Christmas in July? More like Christmas on May 29th, 2019, when your son finally moved that yellow tassel from one side of his square cap to the other in a crowded auditorium. Those seven years of Pasadena High went by so quickly for him…and so agonizingly slowly for you. But it was worth it—Billy’s all grown up now. He darn well better be, because he took Home Ec like, four times.
And since he’s a grad, you can finally file that unlawful detainer you’ve been holding on to since he turned 18. (Apparently, judges in Los Angeles County think you have to support deadbeats until they finally pass Pre-Algebra. But it’s fine.)
Your little birdie’s gonna fly, and fast. You’ve got other plans for that spare room.
So many plans, in fact, that you might have overindulged in the interior decorating supplies. Scratch that. You definitely bought too many tapestries, but that was because the snooty Home Goods saleswoman convinced you the 14th century was “soooooo in right now…” Now, you’re questioning the symbolism of unicorns and maidens, and you don’t like it. Maybe you can shunt those gorgeous weaves to your StorBox unit and go with your gut choice instead: turning Billy’s den of failed assignments into woodworking central. (Of course he failed. He was always too busy sneaking out the window, meeting up with those girls who lived by the park. But you digress.)
You already bought the industrial lathe, the table saw, and the rotating sander three years ago, before that dratted report card came in the mail and you were forced to open a StorBox unit in the first place, to hold on to your hopes and dreams. Since that day, many others have joined them: a throwing wheel and kiln for your future pottery business, paintbrushes and canvasses to explore your feelings through abstract expressionism, everything you need to start quilting, and other items that spoke to you in a voice that said, “Someday… you’ll be able to use me. We don’t know when, though.”
The only good thing to come out of this domestic drama was, in fact, your StorBox unit. Without visiting it to gaze longingly at your potential future and chant “One more year…one more year,” you would have snapped long ago. Well, maybe you should have. Maybe then your hulking son and his wispy goatee would be clean-shaven, employed, and in his own apartment years ago.
Or maybe the neighbors were right, and de-escalating the situation was the right thing to do. Who knew teenagers could be so sensitive and prone to breaking things? Your therapist kept upping your meds, so you guess it worked out.
Or not? With the first week of June came another dratted letter from the school district. Apparently, your son’s graduation was “conditional” and he has to stick around to take a few summer classes. But if he passes them, you’re well and truly in the clear! So close! Why not buy yourself a treadmill and drive it over to your storage unit, in anticipation? You’ve earned it. Also, may we recommend you take up hiking? San Gabriel has lots of beautiful trails with fresh air, far from the smoke seeping out from underneath Billy’s door.
It’s his room at the moment, but soon enough, it will be yours. We hope. Congratulations!