Pt. 21

Bo sighed deeply as he stood in front of his childhood home, arms akimbo, legs ... not akimbo.  The boy knew it wouldn't be easy to get the jars, especially now that the house was no longer owned by his family.  He wasn't even completely certain the jars were still there, but there was a chance and he had to try.

The original plan had been to bring Captain and Tennille along, but during an ill-advised, last-minute fit of square dancing, Tom boxed the gnat when he should have allemande left, causing Tennille to go flying into the next room, slamming right into the bowl of the commode, the seat of which had unfortunately been left up.  It goes without saying exactly how angry this had made Captain, as well as how lucky both Bo and Tom were to escape with Rick Allen's missing arm (which they found in Captain's suitcase - he'd been using it to hold his large collection of novelty watches), let alone their lives.

After about 10 minutes of procrastinating, while Tom hummed Smells Like Teen Spirit to himself, Bo finally knocked at the front door.  An elderly woman opened the door and stood there, mouth agape, looking back and forth between the boy, who was dressed in linen pants and an embroidered linen tunic, and Tom Jones, who was now cheerfully singing My Humps under his breath. 

"Hello," the boy began.  "My name is Bo and this is Tom Jones..."

Tom nodded and continued singing, "I mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky cocoa ... Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight."

The woman responded by dropping to the floor in a heap.  Bo closed his eyes slowly and drew in another deep breath.

-----

"There's no need for alarm," Tom reassured the woman, who was now securely tied to one of her dining chairs. "I love listening to new stuff, at home in LA I always have the radio on to hear what is happening."

"Tom, I don't think her biggest concern is what you were just singing.  Although I'm sure it's no comfort." Bo said, as he finished carefully tying the bandanna over her mouth.  A slow, high pitched squeak began to emanate from the deeply tanned singer.

"Tom, don't cry.  I'm sure she loved your song.  Right before she lost consciousness and cracked her head on her entryway."  Tom Jones grinned widely at this and regarded the old woman, who was now mumbling quietly, pleadingly, through the bandanna, something that sounded a lot like, "Take whatever you want, just go, just go..."

"It's true," Tom Jones replied.  "this life we're living, it's a tough row to hoe ... why just the other -"

"Tom!" Bo interrupted him, "we don't have time for this, help me pull up the floorboards in my old bedroom, so we can get out of this poor woman's house."

They both entered his childhood bedroom, where Bo pushed back the area rug, and pried up the floorboard where he remembered stashing his jars several years earlier.  In the place where the two jars should have been was a note.  "Flying fruitcakes in a pogo stick parade!" Bo exclaimed before putting his head in his hands.

"Now that sounds like a fantastic time!" Tom gushed.  "When do we get to do that?"

It took the boy a full minute before he could lift his head and reach out for the note.  It read: