At nine sharp I threw open the door and we rushed the car. “Keep low,” I yelled. I swear, kids these days just don’t understand the basics of guerilla warfare. The video game industry, for all it’s hype, is turning out a bunch of easy targets. As I rounded the back corner of the car, I tripped over someone leaning against the tire, eating an apple. It was Imaginary Keith!
“Thank god you’re here! Cover us!” I’m not sure where he’d come from, but the timing couldn’t have been better. We needed all the help we could get.
“Well it’s about time. I’ve been pounding on the door all morning,” Imaginary Keith said. I ducked behind the car, looking through the windows for any sign of the landlord. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t gotten off a single shot.
“Get in the car! Quick!” There really was no time to waste. The landlord and his troops were obviously scouting the perimeter. “Roll down the window,” I told Imaginary Keith. “I need to yell something.” We scrambled into our seats and I jabbed the car in gear.
“Who’s the tactician now!” I yelled out the open window as we sped away.
“Keith?”
“Yes.”
“What’s with all the boxes in the window?” Imaginary Keith asked.
“We’re at war with the landlord, so we built a fort out of our things. We’ll be pulling up stakes soon. You made it back just in time.”
“Oh.” He took another bite out of the apple.
“And as soon as we drop off your son at school, we’re going on the offensive. We’re going to take the fight right to the rental office. He won’t be expecting that.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, can I go?” Imaginary Keith’s son asked. “I want to go.”
“No, you’re going to school. Besides, until you learn to keep down, you’re not ready for any real action.”
“But I didn’t see anyone.”
“That’s because you weren’t low enough. Believe me, they were there.” Kids. I swear. The car weaved in and out of the Mission Street traffic. There’d be no time for coffee this morning. The landlord was going to pay for that. Starting a battle before either side had time for a decent cup of coffee. What is this world coming to?
“Do you think that cute girl will be behind the desk?” Imaginary Keith asked. “I haven’t seen her in awhile.”
“Excuse me? But have you been listening? We’re at war. There’ll be no fraternizing.”
“I was just thinking that a little negotiating might help ease the tension. I could go in as a diplomat. You know, see if there might be room for bargaining. Discuss some terms or something.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” Imaginary Keith posing as a diplomat might give me just the advantage I needed. Buy me some time while I snuck around to the back. It’d be kind of like telemarketers posing as a trustworthy, midwestern state. “Sure. We’ll give it a try.”
Imaginary Keith’s son looked at me funny as we dropped him off in front of the school. I think he may have suspected my plan, but didn’t say a word. Maybe he’d make a good soldier after all. He was a good quick packer. I had to give him that much.
“Should I wave or salute goodbye?” he asked, standing outside the car window, his backpack slung over his shoulder.
“We better stick to waving. There’s no need to alarm the rest of the kids.”
“Good idea.” He waved, his index finger slightly touching his right temple. It was more discreet then I would have imagined from a nine year old. I “waved” back.
“Next stop, the rental office,” I announced, looking over at Imaginary Keith.
“Is there any apple stuck in my teeth?”
“No, you look great.” Diplomats are so naive.