Due to the unexpected absence of fender benders and traffic jams between home and the private school on the west edge of town, we arrived to basketball practice half an hour early. The school gym is extremely popular and arriving early means standing in the hallway waiting while boys endlessly try to jump high enough to touch the ceiling. It’s like trying to meditate in a crowded bounce house.
“We’ll go in after this song ends. It’s one of my favorites.”
Withing ten seconds, the tween became the Moaning Myrtle of loud sighs instead of moans. Sigh. Sigh. Siiigh. Sigh-sigh-sigh. Failing to get a response, he switched to making air baskets accompanied by swoosh noises. I’d like to think he figured out that sound effects weren’t going to detract me from my music, but I suspect he whacked his elbow while thrashing about.
I heard his brain click into escape mode. Technically, I heard the door click as he disengaged the latch while staring innocently into near space. This was followed by one foot dangling out of the car. After one foot escaped, both feet boldly began swinging and kicking the open door frame. When both feet were standing on the frame and his arms were holding the roof of the car, I accepted defeat.
“Fine. Go inside.”
“That was the longest song in the world.”
He still got to spend fifteen minutes trying to touch the ceiling.