The only time that Kevin talks to me is when he’s had too much to eat and his indigestion keeps him awake. I hear his voice whining my way at 2:30 in the morning as he shuffles back and forth between his bedroom and the bathroom, one leg of his sweatpants hiked up to his knee and the hair he still has forming crazy peaks on the sides of his head.
“Oh God, I had way too many M&M’s….and chicken wings…and Cool Ranch Doritos….and deep fried dill pickles…..uhhhhhhhhh.”
“I need to stop this. This isn’t good for me.”
“And it isn’t good for my heart, and my liver and my, ummmm my other inside stuff.”
We have these late-night conversations and nothing seems to change. I’ve thought of sending Kevin a little warning heart-attack or something to shake him up a little, but I doubt what kind of impact it would have. I usually direct Kevin back to bed for a few hours and send disturbing dreams to trouble his sleep. In the past, I’ve tried snakes with feet, chocolate covered candies that shriek with pain when bitten into and one dream where Stacey left him for Kelly (I realized too late that he liked that one a little too much). Tonight, though, I decide to just annoy him and send him a repetitive dream about an appliance delivery service that keeps ringing his doorbell and dropping off large boxes. They keep coming and coming until Kevin discovers the deliveries should have been made next door and that there are 69 accidental refrigerators filling his garage and swimming pool.
This dream just makes Kevin turn slightly and grumble in his sleep. I decide to hit him where it hurts and send him a one where he, dressed as the cowardly lion, is brought before a giant, green, disembodied head. Except this isn’t OZ, it’s Sting. Sting chides Kevin for playing his songs while dangerously out of shape and tries to inspire him to achieve a tantric and buff body and then Sting makes fun of Kevin’s hat.
This at least wakes Kevin up, covered in a cold sweat. He shuffles back into the bathroom, turns on the light and slaps some water on his face. He looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn't really like what he sees there. He knows he doesn’t deserve Stacey. He knows that he’s not as smart and witty as the people he works with. He knows that much of his life has passed him by and he’s turned into a flabbier replica of his flabby father. He also knows, though, that most of the time, he’s pretty happy. He has a fiancé that loves him in spite of his physical flaws. He amuses himself at a boring job and he’s in a band, playing music that makes him smile. It’s only in the middle of the night when his stomach is churning that he thinks about making changes.
“Hey, God….or Sting….or whoever?”
“I’m doing the best I can, you know?”
The next morning Kevin packs a baggie with six carrot sticks in his lunch bag…next to his Doritos and Twinkies. Baby steps…..baby steps. Maybe if he's good, I’ll send him that Stacey / Kelly dream again.
