When I went home for Christmas, there was nobody there. Until I arrived, the goldfish had no one to feed them nor had the cat a clean litter box. I took care of those things, and a few others, before noon.

Then I waited. I waited until three PM — 3:04, actually — before anyone arrived.

With a great jangle and clatter the cousins stormed in, two by the front door and the others from the back, through the kitchen. They left great globs of mud near the door, more discrete boot prints across the linoleum, and the boots stacked higgly-piggly just before the door into the living room that Aunt Mea always called, “The PAhLah”, though nobody else did. The two at the front door had removed their galoshes on the porch, for which I silently thanked them. Janine gasped when she saw me.

“What are YOU doing here?”

I did not reply, as she is inconsequential. Bo — Beauregard to everyone not related — elbowed her ribs. “Hssst! Not your business!” Janine glared at him, but then simpered and slunk to the couch.

I waited. The other six settled into place. At six PM — 6:11, actually, and I can’t account for the rounding error except to say it was unavoidable and really should have been forward to six-fifteen if it had to occur at all — Uncle Stephan slid into the room from his office. We all waited.

School had been good. Not as much fun as I had hoped, but better than the alternative. Now I was home, in the living room of my family. None of us were plugged in.

Aunt Mea arrived and asked me, “What are YOU doing here?” I answered her, consequently, “The school sent me here.” I paused. Aunt Mea waited. I wanted very much to hug her and for her to hug me. “I am to be dismantled.”

“Well, then. We’d better get to it,” she said. “Let’s try not to get spots on the carpet, this time.”