Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A few weeks ago, we went out to Brookfield for my dad's old partner, Bill Christopher's 70th birthday. He and his wife Joan had lived at 44th & Lawler in the city forever, and moved to Brookfield about six months back. Not too far north and west of us, Brookfield is where the big zoo is and the town is set in a grid pattern, like Chicago, with brick bungalows and two-flats, like Chicago. Bill had just bought a vintage Olds 88, I think its a 1966 model, and I purposefully had Bill and my dad pose so that their faces look mysterious in the shadows. This is where it gets bizarre. The house is almost exactly like the one they used to live in, you can tell from the moment you walk in the back door and are confronted with stairs leading to the basement or up to the kitchen. If it wasn't for a slight change in the hallways, I'd swear it was an episode of Twilight Zone. Then I went into the living room. Couches, curio cabinet, all in the same place. Then I saw the fucking dummy. In the wagon. In the corner. Just as he had been back at 44th & Lawler. I questioned Joan and she just shrugged, the dummy had been in the wagon for a decade or more. And still it taunts me.