Tommy & Roy

As Tommy slammed the door 400 men crashed to their death. Plastic soldiers, he had spent hours strategically placing for war games after school, toppled. But another explosion came during breakfast and it wasn’t nuclear, it was parental.

“Who is this old fart and why do I have to share my room?”

“Tommy, please don’t use that word while we’re eating,” Mom pleaded gently. “Your father and I know this is a lot to ask but it’s the only solution.”

“Only choice, my butt,” Tommy mumbled as he threw himself across the crumpled bed. Angry tears dampened his pillow when he thought of sharing his room. For twenty minutes he tossed a tennis ball at the wall catching spectacular “pop” flies on his back and wondering what he did to deserve a 78 year old roommate.

“OK, so this great uncle, whatever that is, can’t very well sleep in the nursery with Sally. But hasn’t he heard of old peoples’ homes, where old people are supposed to live.”

The thump, thumping of the ball helped calm him as he scoffed out loud, “heck, he’d be happy with other wrinkled old farts. Maybe even have his own rocking chair.”

“Son, time to go to school.”

Making the game saving catch of his imaginary series, Tommy somersaulted out of bed and checked himself out in the dresser mirror. He pulled his worn baseball cap low to the top of his nose. Squinting his eyes and clenching his teeth, Tommy declared, “he can stay but I’m not changing one thing in my room. The model planes’ll hang over his bed and attack on my command, the nerf basketball stays over the bathroom door, and as for my computer, well, he just better not touch any of my stuff or he’s history.”

Grabbing his knapsack from the floor and sinking the required two pointer with the orange nerf ball before exiting, Tommy stomped his way out of his private world for the last time. As the door slammed more soldiers fell to their untimely death….