Jen Lancaster - If You Were Here

I have two thoughts right now. One, that I should have never offered to emcee the goat rodeo that is carrying a tub up the stairs, and two, that I deeply, desperately, urgently need to pee.

I wait for at least twenty minutes before they return, crossing my legs the entire time. We don’t have any functional bathrooms yet and we’re still going in the Porta Potti. As soon as we got the tub upstairs, the guys were going to work on the toilet. I suggested they do the toilet first, what with my deep and abiding love of using the restroom indoors, but they insisted it would be easier to get the tub out of the way.

Yeah. Easy.

“What the hell, you guys?” I ask when they finally return.

“Oh, sorry,” Mac replies. “Luke wanted to see my new impact driver, so we were looking at that.”

“Can we please get me out of here? I’m about to wet my pants!”

“Then use the bathroom,” Luke suggests.

“I would, but you guys haven’t installed it yet! Hurry, please; I’m dying!”

“Whatever you do, don’t think of waterfalls or swimming or anything,” Luke instructs.

“That was very helpful, thank you,” I seethe.

“Hey,” Mac says, “we can probably fit a coffee can or something over the top of the tub and you can go in that.”

“What are you talking about?” Luke argues. “When’s the last time you saw anyone buy a can of coffee? What are you, eighty years old? Gonna use your S&H Green Stamps to buy something nice before you listen to your Pat Boone album? Coffee can, ha! She could probably go in a Starbucks bag, but I’m not sure they’re watertight. Oh, hey, have you tried those VIA packets? Not bad. I keep them in my desk at work—”

Through clenched teeth, I say, “A can isn’t going to fit. Can we please stop talking about coffee now and start moving the tub?”

“Okay,” says Mac, finally taking charge. “Here’s how we’re going to do this. Mia, you’re going to stand at the top and push, and Luke and I are going to come underneath and pull.”

We try this for a few minutes and manage only to jam the tub in more. Then the guys lift the bottom as I pull up and back. We make a tiny bit of progress, but it’s a hollow victory, due to how much this gouges the balusters. We’re just starting to get somewhere when Luke stops us. “Listen, guys, I’m having a low-blood-sugar crash. I think I had too many VIAs today. They’re just so easy to make! You just rip ’em open and add hot water! Bam, that’s it! Anyway, I can’t do this until I eat. Do you have something with protein in it?”

“We’re not doing a lot of cooking here, but we may have some hot dogs in the back of the minifridge,” Mac tells him. “You can heat it up in the microwave in the corner.” The microwave Vlad ordered has arrived, and not a moment too soon. I was getting really tired of eating my SpaghettiOs hobo-style.

Luke starts to trot off, but then stops himself. “Wait. Where are my manners — Mia, would you like a hot dog?”

I would like to scream, I would like to cry, and I would like to hit something or someone. Yet in this moment, I’m probably best off following the path of least resistance. “Sure.”

Luke’s back in a minute. 139“Here ya go, Mia!” I don’t understand how he’s going to give the hot dog to me until I see the end of it poking out of the drain. 140

For lack of a better idea, I eat my hot dog. It’s not bad.

The protein seems to refresh Luke, who comes up with the idea of removing the banister and spindles. Ultimately this will cause more work on the back end, but will likely save hundreds in repair costs. “Let’s do it.”

I could wait in any of the bedrooms or up in the loft, but I feel like if I’m not within earshot managing this process, the boys will get distracted. I have to pee so badly my entire body is humming. I’d hoped the salt and nitrates in the hot dog would somehow make me want to go less, but now I’m about to bust and I’m thirsty.

“How’s it coming?” I ask.

“Almost there!” Mac assures me.

“Can I be doing anything?”

“Well…” Luke considers. “You might want to, um, you know…” But before he can articulate “Hold on to your end,” he pulls the final balustrade, and the tub releases, sails down the length of stairs, banks off the wall, and careens into the foyer, where the force of a hundred pounds of sweat-slicked fiberglass flies across the tiles and knocks the front door wide-open.

I’m off like a shot behind it, making a mad dash to the Porta Potti. As I sprint out the door and over the tub, I slam directly into two Abington Cambs police officers.

“Where’s the fire, ma’am?” says the taller, older one.

“I’m sorry. I was just trapped and—” And that’s when it occurs to me that I have two Abington Cambs police officers in my driveway. “Wait. I’m sorry. Can I help you officers with something?”

The younger, shorter one addresses me. “Ma’am, does a Mr. Bauer live here?”

“Come again?”

The older one takes over. “Mr. Bauer, does he or does he not reside at this residence?”

I am beyond confused. “Agent Jack Bauer?”

“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Bauer.”

“You know Mr. Bauer is a cat, right? Not a person?” Then I’m suddenly consumed with dread. “Is he okay?”

“So you confirm he does live here?” demands Officer Younger.

“Yes. Do you have him? Has anything happened to him?” I worry that not only might Agent Jack Bauer be hurt, but that someone could have had an accident avoiding him. We live up on a bluff and the roads back here are winding. One wrong turn and someone could find himself down a ravine or in the lake. 141

The younger one flips open a notepad before he continues. “We’ve had a complaint about your cat. He was seen at eighteen hundred hours urinating on a neighborhood lawn.”

“He got out a couple of hours ago and I was tied up and couldn’t chase after him. But how would you know that? Wait. Someone called you guys? Because a cat peed outside? Are you kidding me? Is this a joke?”

“Vandalism is no joking matter, ma’am,” says the older cop.

And that’s when I snap.

Or go all Swayze. 142

I can’t stop what comes out of me next. “Do I seriously pay thousands of dollars in property taxes so you two can harass me about my cat getting outside? Is that where my money is going? I’m sorry; is it illegal for creatures to relieve themselves in this town? Are you going to buy all the squirrels tiny little diapers? Gonna give the chipmunks catheters? Hey, wait. A bird crapped on my windshield! Better call nine-one-one! I think that’s a hate crime! I’m not kidding; this is singularly the dumbest goddamned—”

“Language, ma’am,” says Officer Older.

Rage bubbles up inside me. “Forgive me. What I meant to say is that this is singularly the dumbest gosh-darned thing I’ve ever heard. You tell Lululemon and Citizen Cane and Elbow Patches or anyone else in this neighborhood who has you two rent-a-cops in their pocket that I will not be harassed any longer! I live here! I’m not leaving! But you? You are wasting my time, you’re wasting taxpayers’ time, and I’m about to commit my own hate crime if you don’t get out of my way so I can use the bathroom.”

I stare them down so hard that Officer Younger finally says, “We’ll get Mr. Bauer for you.” Then he goes to the backseat and plucks one seriously confused kitten out of it before handing him to me.

“What, no shackles?” I demand.

As they begin to back away, the older one says, “One more thing, ma’am?”

“What?!”

“You really can’t keep your bathtub on the front porch.”

After Mac and Luke convince the police not to Taser me, they all turn into fast friends over a conversation about their sidearms. The cops impart some wisdom on how to properly seat a toilet on a wax seal, and only then do we finally get something accomplished. Now, like Agent Jack Bauer, I shall whiz indoors exclusively.