The Mysterious Egg
by TJ Abba
Eve stared down at the egg in her hand, then looked at her husband, and pleaded for me to understand. “There was no other choice”
She’d called F.B.I. Headquarters. It meant the funny farm. “I couldn’t face the neighbors.”
I’d have to traipse along, too. I’m his mother. I knew my Adam had started looking for victims. The ones who squirm in their seats but aren’t allowed to leave. Captive audience they call it. Open Mike Night at the Fernandina Beach Improv.
Eve knew to place the blame squarely where it belonged. On Doctor Phil’s doorstep, that’s where.
Sure it seemed harmless enough at first. We encouraged Adam—at first. Seemed cheaper than golf and not as embarrassing as him cross-dressing or consorting with known prostitutes. But his little diversion turned into a full blown obsession.
After he retired from the Paper Mill, he took to watching afternoon soaps, Oprah, Doctor Phil. That doctor guy suggested a theater group. I was against it from the very beginning.
If only Adam hadn’t gotten that first big laugh, things might not have gotten out of hand. But there was no stopping him after that. He spent hours practicing. He forced us to sit through the stuff. Soon the kids wouldn’t come home for dinner until Adam left for his afternoon forays into the nether world of Amelia’s Assisted Care Center’s Comedy Hour.
He was so desperately determined to be the star, he sabotaged the magician’s act by hiding his rabbit. Dipping his multicolored scarves in ketchup. I have to admit, any residents still awake loved Adam.
Then one day it happened. Adam became paranoid he’d lay an egg. His fear was all-encompassing. Eve thought it was just an expression, ‘Laying an egg’ was akin to ‘raining cats and dogs’, or ‘horse feathers’. Then his twelve-year-old placed a hard-boiled egg in Adam’s Lazy-Boy. Adam stayed home and watched doctor know-it-all with-the-close-set eyes explain how you take lemons and make lemonade. “Embrace what you fear,” Dr. Phil said.
Now Adam was not afraid of laying an egg. He tried to lay one. He took to wearing a furry rabbit suit with large ears and dubbed himself Harvey. He no longer answered to Adam. He hopped everywhere, and became terrified of neighborhood dogs. Still, hard as he tried, he couldn’t produce the longed-for egg. Eve was heartbroken. He might have to be put away.
“If you believed in me, I could lay an egg,” Adam said, nibbling a carrot.
***
Now Eve stands with a large warm egg in her hand. She looks at me pleadingly. Adam, AKA Harvey, is hopping around out in the yard. Their suitcases are packed and Eve’s mother, Lily, starts up the SUV.
“Funny Bone Institute’s on the line. You in, or out?”
“In,” I say. After all, I love my son, too.
“F.B.I.?” Eve said, “I’d like to order three queen-size pink bunny suits and three yellow children’s size 14. The address? Easter Island of course.”