Kevin

So we bought a new house and moved some 50 km away from Orangeworld.

Purchasing the new house was a strange journey. The family who resided here reminded me of an ever odder version of the infamous Griswolds. There were the parents who spent all the time lighting fires in the fireplace, a teenage daughter with a pet Chinchila named Oliver, who lived in a cage in the basement along side one of the teen sons: Kevin. With an attempt to dredlock his white boy hair Kevin was a cool dude. And Kevin had, in tried and true teenage fashion, transformed a cellar storage room into an ultra cool stoner "burned out basement" bedroom.

Tacked to the wooden supports was dark blue fabric illuminated only by a dull overhead florescent light fixture containing a black light. On the walls were the requisite Led Zepplin posters, a clock permanently on "4:30" time and out in the basement living room, beside Oliver's cage, a photo of Bob Dylan aged about 22 next to a number of electric guitars. From a teenage me perspective, this was pretty much heaven.

While inspecting the basement I pulled aside some of the fabric to see what was behind there only to accidentally come upon Kevin's stash.

When we made the offer on the house, I suggested to Ross our agent, that along with the traditional request that all fixed chattels and applicances were be included in the purchase that we also ask that they include Kevin's stash.

The next time we came to view the house, the Griswolds again declined to vacate and Kevin even sat downstairs on the couch and played guitar for us while we viewed the premises.

The next and final time we went to the house before moving in, was the day of the home inspection. I had to work late, so C, Ross the agent and the home inspector tramped around poking through the house while the Griswolds cooked dinner.

C and Ross went down to the basement and were standing in Kevin's bedroom, in the murk and gloom, talking about the house. Usual teen boy bed: completely messed with blankets and sheets astrew. They began to laugh about me finding the stash and my previous warnings about not looking underneath his bed lest we happen across Kevin's pornography. Meanwhile the family called all the kids to dinner. But where was Kevin?

"Kevin! Kevin!" they called over and over. There was no answer. "Did Kevin go out honey? I didn't see him leave. Audrey, did you see Kevin? Kevin! Kevin! Dinner! Rusty, do know where Kevin is?" and so it went. "Where the hell is Kevin?" Ross and C laughed. Suddenly the bedspread began to move and slowly, there emerged from underneath the blankets and sheets, was Kevin.

He got up and walked by C and Ross without a word and went up to dinner.

The day of the house closing, the sale was delayed. We had arranged for the movers to come at 10am and were paying them by the hour. They arrived at the new place at 2pm, but the deal in Orangeville still hadn't finished and they sat in the driveway, charging us as the clock ticked on.

C didn't get the keys until 4:30 and then drove madly in pouring rain to the new home in hopes of reducing our costs knowing the movers were just sitting idle. But to her surprise, when she arrived the move was almost complete. How had the movers got in with no keys?

While the movers sat in the driveway, Kevin had happened to walk by and happily offered to unlock the doors and then invited them to start moving in.

The only thing that concerns us now is that the cats seem to be fixated with Kevin's room.

And for some reason, the cats really like it now when I play Greenday.





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