Landing gently on the tattered front steps of his three story home in Brooklyn, Mr. Lewis fumbles between holding his black briefcase in his left hand while cradling a bouquet of red roses intermingling with white baby’s breath under his arm and reaching into his right pocket of his brown blazer jacket for his keys.
“Honey I’m home!” Mr. Lewis calls as he steps through the threshold of the door, barely managing to squeeze himself and his bounty of possessions. Dropping his briefcase alongside the spiraling stairwell, he expertly takes the bouquet behind him as he waits for his family to appear. In no time at all, three brown heads pop over the banister.
“Daddy!”His children scream, as the avalanche begins like a small herd of elephants trampling towards him. Bracing himself slightly, awaiting the tackle of small bodies. “Oof, ouch, ok… ok…” smiles Mr. Lewis through the grimaces. “Hey… hey be gentle, I didn’t raise you kids to behave like this! Where are your manners? I might have to talk to your mother about this…”
“About what?” a sweet musical voice floats above the chaos. Everyone turns to the head of the staircase to see a ravishing woman. Her brown hair is tied back but a few strands straggle around her flour marked face, her green eyes are glaring at the children but betray themselves as they lighten into a smile. She wears dark blue jeans and a black Hard Rock Café T-shirt; with an apron that displays the intense battle between food and man, or in this case woman.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Lewis gestures to the impish children who smile and disperse throughout the home, only to peer around the nearest corner, conspicuously.
“Hi Dear.” Suddenly he is bashful as she, like a domestic queen of cookery, strides down the staircase.
“Emery Clifford Lewis! How many times have I told you! Dust yourself off when you enter into this home, you look like something the cat dragged…” as Mr. Lewis grabs his wife and cuts her off with a sound kiss on the lips. “…in” Now it is time for Mrs. Lewis to blush.
“It’s nice to see you too Ashley.” Suavely, Mr. Lewis presents to her his gift. “For you my Dear!”
“Oh honey! I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” As they embrace again, until, of course, the attempted stifled snickering begins. Mr. Lewis rolls his eyes. “Can I go?” he whispers to his wife.
“You better, I have something on the stove, and otherwise I would.”
“Thanks honey!” With a voracious snarl, Mr. Lewis leaps over the banister at his children, who scream and dart in horror all over the house.
Smiling as she heads upstairs to the kitchen, Mrs. Lewis calls out, “Don’t forget to wash up before dinner, which is in 10 minutes!”
Mr. Lewis appears with his sports coat disheveled, but eyes shining bright from acting like a child. “Alright kids, you heard your mother! Go fix yourselves! I’ll be right down honey.” As Mr. Lewis climbs the stairs to the master bedroom.
He opens the door to the bedroom taking off his coat and hanging it up in the closet. Taking the clothes laid out for him by his wonderful wife he proceeds to change. Bless her. God blessed me with the greatest wife in the world. he thought. Looking around for his slippers, he finds them at the foot of his bed. Taking a quick detour to the restroom, he finishes his business. Washing his hands, he sucks in a deep breath and exhales a big sigh. Then snapping back to attention he splashes water onto his face. Drying off with a hand towel, he heads back out of the bedroom and down the stairs to see his family seated at the table expecting him to start.
“I’m sorry.” With a grin, Mr. Lewis takes his seat. “So who’s turn is it tonight?”
Clarice, his ten year old daughter raises her hand gingerly. “It’s mine.”
“Alright ‘Clarey’ whenever you are ready.” Mr. Lewis smiles proudly at his daughter as his chest inadvertently puffs out like a robin brandishing its deep red markings in springtime.
“Ok. Let’s Pray. Dear God, thank you for my family. Thank you for today. Thank you for the food. Amen.” Clarice’s head doesn’t rise due to her sudden timidity.
Mr. Lewis gets up from the oak wood chairs and sweeps around the table to his daughter. He pulls Clarice’s chair out suddenly and swoops down to give her the biggest hug he could without crushing her. He sets her down gently in her chair, and bends down to his knees into a squat before her.
“You did well, Clarice. Both of us are extremely proud of you. Thank you for praying for us.”
Clarice raises her soft brown eyes, and smiles her angelic smile. “Thanks Daddy!”
Mr. Lewis gets back to his feet, towering over his daughter but all the while smiling at her like a father can. With a slight bow and curtsey, “You are welcome.”
He walks back to his seat at the head of the table. “Shall we dig in?” he says with a side smile.
Mr. Lewis didn’t even need to suggest that, as his children grabbed their silverware waiting Mrs. Lewis to unveil their dinner for the evening. Waiting for a grand silence, eyeing her children one by one until they settled down in a polite fashion, she grabs the silver dome obscuring her treat from the eyes of her hungry family.
“Now, I worked very hard on dinner tonight. So you better like it.” Mrs. Lewis warned her children.
“That’s right children. Both your mother and I work very hard to get food onto this table. Especially now with the times being as hard as it is. We are lucky that only I have to work, while your mother can stay at home to be here when you come back from school. Further down the line, I don’t know if that will be possible, but we will meet the challenge head on!”
“We know father.” His children chorused.
“Can we eat now?” piped up little five year old Thomas.
“Yes we can.” Mrs. Lewis smiles tenderly at her son. “Drum roll please!” The whole table obliges. “Tonight we feast on… Meatloaf!”
About an hour later after the dishes are cleared away, the dessert already eaten and the dishwasher merrily chugging its own tune of suds and bubbles, Mr. Lewis and the rest of the family are piled into the family room in assorted areas. Clarice is reading on the couch, Thomas is playing with his train set, and Annabelle is having tea with her dolly Tiffany. Mr. and Mrs. Lewis are both sitting in their own Victorian arm chairs imported from England, Mr. Lewis reading the newspaper from today, and Mrs. Lewis is working on a crossword puzzle.
“Ugh! Ok I can’t stand it. I need to get some fresh air. All of this good food is just settling into my stomach. Anyone else want to join me?” Mr. Lewis groans, standing up, stretching while throwing the newspaper into a pile on his set.
“I suppose we could make it a family trip. Anywhere on your mind?” Mrs. Lewis looks up casually at her husband.
“Well I haven’t seen the Brooklyn Bridge in a while. Anyone object?”
The children all glanced up excitedly dismissing their various play things. “No?” says Mr. Lewis. “Alright we’ll go there. All of us?”
Mr. Lewis was barely able to get that question out as he was drowned out by the sheer decibels of his children’s delighted screaming.
“I take that as a yes. Ok children, get your things.”
Soon the family is by the door waiting for their head of household. “Don’t get lost now. It’s not too far away but stick together. If you need help, either your mother or I will be right behind you. Ready? Let’s go!”
Mr. Lewis opens the door and steps outside to make sure the coast is clear. He motions to Thomas. Grabbing his hand with one hand and the back of his pants with the other, Mr. Lewis takes a mighty swing and Thomas disappears off the front steps. He repeats this until all three of the children fly off into the night. Mrs. Lewis steps up and locks the door. Kissing Mr. Lewis on the lips with a soft bat of her lashes at his cheek and a wink, she too vanishes into the dark. A sigh of deep love escapes him, Mr. Lewis shakes the doorknob to make sure it is closed, and looks on into the distance. He can barely see the shapes of his children ahead while his wife is dancing beckoning him to come. With one last look, Mr. Lewis bends his knees and springs off after his family. Landing on cement, watching the debris float in front of him, he plans his route. Jump after jump he times himself, skidding over the roofs of broken cars, climbing ladders leading to nowhere. He looks back at his home; ethereally it stands still, rooted by its sheer volume against the timelessness of space. I think I need to get better shoes. He thinks, running and leaping against any obstacle in his path. Every now and then Mr. Lewis will take a glance underneath him, it will still dazzle him to this day. How the Earth still managed to stay together despite the Martian attack that shattered it. One day, we’ll figure this out. He thought, until then Neil Armstrong said it best. “That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” except now, we keep leaping.
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