Not Me

I realize it sounds absurd, but my wife and I actually have…an invisible child.

I know. I know. But before you scoff, just hear me out. There is a good chance you may have an invisible child, too. If so, your invisible child probably has the exact same name as our does.

I was first introduced to our invisible child over twenty-five years ago, when our normal children, Adam and Justin, were about seven-years old. They referred to their unusual and mysterious sibling as, “Not Me”.

I am ashamed to admit that I have never actually met Not Me, but I am one-hundred percent certain he lived with us: or, at least it seemed that way because Adam and Justin were always referring to him. You see, Not Me was responsible for practically everything that ever went wrong in our home.

Whenever we wanted to know who left the door open, all we had to do was ask one of our perfect children, and they would gladly tell us. Why, of course it was…Not Me. When we asked Adam who left the milk out, he was quick to inform us that it was Not Me. When I asked Justin who left my skill saw out in the rain all night he seemed to know that Not Me did it. Adam and Justin were perfect in every way, but that Not Me kid was always screwing up.

Over time, I grew somewhat accustomed to having an invisible child, until one night, when things got way out of hand.

On that particular evening, we were having a large family gathering of twenty people or so. Just when the house was full of guests, I suddenly had an urge to use the “necessary room”. Ordinarily, I would not want to attend such activities when I have a house full of guests, but as the saying goes, “When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go”.

We all know that no job is complete until the paperwork is done and that job was no exception, if you know what I mean. Eventually, I got to the point where I needed to do the paperwork so I reached for the toilet paper roll. The trouble began when I discovered that the chrome dispenser was empty. Such a discovery might ordinarily lend a person concern, but we have a vanity close by and we always keep plenty of the stuff in there.

Comforted by that fact, I opened the door to the cabinet in search of a back-up roll but none was immediately visible. I have to admit that at that point I was a bit worried. I hoped that somehow a roll had fallen to one of the back corners, so I leaned forward farther than I liked, and made a more complete inspection of the cabinet’s contents. Alas, it was devoid of any spare rolls.

In a moment like that the human mind is capable of thinking several things all at once and my mind went completely aflutter. For starters, I was really angry with whoever left me stranded like that. If there were Ten Commandments of Bathroom Etiquette, that would certainly be the first commandment, “Whosoever uses the last of the toilet paper, shall replace the roll.”

Equally as irritating was my role in the matter. Any intelligent adult should have enough sense to complete a paper inventory before embarking on such journeys, but I simply grew lazy and probably deserved what happened. But the anger needed to be set aside for a while as I considered the more immediate matter: Namely, how the heck was I going to get out of there?

As I said, my brain was juggling all these emotions and ideas at the same time. Here are the top three ideas that visited me as I sat there, angry and exasperated.

1) Perhaps I can call out for my wife to come help me.
Conclusion: If we were there alone, I probably would have taken that track, but there was too much risk of an evening filled with ridicule by the house guests if word got out.
2) The second idea was…well, let’s just say it was so unpleasant it became strictly an emergency plan.
3) The final thought was the one I elected to employ.
I decided to try to get to the other bathroom, at the other end of the house, and try to finish the paperwork down there.

So the plan was laid. I pulled up my britches as far as I dared. I listened closely at the door to make certain nobody was out there. When the time was right, I made a hasty retreat and commenced on a quick and awkward walk down the hall. I am pleased to report that the paperwork was completed without additional fanfare, but there was still some follow-up work to do.

I grabbed several rolls of TP from the storage area and headed back to the original bathroom. I reloaded the chrome holder and placed several extra rolls in the vanity so nobody else would get marooned. Then I decided to deal with whoever left me stranded and that First Commandment of Bathroom Etiquette. I was determined to publicly ridicule the culprit so he or she would never do that again.

The anger returned in full-force as I entered the living room. There where about a dozen guests engaged in small-talk. At that exact moment, Grandma also entered the room. She was coming from the kitchen and carrying a tray full of hors d’oeuvres.

I summoned a loud and determined tone when I bellowed out, “Who used the last of the toilet paper and did not replace the roll?”

The room grew silent as all eyes turned my way to see what was so important. Grandma turned and faced me too. The silence lasted only a second or two before Grandma could not take it any longer. Suddenly she said it, “Not Me’.

Not Me?

Not Me?

I guess I should have known.

It was a deep rooted family conspiracy. Everybody, including Grandma was in on it.

In a final desperate attempt to solve the problem, I quickly glanced around the room. I knew everybody’s name. None of them was called Not Me. Nobody raised their hand to say something like, “I did it, Dave, I am sorry.” Since it was obvious that nobody there did it, it must have indeed been Not Me, just like Grandma said.

That was the day I decided not to fight it any longer. From that point on, I just accepted the fact that we had an invisible child, named Not Me.

And that is the way it was for about twelve more years until Adam and Justin moved away. For some reason that is the same time that Not Me also faded into oblivion, never to be heard from again.

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