found drama

Like children, living under your parents’ roof, but grown. Fully grown. But bouncing off the walls in this just-moved-into house. The house itself is largely long and straight, with many one-or-two-steps up or down into adjacent rooms, like it has been added onto haphazardly, and repeatedly. The house is empty except for you and your siblings and a few small items that they have already brought in.

Your mother comes in from outside, descending the ramp of the moving van with an arm load of brown paper bags. Groceries first, she explains. The furniture etc. can come later. She hands you wholesale club-sized package of paper towels and instructs you to take these to the basement. You head down into the basement with the package of paper towels. The basement is just as long as the rest of the house (had they added onto it as well?) but less empty. There are bags of sand and cat litter labeled with “driveway” and several pairs of plastic boot-shaped fittings that look like the world’s most light-weight ersatz crampons.

Then you hear the snap. You are surrounded by lobsters. They are not giant–they are normal-sized one- and two-pounders. Some have their claws held shut with rubberbands but most do not. They do not seem malicious, but they are indifferent to you, though they have the air of threatened animals. Your mother calls down. Can you bring up a couple of lobsters for dinner?

About Rob Friesel