We talked on and on about the stash. We only took a quick look--no time to memorize everything--so the three of us pooled our brains together to create the complete list of goods. The "big one" that year was the Nintendo. Yep, the original Nintendo--complete with "Mario Bros." Shawn had been salivating over a Nintendo for months now, and finally, FINALLY it was to be in his possession. We were incredibly excited. I mean, Christmas morning has its level of excitement, but finding the booty BEFORE Christmas?! Rock on.
Shawn's best friend, Wade, came over, and we all filled him in on the find. He, too, was super-excited about the Nintendo. I mean, who wouldn't be? They had the same power as Cabbage Patch Kids in the 80s and that stupid Elmo thing that everybody had to have in the late 90s. It was a NINTENDO, man! So anyways, we filled in Wade. He sat there, wide-eyed, just adoring us. He was a "good" kid. We were good kids on the outside, but secretly evil. Ask any of our friends. Wade was a really sweet kid. He was smaller than most his age, and because of Cerebal Palsy, walked with a limp. My sister and I loved him--he was adorable. He was a great friend to my brother. But that was before we killed him.
Mom and dad arrived home from work, exhausted and pretty much ready to crack the whip and make us take on our roles as slaves to them. It was a normal household. So anyways, Wade, getting a waft of the damning smell of chores (and whatever the hell it was mom was cooking), left. BUT...and here's the big but...as he stood on the foyer, opening the front door, Wade says, "Man, that's so cool about your Nintendo!" then leaves. The door closed, and a hush froze over the house. The three of us stood on the foyer, looking at each other, scared to turn around and face the death that was sure to be lurking right at the top of the stairs.
It wasn't as bad as it could've been. I mean, all hell broke loose, there were spankings and groundings and things taken away, and threats of gypsies and having to find a new mom and dad. Not too bad. We had to stay in our rooms the rest of that evening, with no dinner. I had rationed my Halloween candy, so it wasn't too bad for me. I can survive on Smarties and jawbreakers any day. So there we are, in our rooms. The parents made us shut our bedroom doors, because the three of us (if doors were open), would lie near the doorframes and whisper to each other--no doubt concocting another evil plan. I don't know what Shawn and Shannon did, but I was thinking.
One of the threats Dad and made was that we were not getting those presents now. Nothing for Christmas. That sucked. So I did what any other kid my age would do--sat down, and wrote a 3-page, heart-wrenching poem about how sorry I was, and that I deserved everything that was coming to me. It was a work of art. I even illustrated it. I wish I had it--just to show ya. So anyways, I garnered permission to exit my bedroom, and walked into the living room. I stood in front of my parents, and executed the most divine poetry reading ever performed in front of a live audience. After I finished, my parents had their hands over their mouths--too stunned with the raw beauty of my talent to speak--their shoulders were slightly shaking--no doubt, holding back tears. Mom whispered, "Go back to your room." So I did. Forlornly. Leaving them with the illustrated copy.
Two days later, on Christmas, we awoke to a tree sitting amidst a barrage of gifts--Nintendo included. Seriously, it was my poem that did it. Either that, or my illustration of Baby Jesus. It WAS rather cute.