I’m driving back toward my parent’s house along a winding country road to the old farm where I grew up as a boy. I had just left their farm earlier today after visiting them for a few days, but I had to come back when I realized I left my briefcase behind. I curse myself for being so forgetful. I was already driving for two hours and only had to drive a couple of more to get back to Chicago when I realized I didn’t have my briefcase. As I drive back, I see that the skies are becoming dark with storm clouds. I feel anxious. I always feel anxiety when I have to drive in a bad summer storm. I curse myself for being so forgetful because I would be home by now. I hope to get to their house before the storm hits.
The tires of my car crunch against the loose gravel as I drive up a narrow road that leads to a weather-beaten farmhouse that hugs close to the ground. My parents come out to see who has arrived and wave when they see me. They don’t act too surprised that I’m back again after leaving just a few hours ago.
“I forgot my briefcase,” I tell them as I close the car door.
My father points his nose to the sky and says, “They say it’s going to rain good tonight, look at them clouds.” Black clouds hang like smoke beneath the grey clouds. The wind begins to pick up and there is a quick chill to the summer air.
“You can smell the rain, it will be good for the corn,” says my mother as she takes hold of my arm and leads me into the house.
I hear loud music coming from a frame house about fifty feet away. It is also weather beaten, the wood rotting and warped. My brother Johnny and his wife Louise rent the house from my parents. My brother helps out on the farm when he isn’t too hung over. Hearing the loud music, I know they must be having a party.
“We’re watching the twins tonight, your brother Johnny and Louise got one of them parties going on,” says father. As we go up the porch stairs the wood creaks with our weight.
Inside the living room, Johnny and Louise’s twin boys who are four years old, sit on the floor while working on a jigsaw puzzle. They stare at me with blank expressions as I give them a wave. They say nothing and continue to look at the puzzle.
“Babysitting is never easy,” says mother as she lights a cigarette and blows smoke from the corner of her mouth.
Father slumps onto the couch as the old cushions mold around his thin body. Mother goes back to the coffee table to play her game of solitaire.