"What do you mean, he says we have to leave." I asked. "His friend says there will be trouble here. He says we have to leave the city...go somewhere where we'll be safe. Joseph says it's someplace by a cave and a waterfall. He says many of the children will go there. He says they will need us...My God Tom, how can this be happening." She was hyperventilating.
"It's really real mom." Joey was standing in the doorway with our monster golden retriever Jubal Harshaw Rappaport. Our son had the strangest look on his face. "Did you know Jubie can talk?" Jessie blinked at Joey like he had sprouted horns or announced he was pregnant and began to weave back and forth holding her breath. I was afraid it was her turn to pass out. I should have known; she's tougher than me. "Thomas," she gasped as she darted from the room. "I have to get dressed. Would you pour the juice?"
Historically, Saturday mornings in our house follow a set pattern. Jessie and I get up pretty early and read the paper. The boys sleep in, then drag themselves out of bed to veg out on cartoons. Yeah, cartoons...I never said I was the perfect parent. I gave up on limiting their Saturday morning coma when the oldest pointed out my addiction to the morning paper as a similar social problem.
A while back, Radio (that's what we call him) pointed out, that both came in the morning, both had bad guys and good guys, both were trying to sell you something, both had super heroes (look at the sports section) and "after all" he said "you've been saying nothing in the papers was real ever since I can remember. So what's the difference between your cartoons and mine?".
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