The Least I Could Do
Atlanta, GA
October 10, 2020
Can’t you see what’s happened? I’ve become GEORGE!
– Elaine Benes, Seinfeld: “The Opposite”
This week, as we were last week, David and I are camped at George and Molly’s place. But not the same one. We are now lodged in the southern reaches of the Franklin-Dye realm.
Sunday morning, when we left Michigan, they left Atlanta. We passed each other on I-65 in southern Indiana and, several hours later, each of us settled into the house the other party had abandoned. Of course, George and Molly owned both. We hold claim to neither but, like mold in the walls, we spent respective weeks slowly insinuating ourselves throughout each.
Our host and hostess no doubt have this routine down. Up to Michigan for a spell, home to Atlanta for a while, return to the Lake, go back to Georgia. Tho’ this is their last trip to Glenn, they know the drill.
For David and me, this is new. Our first double-dip mooch, our initial foray into back-to-back free-loading. But, like lying, we can see how this might get easier with each additional attempt. For now, we simply appreciate the hospitality (and tolerance) of those letting us practice.
Our rationale for bouncing from one of George and Molly’s homes to another is not merely to emulate our uncle by rummaging his kitchen, reading his books, or raiding his liquor cabinet. It is also precautionary.
Rita has recently been able to more frequently visit her frail father, which is a relief. But, to prevent potential viral spread, we are keeping our distance, and giving her space. It isn’t easy, but it allows her to focus, and lets all three of us quarantine in comfort.
So…north and south of the Ohio River, George and Molly have allowed David and me to make their homes our own. The offer was generous, and would have been rude to reject. Indeed, decorum demanded we go above and beyond.
Since returning to Atlanta, we have raided their fridge, fired up their grill, watched their TV, ravished their wine, swilled their gin…and avoided their vermouth. As we settled in, we realized that if we were to become our hosts, we must do what they would do, and do so with vigor.
But we approached the task with an apprehension to be expected from conscientious people inhabiting someone else’s home, and not knowing the lay of the land. Fortunately, we needn’t have concerned ourselves. This place is bigger than we thought.
I bet David ten bucks we’d never squeeze fifty people in here for that party last night.
I lost.
I had forgotten about the upstairs.
And David was right about another thing too. The patio was perfect for the band…including the amplifiers, groupies, and mobile pharmacy…even if their heavy metal music was marred by the incessant caterwauling of inconsiderate neighbors. I’d never seen anyone that irate at midnight on a Friday, particularly after being beneficiaries of a free concert. I guess in 2020, people are incapable of being happy.
That’s OK. Those ingrates may not have known who I was, but Molly’s name carries a lot of weight in this town, so I dropped it as much as I could. I’ll let her file a complaint when she returns.
After the cops left, the sun rose. David and I were exhausted. After collecting cigarette butts from the rugs and dousing the final few flames from the living room “fire pit”, we decided to wait till morning to remove the bottles and roust the bodies from the front lot and back lawn. Besides, the dew, dawn, and paramedics will probably handle most of that for us.
After a beautiful week of clear skies, cool temperatures, and low humidity, we woke today to a soft, soothing, reflective rain. I poured my coffee, grabbed my phone, and started typing this drivel.
This has been another surreal episode in a strange year – epitomized by my previous paragraphs, and made bearable by our generous relatives. Fortunately, David doesn’t seem to mind. As he told me yesterday, “it feels like we’re on a long vacation…I mean, except for having to go to school.”
Along the way, we’ve had time to talk, to laugh, and to get to know each other a little better. And, after being confined to our house so many months, I think he appreciates our recent changes of scenery. Even our long drives to and from Michigan, which in years past we’d thought eternal, were almost therapeutic.
George and Molly return tomorrow night, at which point they may beg to differ with my cheery assessment of that long drive. Regardless, after all they’ve done for us, we’ll offer them a drink when they walk thru the door, and we host them in their home. After all, it’s the least I can do.
And never let it be said that I didn’t do the least I can do.
JD
