So last night I come home to find that there's been a case of vandalism at my parents' house. The house was truly a mess - plants in the yard had been completely destroyed, the sidewalks were covered with chalk and spray paint, and the car doors were dinged and dented. Most bizarrely, it seems someone opened up several cans of tuna fish and smeared the contents all over the exterior walls of the house. The mess would take hours to clean, a prospect incredibly demoralizing to both me and the rest of the family.
Only one thing took precedence: Tracking down the vandals.
In opening so many cans of tuna, the culprits had unwittingly made themselves easier to identify. They had left behind a trail of grease droplets to follow. We followed a trail of filthy smudges left on the sidewalk up the street, our heads lowered, oblivious to everything around us except the criminal's path. Soon we came across a bizarre sight on the ground. There, on the sidewalk, someone had sketched an image of Kurt Vonnegut's signature, with a mass of leaves from a fallen tree indicating the hair. Whoever left the trail knew we would follow. We had been lead to this point on purpose.
We raised our eyes and saw a house, even more damages than the one we had left. Trees had been completely felled, and the paint had been maliciously scraped from the siding. Filled with both anger and sadness, we set to work cleaning, while my mother went and knocked on the door.
I didn't hear the ensuing conversation between my mother and the woman inside, but it soon became clear that the woman wasn't happy, and it was more than the vandalism upsetting her. She was angry. In the only snippet of the conversation I could make out, I heard the woman say, "It's your fault."
Us! She was blaming us for the destruction! I couldn't believe it. We began to return home, all of us shocked that we were considered to be somehow complicit in everything. I could only conclude that, somehow, we were being framed.
Upon returning home, I found another trail of drops from the empty tuna cans, this one leading off in a different direction. Again, we eagerly followed the trail, hoping that, this time, we would be led to the true criminals. I guess we shouldn't have been surprised to find that we were again being toyed with. However, I don't think there was any way we could have been prepared for the sight at the end of the trail.
Underneath a large oak tree, someone had laid out a large buffet for us. There were trays loaded with fresh, juicy pineapple and watermelon, thin-sliced lunch meats, rolls and breads, and coolers full of soda. Hungry from our morning's exertions, we eagerly tucked in. I bit into a piece of pineapple, but in spite of the fruit's sweetness, I felt an unmistakable dread. I spat the fruit out, wiped my hand on my shirt, and moved quickly to the head of the buffet table.
There, in a plastic sleeve, written on a slip of yellow paper, was a typed note from the vandals:
You should have known that there would be no way for you to track us, unless we, the true supervillains, let you come our way. Now that you've worked so hard, it might be a good time for you to reevaluate your life and take a more pro-choice stance.
I crumpled the note and threw it on the ground. A more "pro-choice" stance? All the destruction, the suspicion, was spurred on by a political statement? I was furious - not just that the petty destruction was so personal in its focus, but that it was so misdirected. After all, I consider myself to be fairly "pro-choice." My adversary obviously had
no idea what he was doing.
At once, the whole affair became maliciously stupid. The vandals, although meticulous in their plans, had at once proven their own witlessness. I wanted nothing more than to chase one of these wrong-headed social crusaders down and beat him around the head with my own fists.
***
At this point, some of you readers may have guessed that I dreamed this whole experience. I myself only became aware of this after hearing the voices of my roommates outside the door. I slowly rose from my bed. My eyes were clouded and bleary; I couldn't make out the time on the clock in my room. I stepped into the hallway and went to the kitchen, where the clock on the oven would be easier for me to read. It was about 5:00 - a little earlier than when I usually woke, but not so early that I could really think about going back to bed.
I opened the door to the refrigerator and shook my head. I had a half-gallon of milk, but no cereal. I didn't want to skip out on breakfast again, so I went to the pantry to see if I could scrounge something up. Then I saw a box of Golden Crisp cereal I had bought and then forgotten, stuffed way in the back of the pantry. I pulled it out and poured myself a bowl, and then I sat at the kitchen table to eat.
I heard steps come up the stairs. I blinked and looked up. My father rounded the corner and took a seat opposite me. Before I had the chance to say "good morning," he looked up at me, grinned, and said, "No one threatens my family."
I put my spoon down. Had the bizarre dream actually happened? Was there something actually going on, a conspiracy to match the one I thought I had only imagined? Was there, in fact, some knuckle-headed vandal I could wrap my fists around and pummel?
As it turns out, no, but my father had his own tale of vengeance to tell. He had been out the night previous with my sister-in-law and her child. My brother had gone out for work and asked my father if he would check in on the rest of the family. When my dad showed up, my brother's wife was shaken and visibly pale.
She had received a threatening phone call. This, my father would not abide. His eyes began to shine with excitement as he dove into his plan for vengeance. I gripped my spoon and bent in to listen. He went to a local phone store and bought a cheap phone. Then, with the caller's number in hand, he dialed the phone and...
***
Once again, I heard the sound of a roommate moving around outside my bedroom. I opened my eyes and got out of bed. A dream within a dream? I'd never had one quite like that before, one quite so vivid. I wondered almost absently if I were, perhaps, still dreaming.
I turned on the light and checked the time. It was 6:10. No more time for absent wondering - I was about to miss the bus.
Like so many dreams, the one I describe above contains snippets of real-life experiences. I watched a video that poked fun at Jessica Simpson's inability to understand tuna fish. I just recently read my first Kurt Vonnegut novel. I really DON'T have any cereal at home. But for there to be any deeper meaning... man, I don't know that I can connect THOSE dots, not with the largest pencil in the world.
