The thing about Crazy D is that you don’t find him, he finds you.
I learned this years ago, when he and I were both living in Toronto, a mere few blocks from one another. I had given – or been told to give – him keys to my condo. And since, at The Mom’s, we just come and go as we please even when we’re not living there, a similar assumption was made with our Toronto arrangement. I would note, in a slightly sniffy way, that I was not given keys to his apartment in return. But I don’t think they locked the doors on that house, ever, so if I had need or want to go over, I could have probably just let myself in. And he had several roommates there, so I’m pretty sure if I’d been formal about it and rung the buzzer, someone would’ve let me in.
The Mom, in those days, would phone me for news of Crazy D, his comings and goings, his dietary preferences (as those are always a good indication of one’s mental, emotional and existential well being), and I would always tell her the same thing. Haven’t seen him recently. He’ll turn up. Eventually. When he wants to.
And then one day, he did.
It was early I believe. He phoned in the morning, wanting to make pancakes. Which, I suppose, isn’t in and of itself a particularly unusual thing to want to do, but our conversation wasn’t, as I recall, terribly normal.
“Do you have the magic dust?” he would’ve asked.
“I want pancakes.”
“Oh,” I would’ve said. “Pancakes magic dust.”
“I don’t have that.”
“Oh.” There would’ve been a pause as he considered how odd it was that I didn’t have this stuff. Though, at the time, in my fancy condo, I kept takeaway menus in the oven and have never really, digestively speaking, been a fan of pancakes.
“I’ll pick some up no my way over,” he would’ve said.
And then he came over and we made pancakes and ate them and I felt ill and so did he and then he left.
Not to return again until he wanted to watch a video, because at that point, in the pre-iPad days, you needed a TV and a DVD player for that sort of thing. Which he did not at the time have.
He rarely made advance plans to come round, preferring instead to pop over as and when the fancy caught him. Which made for an exciting life, I tell you. Actually, not that exciting as he didn’t pop round too much.
I mention all of this because he’s always been the sort of person who turns up as and when you need him. It’s like he’s got some sort of mental Bat signal that goes out, that only he can hear. And he’ll get on a plane, train, bus, car and just turn up. You can actually depend on him quite well for that.
But The Mom likes a plan, particularly one that comes with precise coordinates and auxiliary phone numbers. She likes to know she can get a hold of you In An Emergency. Or if she should worry when she’s watching the news. If I even think of going to Paris for the day without informing her of my whereabouts, there’s hell to pay when I return. And if I don’t send her an email every couple of days, she assumes I’m dead.
So it’s good that Crazy D isn’t able to tell her where he is. Keeps her on her toes.