Dick Doesn’t Live Here Anymore
“Is Dick home?” My neighbor’s eight year old grandson was back for one of his visits…and looking for my ex-boyfriend.
“We discussed this last time, Noah. Dick doesn’t live here anymore.”
Why had been Noah’s favorite word for the last three years. I finally had to admit, Noah was a little “special”.
I tried to explain, for the umpteenth time, that I broke up with Dick, and Dick hadn’t lived here for almost two years! It seemed Noah was having just as much trouble understanding this as the United States Postal Service.
“You got divorced?!” Noah replied with a shocked and worried look upon his cherub face.
Oh, boy. “No”, was all I simply said.
I knew that Noah had a keen knowledge of automobiles and immediately fell in love with Dick’s luxury ride. Dick, however, did not fall in love with Noah’s red BMX racing along side that said “luxury ride”.
“Do you miss, Dick, or do you miss his car?” I asked Noah.
“Why?” was his obvious response.
“Well, I remember Dick wasn’t very nice to you. He yelled at you and made you cry”, I reminded him.
I continued without pause. “You got too close to his car one day with your bike, so he screamed at you, and you rode off crying.”
“Well that wasn’t very nice!” Noah almost yelled with indignation, as if hearing it for the very first time.
“No. Dick could be (a dick) not very nice.” I said.
“SOOOOOOO, when will Dick be home?” Noah looked up at me, from behind red handlebars, and was serious!
I did the only thing there was left to do. I looked down into the blue eyes of my neighbor’s eight year old grandson…and I lied.
“Dick died”, I said sadly.