Todd / Reflections
CHAPTER SEVEN
Todd/Reflections
Todd resided in Chicago after graduating from college, and my parents
and I occasionally drove up to visit him. He always planned a gala
affair, often treating us to a splendid play among an array of other
suggestions. Upon our arrival, hugs and kisses were widely
distributed; I would run to Todd, whereupon he would grasp me under the
armpits and lift me sky-high, wailing in his "Aunt Minerva" voice,
"It's been so LONG since I've SEEN you!" This traditional welcome
became increasingly difficult to manage as I grew in stature and, of
course, gained the accompanying weight, and was thus allowed to die a
dignified death.
When we were not touring the city's delights, I entertained myself by
arranging Todd's personal effects. The apartment which I most clearly
recall boasted a crude built-in bookcase. I loved to flit back and
forth between the many compartments and lend a sense of order and style
to the pandemonious wall. There were always a few things of which I
had no idea concerning their use; these were generally odds and ends,
factory rejects, a handful of D cell batteries, and, I must not forget
several large and curious aluminum containers. I would neatly line up
the small items on the shelves and place the nameless metal containers
on the floor in a line. The latter objects were for experiments.
Having completed my task, I would stare silently at the line of silver
pots, shrug my shoulders and turn my attentions elsewhere.
The sleeping arrangement was simple. Age and respect dictated that my
parents sleep on the beds. Since I was a guest, Todd determined that I
should sleep on the couch. My brother was left with the remaining
alternative, which was an inflatable air mattress and a sleeping bag.
The nights brought out humor which came from bizarre circumstances.
Several hours after lying down, Todd's air mattress had deflated to the
point of nonexistence and, bone meeting floor, he had no choice but to
inflate the mattress once again. Slow expirations, sounding akin to a
distant steam engine, would resound into the night. Mom, understanding
what had happened, listened to the steady, "Puff...puff...puff..." and
would have laughed had it not been for the fact that she pitied Todd
and did not wish to waken my dad or myself.
At exactly 4:00 a.m., the church, standing directly beside Todd's
apartment building, would begin a horrid serenade in chimes.
Approximately every other note was sour, yet the noise continued until
the tune was completed. Todd explained that the person who set the
clock mistook the four o'clock a.m. setting for the afternoon
setting...hence the "ungodly" serenade.
A final recollection regarding the overnight occurrences in Todd's
apartment is, admittedly, rather hazy. Having a preoccupation with the
shelves by day, it was no shock to find myself sleep walking to them in
the middle of the night, searching for my pillow. My walk might not
have been discovered by Todd or remembered by me had it not been for
the row of metal canisters which flanked the base of the shelves, for
in my futile search (my pillow had never strayed from the couch), I
bumped my foot into one of the pots, which gonged loudly against a
second and third to create a symphony of echoes. Flustered by the rude
interruption, I nearly woke, and can recall my brother's sleepy, "Is
there something wrong?" to which I mumbled an explanation of my hunt.
The next morning I looked suspiciously at the shelves and was haunted
by a memory for which I could not account and therefore inquired of the
night's events, asking if I had walked in my sleep. "Oh, yeh..., I
couldn't figure out what you were doing!" Todd said.
I reflected over my strange habit and wondered whether I had walked
elsewhere on different occasions, and because I encountered no one, did
not remember or was not informed. It was slightly disconcerting yet
immensely humorous; I only hoped that I would never take a walk which
lead me out of a building, because I remembered the tale of a young man
who, while sleeping, took out the garbage cans and then completed his
slumber on the grass beside the curb. It was a humbling thought, for
although a sleeping individual cannot be responsible for what he says
or does, one's lack of consciousness will not guard the individual from
accompanying embarrassment.
Certain aspects of my brother's personality had changed, while others
had remained original and quite intact. When the time had come for us
to leave Chicago, Todd's apartment was cleaner and his billfold was
decidedly thinner. Although Todd no longer cared about the neatness of
his living quarters, which plainly stated that his orderliness at home
was merely a function performed to placate Mom's desires, he maintained
his suicidal generosity with horrifying steadfastness. My brother had
also changed from his too-trusting self to a more realistic and
perhaps, cynical person. Losing a coat and bicycle at the university,
followed by distributor caps and gasoline in Chicago, had a way of
opening ... or, at least, readjusting ... one's vision of the world.
It was not an ideal place, and idealistic views were hastily smashed to
oblivion. I saw, too, that he possessed a definite need to exist on
his own; more than a door to freedom. Todd's separation from family
seemed to be a requirement for personal satisfaction and future
happiness. He had to affirm himself by living alone, and having no one
near to depend upon through the rough spots.
Despite Todd's need to acquire self-sufficiency, homesickness was
difficult to avoid, and his eyes mirrored pure emotion as we drove
away. The image of home was, at once, pleasant and unkind, for
although memories could quiet the noise of the city, their unattainable
substance created a barrier between the present and his need to build
happiness from aspects thereof. Sometimes it was easier to bury the
past and all which related to it. Todd seldom came home any more.
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