I tripped on a xylophone.

I’ve only been home for a day, and have already tripped on a xylophone. JB left it in front of the laundry room door leading to the garage. I was trudging up the steps with a big garbage bag full of dirty laundry, (what respectable college kid doesn’t come home with dirty laundry? And lots of it for that matter…) so my vision was partially obstructed. There the xylophone was. Here I came. The xylophone didn’t move, but my foot did – right toward it, then down on top of it, which forced my body to move from an upright position to an awkward seated position on the floor, accompanied by the ringing clang of the xylophone. I called out,
“JB!”
“What KK?”
“Did you leave this xylophone here?”
“Nope!” He said, his curls bouncing with every shake of his head. “Uh, what’s a xylophone, KK?”
“This” I said, pointing to the bright colored instrument on the floor.
“Oh…” realization crept into his face. “I just, I just, I just think I did KK.”
“KK tripped on it.”
“I’m just pretty sorry about that KK.” He put his arms around my neck. His curly head fit so perfectly on my shoulder – I always take advantage of his hugging moods.
“It’s OK JB, that was kind of funny huh?” The ease in my voice gave him license to giggle, then we both started laughing.

I’m really glad to be home for a while. I love living on my own away from my family, and I think I adjusted pretty well, but when I come back I remember what it means to really share things with people – not to mention the danger of stray xylophones.