The kid’s at the door. He wants to talk to your kid. The kid at the door insists that you should let him in, even when you tell him that your kid’s not home. “Let me in,” he says. “I have to get something from his room.” You don’t let him in. That’s ridiculous. “That’s ridiculous,” you say. “He said,” he says. You don’t care, and say so. “I can’t let you in,” you say. “You’ll have to stay at the door.” He stays at the door. You call your kid. “I don’t know that kid,” your kid says. You go back to the door. The kid’s gone. There’s a car idling by the curb, the heavenly harmonies of “Helplessly Hoping” wafting from the windows, which are rolled most of the way up. You walk your front path down to the car, peek inside. It’s empty. You look back toward your house. The kid’s at the door.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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