Mowgli’s pile isn’t nearly so neat.
ED was busy at work when she heard music soaring throughout the halls from the piano in the lobby. “That sounds like my mom,” she thought. Yes, I was there, and although we shared the same house, she didn’t know that I would be in her facility that day to entertain the residents. “But you live together,” her coworkers charged. Yes, we live together, but we don’t check in with each other constantly as we go through the day. Unless we have dinner together and compare calendars, we can go days without awareness of everyone else’s activities, our paths crossing at various venues.
The other evening Mowgli asked to change $5 bills into 20s. As he ran out the door to the ice cream store, we asked why he couldn’t take the 5s. “It’s just easier,” he claimed. And where did he get all those bills? “Upstairs from the machine I print them on.” Mike and I looked for signs of drugs: usage or selling. We weren’t sure.
A day or two later, I find him in the kitchen, the island covered with crinkled $1 bills. I reassured myself that drugs are not purchased with single dollar bills. Or so I hear. Luckily, ED was home to carry the burden of responsibility. When asked, Mowgli asserted that they came from the machine upstairs. Okay, the kid has wit. ED explained that Mowgli purchased cold bottled water from a vending machine in the cafeteria for $1.50 and resold it to classmates too lazy to walk that distance for $2. Wow.
Unfortunately for Mowgli he now attends the school only half day, spending the afternoon at a tech school, missing the water-thirsty students at midday. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he sold his water running franchise to another student for $20. I’m kinda proud.
