays,� I said. �One for each kid.�
Kim laughed. �I meant money. You don�t have a job yet, remember?�
�Hey, pot feels a lot better than money during unemployment.�
Kim looked askance at me, then looked to her driving again, slowly shaking her head. �No wonder my in-laws worry about you.�
�They like to worry,� I said. �Worrying is what parents do best. The only time those two stop worrying about one thing is to start worrying about something else.�
�That�s a good understanding of parenthood, coming from a bachelor.� Kim stopped the car in front of my house, and reached for her pocketbook.
�It�s most of the reason I still am a bachelor.�
�Here,� she said, handing me some money. I tucked the bills in my pants pocket, thrilled that Kim finally felt comfortable enough not to leave that bit of business up to Dennis anymore.
�Thanks, Kim. G�night.�
�Good night, John. Thanks for watching them.�
Stepping out of the car, before slamming the door in front of me, I said, �Just call me.�
[email protected]