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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.