I don’t need help getting in trouble with Willie.
So I was a bit surprised when Indy helped me draw Willie’s ire. It was a bit like helping Jeff Bezos make money. Nice, but not necessary.
Indy had a doctor’s appointment at the Veterans Affairs Clinic in Horsham. When we were done, I asked him if he felt up for some breakfast. We could go out. My treat.
Indy wanted breakfast.
We went to a diner in Hatboro, a favorite haunt of ours in the pre-Parkinson’s, pre-pandemic days. Our favorite server sat us in her section. Indy and I ordered our usual – two breakfast sandwiches with bacon, egg, and cheese. Black coffee for Indy, tea with cream for me.
“What are you doing today?” Indy asked me.
I grumbled silently to myself. I know when Indy says this, there’s an errand he wants me to run with him.
Don’t get me wrong. I love spending that time with Indy.
But.
Indy’s errands are usually not necessary. For example, once he had me take him to Pep Boys to buy a car battery charger for his car.
Indy doesn’t need a battery charger for his car. Indy doesn’t drive anymore.
His car sits in the Temple of Doom parking lot, a metal coil hanging from its undercarriage. It hasn’t moved in eighteen months.
Another time, Indy wanted me to take him to Congresswoman Madeleine Dean’s office. He’d misplaced his birth certificate. He hoped to obtain a duplicate at Congresswoman Dean’s office.
I explained to Indy we could do that online. And – bonus! – his copy was free because he’s a veteran.
Indy loves free stuff.
A week after I ordered Indy’s birth certificate, he told me he found the original.
In his car.
Yes. The one lying fallow in the Temple of Doom parking lot.
So I chafe when Indy asks what I’m doing with my day.
On this day, Indy wanted me to take him to the secondhand store.
I have never known Indy to have anything that wasn’t secondhand, except for the things Willie buys.
And excepting Willie herself.
He bought a pop-up camper secondhand. He bought a book called The Rogue’s Moon secondhand.
He’s bought secondhand drinking glasses. When I turned sixteen, he bought me a secondhand car and outfitted it with secondhand tires.
That was Willie’s line in the sand. No secondhand tires.
On this day, Indy wanted a second nightstand for his and Willie’s bedroom at the Temple of Doom. Now, I knew this plan had a few problems. First, Indy and Willie’s bedroom doesn’t have enough space for another nightstand.
Second, even if it did, I knew Willie wouldn’t want used furniture. She’d want to buy it new. And why shouldn’t she? She has the money. Why shouldn’t she have new furniture?
Lastly, if new furniture was coming into the house, I knew Willie would want to pick it out.
But I didn’t refuse Indy. Quite the opposite. I helped him select a nightstand.
Why? Why would I do such a thing when I knew Willie wouldn’t like it? When I knew I’d get blamed for it? When I knew I’d be returning that nightstand in a few days?
Well, I did it because I thought it’d be good for Indy. I was happy to see him so engaged. I was happy to see him out in the world for so many hours. I was happy to see him execute a plan.
And I was happy to mess with Willie.
So Indy and I perused the secondhand shop. He picked out more drinking glasses – ew – and located just the right nightstand.
The clerk took one look at skinny, pale me and Indy with his walker and offered to take the nightstand out to my car for us.
“No thanks,” Indy and I said in unison. I knew I could lift the nightstand. Indy knew he could lift the nightstand. Stubbornness runs in us Popes like Midi-chlorians run in the Skywalkers.
We used a dolly to transport the nightstand to my car. I told Indy to stand back while I lifted.
“Move,” Indy told me.
There’s a reason I don’t get in trouble with Indy. I do what Indy tells me to do, when he tells me to do it, the way he tells me to do it. It’s just a byproduct of having a Marine for a dad.
I moved.
“Hold this,” Indy said, handing me his walker.
“You have a broken back,” I cautioned. Before the sentence was out of my mouth, Indy had the nightstand in my trunk.
Back at the Temple of Doom, we positioned the nightstand – awkwardly, because it didn’t fit. Willie returned from whatever she had been doing just as we finished.
“Bye!” I called as I ran out of the door. While I wanted to mess with Willie, I didn’t want to get yelled at. Willie is super scary when she yells.
Better to give her some time to cool down.
When my phone flashed Willie’s number the next day, I smirked and answered the phone. But Willie is not one to give anyone the satisfaction of besting her. She launched into her thousands of problems and needs and my role in handling them.
“Hey,” I interrupted. “How’s your new nightstand?”
“Why did you take him to a secondhand shop?!” Willie demanded. “You know how he is with his junk! I don’t need that in my house!”
I explained to Willie that I took Indy to the secondhand shop because he asked me to. Then I fibbed a little and told her I didn’t know why he wanted to go until we were there.
Willie huffed with frustration. I was incorrigible, doing whatever Indy asks. And Indy, who never says “no” to me, was no better. I should have stopped him.
“I know, right?” I gleefully asked Willie.
“Well, we took it back today. I told the store to keep the money he paid for it as a donation.”
I was curious as to how the two of them got the nightstand from the second floor of the Temple of Doom to their car, then from their car to the store.
“You don’t want to know,” Willie said.
Eh. She was probably right.
I also wanted to know why they’re capable of lugging a nightstand back to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore but they need me to do their grocery shopping, manage their medications, open new bank accounts, and oversee their hospitalizations.
Just to name a few of the things I do for them.
“We don’t need help with that stuff,” Willie said.
Tomorrow, I have another appointment with Indy. I called him today to remind him.
“What are you doing after?” Indy asked.
Well. I guess that’s just up to him.