My Life, The Soap Opera Part 2

By popular request, I present the following:

Top 3 Signs You Are About To Be Held Hostage On A Mormon House Boat.

1. The pickup truck breaks down on the way to the lake, conveniently pushing your arrival time back from "around noon" to "the early evening."

2. The boat driver demands you take off your shoes (so you don't get shoe tread marks on the seat covers) - and immediately places them in a holding cargo which is completely inaccessible to you.

3. The houseboat has been moved to a remote island in the lake (the only excuse I have for not noticing this one was sheer stupidity. Hey, I was in highschool - cut me some slack).

The boat ride over was pleasant. RJ's mother informed us that his father was desperately monkeying with the engine, as the AC unit had stopped (but, she was sure he would have it fixed at any moment). The air was hot and dry - at least 105 degrees in a desert region. The sun was going down rapidly, but we managed to squeeze in a few rides on the waterskis - just enough to cover us with a film of gritty nasty lake water (apparently the lake was classified just slightly above "oil slick" in EPA records). Tired and hungry, we returned to the houseboat.

RJ's mom set out a few bowls of tostino chips, then happily set about making her salsa. She informed us that it was a family secret. She had taken this salsa to every potluck she had ever attended. EVERYONE loved her salsa. This, apparently, was the salsa to beat all other salsas created under Heaven and Earth.

The salsa was decent. But we were hot, we were tired, we had just come in from playing on waterskis (which is fairly physically taxing), and we were HUNGRY.

"So, what's for dinner, mom?" RJ asked.
She glared at him. "Chips and salsa."
"Ha, ha," he said. "I'm serious, what else?"
"Chips and salsa."
RJ, now looking slightly concerned (and embarrassed) marched over to the refrigerator and threw open the door - revealing shelves packed with food.
"What about the chicken?" he asked. "The steaks, the ribs, the salad? What about all this food?"
"That's for the bar-b-que tomorrow," his mom replied. "Tonight, we are having chips and salsa."

Now, some folks would recommend physically overpowering RJ's mother in a desperate bid for protein - so here is the spot where I explain that she was a fireman crew chief - with bulging biceps. Sherry later told me that RJ's prior fiance, Kira, had once made the mistake of sitting at the wrong place at the dinner table. Rather than asking Kira to move, RJ's mother had silently walked up behind her, lifted her bodily from her chair, and placed Kira in her "proper" chair.

We meekly ate our salsa.

"Well," I said, looking out the window. The sky was black, and I could no longer see the lake. "It's been fun, but I think it's time to go home."
RJ's mother looked vaguely surprised.
"You can't travel across the lake at night," she said. It isn't safe."
"Ah," I said. "Then I need to see a phone so I can tell my parents where I am."

Sherry and I took turns letting our parents know that we were relatively safe and sound (if you call being lost in the middle of a lake with no way of reaching the mainland, minus your shoes - relatively safe). The AC was still out. We were covered with a thin film of slime from the lake. We had no change of clothes, no access to a shower, and our bellies were patiently waiting for the main course to dinner - which sadly, was never forthcoming.
"I need some air," I said, heading towards the door.
"Are you going outside?" RJ's mother asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"I wouldn't recommend it," she said. "There are scorpions."

The woman stole our shoes AND THEN warned us about the SCORPIONS.

For the next few hours, Sherry and I huddled miserably in the livingroom, trying to relate to the strange folks around us. RJ's family consisted of his mother, father, two boys, and RJ's sister, Ebonia. All of the boys sported biblical names ending in "-riah" (think Zachariah). Ebonia sounded like a vaguely African name - and we were convinced it was actually Eboniariah. Ebonia was bemoaning her current boyfriend's recent departure to complete a 7 year trek to one of the Holy Cities. RJ cut in and shared a few lovely stories of the time his sister had sucker-punched her highschool teacher and laid him out cold.

We smiled. We nodded. We ran out of salsa.

We finally retreated to the top of the houseboat and whispered back and forth about our Mormon captors. Sherry revealed that she had dared to open a door in the bathroom and found a stockpile of 300 toothbrushes. "I'm scared," Sherry said. "I overheard RJ's mom telling RJ our chore schedules for tomorrow. He was arguing that we were guests, and shouldn't be made to do chores, but . . . I don't know. Do you think we'll really have to do chores?"
"Oh, no. I'm sure she was joking," I reassured Sherry - meanwhile trying to figure out which one of us would be scrubbing the aft deck.

Finally, RJ's mother appeared with a large bundle of sheets. Sherry later confided that she thoughtthat this was the one nice gesture they were making - bringing us our bedding.
It turned out that we had found the coolest place on the houseboat to sleep, and the Family from Hell was kicking us out so they could have it.

The situation had gone well beyond taking lemons and making lemonade.

"We'll sleep inside," I said, remembering the two couches in the livingroom.
"It's hot in there," RJ's mother said.
I shrugged. "We'll be okay."
RJ's mother wrinkled her nose and handed me a sheet.
"No thanks," I said. "It's too hot for any cover."
RJ's mother huffed and glared at me. "The sheets are for the couches," she said. "I don't want you getting them dirty."

Admit it - you're impressed that I didn't commit a homicide right on the spot. Mmmm... bulging biceps. And we were weak from lack of food.

Sherry and I trudged downstairs and dutifully spread our sheets on the couch. RJ opted to sleep in the smaller ferry boat out on the beach. Apparently braving the scorpions was better than sleeping with his family.
I was tired. And scared. And half asleep when Sherry's voice broke through the silence.
"Ummm... Andrea?"
"Yeah, Sherry?"
"Do bats bite?"
Had I been awake, I might have wondered why she was asking, but as it was, I simply rolled over and snuggled into the couch. "I don't know," I said. "But, I do know they have rabies."
At which point Sherry shrieked and flailed. It turned out that a small brown bat had come in through the window, landed on the sheet over her stomach, and had been steadily crawling toward her hair (personally, I think it was attracted the the strawberry shampoo).
Sherry managed to fling the bat back out the window, but saw it take a sharp right and circle back. She frantically closed the miniblinds.
There was a sad little thump, and a few seconds later a small splash.
We slept.

The next morning was July 4th, and bright and earlier - I demanded we go home.
"Can't you stay?" RJ asked. "There really will be food, now."
Sherry and I were too tired to argue. "No, RJ. We really just want to go home."
RJ's mother ferried us across the lake, finally producing our shoes when we climbed out of the boat. Slipping them on brought a pleasant feeling of security. Of knowing that you could stomp on a bug, if necessary.

"You know," RJ's mother said on the drive back to civilization, "you're really lucky we had a funeral to attend today, or we wouldn't have brought you back this early. Would you like a cookie? They're another family recipe. . . I always keep a few in the glove box."
"Not really," I began.
"EVERYONE likes my cookies," she said.
"No, really, I'm fine."
"It's a good cookie."
Sherry later told me she had the impression RJ's mother had been screaming "EAT THE COOKIE" - and she was very impressed that I had managed to stand up to the strange woman. Though my defiance came with a price - stony silence ensued for the next fifteen minutes. Then RJ's mother pulled over at a little tiny gift shop. She sent her daughter in to buy flowers for the funeral.
When Ebonia came out of the gift shop, I couldn't help but smile.

She had purchased a potted plant, instead of a floral boquet. And someone had planted happy little Fourth of July flags beneath the leaves.

A few minutes later, Sherry and I were unceremoniously dumped at a random Del Taco - from which we were able to call our parents (and get a decent meal - which is something I never thought I would say, regarding Del Taco). We stood outside, reminiscing about our brief safari on the Mormon Houseboat.

"I hope they remove the flags for the funeral," I said.
And Sherry and I laughed until we cried.