Poobah followed Two-Ton home. It wasn't far, but nothing in this town seemed far away. In a small town, 'far away' doesn't exist. It took only a few minutes to reach a large one-and-a-half storied house, complete with a verandah facing the street and a balcony above. The two boys entered the back door into the kitchen. Two-Ton stopped by the pantry to pick up two tins of freshly baked cookies his mother had made.
Poobah was famished and wasn't sure how many cookies he should take. He followed Two-Ton's example, matching him cookie for cookie, and in the end, he was no longer hungry. The cookies were divine and came in two varieties, a different kind from each tin. They were soft and would have melted in Poobah's mouth if he wasn't so hungry. The oatmeal raisin cookies had massive raisins inside, and the soft ginger snaps were so much better than the crunchy ones available in bags at the grocery store.
After the two-course meal of cookies, Two-Ton and Poobah made their way up the narrow stairway to the bedrooms on the second floor. Two-Ton said, "I've got a younger sister and brother. My brother and I sleep in the same room, but you'll have a separate bed. My brother's name is Delmar Roy, but everyone calls him 'One-Ton.' My sister's name is Rosella. In our town, we don't give girls nicknames.
Two-Ton opened the door to a large bedroom. The vaulted ceiling followed the steep roofline. In the corner, One-Ton was sleeping in a double bed. Two-Ton threw his clothes in a pile and crawled into bed with his brother. He motioned Poobah to the other double bed, turned over, and fell asleep instantly.
Poobah wasn't sure what to do and how to react. He merely followed One-Ton's suggestion because it seemed like the only available option. When he was young, he didn't like to go on sleepovers to friends' houses. He refused to go to week-long camps where he would have to stay overnight. The lure of his bed was always too strong. On nights where he would overnight with friends, people would want to talk, when all he wanted to do was game.
The moonlight filtered through the curtain. Poobah slowly removed his clothes and slipped beneath the covers. There were so many questions. How was he going to get back to the lake? How was he going to get out of this time warp? He had no clothes, no toothbrush, and no idea of the future. His mother often sang the folk song of "the man who never returned." He feared he could be that man. His mother would look for him, but never think to search for him in history. She might read a book that mentioned the name of the 'Great Poobah,' but how would she know this Poobah was her Jefferson? None of this made any sense. Perhaps if he fell asleep, he would find he was back in his bed at home in the morning. The bed creaked as Poobah sought a comfortable spot, but he eventually joined the 'Ton' brothers in a deep sleep.
Poobah awoke to whispers at the foot of his bed.
"Who's the guy in your bed?" One-Ton asked.
"His name is Poobah," Two-Ton replied. "We found him in an outhouse."
"Is he a stray?" One-Ton continued the questions.
"I don't know," came the answer. "The guy said he had no place to stay, so I invited him to our place. We were lifting an outhouse to its upright position when this guy fell out. We called him, 'Poobah.' "
"Did you catch him with his pants down?" laughed One-Ton.
Poobah stirred and stretched to get the Ton brothers to stop whispering.
"Good morning, Poobah." Two-Ton smiled. "Some of my brother John's old clothes are hanging in the closet. He left home when he went to teacher's college. I think the clothes will fit. He has never collected them even though he lives next door and works with my Dad in the store. The clothes are there on the right-hand side of the rack."
YOU ARE READING
The Morons' Club
Historical FictionSixteen year-old Jefferson is a loner who plays video games all the time. His mother finally persuades him to vacation with her at Iroquois Lake. During that time, he sneaks out to a musty outhouse to play his video games. A tornado comes and Jeffer...
