Mom and the family: tears, sweat and wirenuts

I have to make use of the one sunny day in a week of storms, so I will be brief. 

I dreamed I was staying with my mom, Greg and the grandkids in a small apartment somewhere in a nondescript suburb in Southern California. It had notes of Norwalk, West Covina or Mar Vista, but it could have been anywhere, really. The place was so small that I had taken my bed and dragged it outside into a grassy area in the center of the apartment complex, but I would go inside to eat, or sit at the table and cry in my cornflakes.

"Stop your sobbing," my mother said, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. 

"I...can't...help it," I cried, each breath between words a painful gulp of tears and breakfast cereal.

"Well, if that's truly how you feel--here," and she handed me a folded up slip of paper.

I unfolded it and read the note, which consisted solely of a  handwritten address. I recognized the 55113 zip code, and I knew that this was intended to call me out on the fact that I had not visited them in Minnesota for nearly 20 years. I felt the usual resistance mixing with my guilt and grief. 

"That's the address of the gas station with the lowest prices in our neighborhood," she said, clearing up any doubt as to her intent.

I distracted myself with a dangling phone wire hanging from the ceiling that had been capped off with a wire nut. I unscrewed the nut, placing it on the table, and my nephew Ben chided me without rancor.

"You have to keep the ends covered. That's what the caps are for," he instructed with an air of worldly knowledge.

I did as he said and replaced the plastic electrical connector on the dangling wire. Ben seemed pleased, and he dragged me by the pant leg over into the living room, where I was similarly latched onto by the twins. Shackled with three squirming puppy dog like barnacles attached to my leg, I slogged across the carpet with a zombie like gait. 

"It's good to see you making contact with the kids," Greg beamed.

"To be accurate, they are making contact with me," I corrected him, enjoying the attention despite myself. "I suppose I should bring my bed in from outside. It's kind of cold out there at night."

I managed to untether myself and went outside to fetch my weathered mattress. The lawn was littered with red Solo cups and Dorito bags, the remnants of a late night teenage party. Some local kids were still making use of my mattress, so I ran them off and clumsily began toting it back toward the apartment. 

The way back into the apartment was somehow not apparent to me, and I found myself having to climb through some unfinished construction on the side of the building in order to gain entrance. This wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do with a twin mattress in tow, so I enlisted the help of Rob Peavey, one of my highschool friends.

"Hurry up," Rob said as he scaled the side of the partially framed structure. Bits of crumbling drywall  were falling into my eyes and mouth, making the climb more difficult. 

"I'm...I...can't..." I gasped, as I suddenly found that I was completely unable to pull myself up any further. I was close to the second story, but the final two feet seemed impossibly difficult.

"Yes, you can, dammit!" Rob bellowed like a drill instructor, willing me to make the final effort. 

I suppose this is where I woke up, drenched in sweat, my eyes crusted over with evaporated tears.