Peyton Beach Place
By Mark Crantz
About a month ago I confessed to my wife that I was sick of sheltering in place. She said she felt the same since Sept. 15, 2001. “What?” I thought. That’s the day after we got married. “Really?” I asked. “Yes,” she answered. “24 hours was enough. Since then, I’ve pretended you’re a renter I can’t evict. The lie is easier for me. By the way your rent is due.”
I paid up because, well, I’m a homebody by nature. So, for me to admit that I want to venture out and reconnect with the outside world surprised my therapist, bartender and three other selves, Tom, Dick and Harry. And yes, they pay rent to our wife.
Actually, I’m a half brother to the triplets and twice removed by several marriages, but we are closer to each other than Kevin Bacon’s six degrees. We’re a support group unto ourselves. But since the start of the pandemic, we’re all starting to get sick of each other.
Harry left first. He’s the dreamer of the group. It wasn’t a surprise to see him go. Harry is restless. He’s not happy unless he’s moving. Tom, Dick and Mark didn’t want to see him go. He was the youngest triplet by thirteen years. It was a long pregnancy. Our mother took off right after Harry’s birth. She told us her leaving wasn’t our fault or our father’s. The fault rested with Lamaze. The breathing method fell short. Thirteen years of it was too much. It left her breathless, light-headed and panicky. She needed breathing room. So, with one last cleansing breath she took off. Harry’s personality was like mom’s. No surprise that he left.
Then Dick left. That departure surprised Tom and Mark. Dick was the middle kid. Tom was oldest and smartest. A natural born leader. Harry was the baby and got all the attention because he was the cutest. But Dick was just a Dick. Nothing special. Worse yet, he wasn’t the original Dick. He was Junior Dick. So true to his name, he left to sell his sporting goods.
That left Tom and Mark. We were scared to be by ourselves. We pinky swore to never leave each other. We had the best of intentions to stay true to each other. But we were bored in Laguna Beach. Nothing ever happened to keep us here. Then about a month ago, three things happened to help keep our oath to each other.
Laguna Beach became Peyton Beach Place and got interesting. One resident started blasting the “Gilligan’s Island” theme song at a neighbor. While another resident sold hotel leases he allegedly can’t sell because of an impending divorce. And recently, a third resident stepped down from a nonprofit public policy office to spend more time with family, right after orchestrating another consultant study to pursue the great white whale: the village entrance parking structure. Yes that one. The one that keeps coming back to get caught.
Tom and Mark were hooked on the town gossip. Now being at home and sheltered in place seemed exciting. The news was juicy and life reaffirming. Sure our lives didn’t seem as exciting, as others, but our life felt safe and just interesting enough. Tom and Mark tweeted Dick and Harry the exciting local news. They came running back to reunite our support group.
Crantz tells the Indy that the most exciting news of all for Tom, Dick, Harry and Mark is that our wife lowered the rent. Life at home is great.
