I Have A Cannabalistic Pig.

Leaving Cincinnati that Tuesday morning, the rain pounded April and I as we hugged in the driveway. I had left my windows open all night through the storm and braced myself for a wet ass ride all the way to Northern Ohio. We must have looked like we were crying as we got into our cars, but we knew it was just raindrops and there was no reason for sadness.

I was nervous driving to Sandusky; I had no idea what to expect. I was still amazed - still am amazed, really - that Earl, Lisa and Chris would open their home to me indefinitely like they did. I knew I would have my own room, and a home base for awhile, which was a novelty at that point. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever take having a roof over my head for granted ever again.

From what Earl said there were a lot of jobs opening up during the fall season. I wanted all of them. Seriously, I wanted to work five jobs, just so I could raise the most amount of money in the least amount of time. For the first time in months, I was hungry to work.

Sandusky didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet, weather-wise. A torrential downpour followed me from Cincinnati to Earl’s doorstep and made itself at home for a few days. Still, they say that rain on a wedding day is good luck and I hoped rain on a moving day would garner the same.

I managed to get lost, as I have many times since, trying to find my way around Sandusky that first day. I was kidding myself thinking I could find Earl’s house from the highway, so instead I pulled into a gas station and finally broke down to call. "Um, hi, can you come get me?"

The summer heat was intense, making my windows fog, but I still saw the silver-blue Chevy Cobalt pull up in my rearview as I scribbled in my notebook. Christopher jumped out and ran over to my passenger window, dually noting the seventeen tons of crap in my car. "HEY, JESSICA!!!!!" I could hear him through the glass.
"Hi, sweetheart!" I rolled down the window, letting the rain in.
"My dad and Lisa said I could ride with you!" he cried.
"Awesome! Just let me move some of this stuff," I said, trying to clear the passenger seat. It was more than a small chore - I had grocery bags, CDs, maps, reciepts, water bottles, books, a couple flashlights, the remnants of more than a few McDonald’s visits, and a laptop all in his way.

Christopher surveyed the damage like a champ, standing there in the pouring rain and saying, "Um, okay, let me just go back and ride with them." I continued to throw garbage onto my clothes in the backseat in the hopes he’d change his mind, but he is such a nervous little guy, most likely the result of his ADHD medication. He seems to live in constant fear of being in trouble, like he’s very aware of his condition and is trying to protect people from himself. Throughout living with him, I’ve become able to tell when he has taken his meds and when he’s skipped, as soon as I look at him or hear his voice. And I can honestly say, I love them both, Dr. Jekyll and Christopher Hyde. When he’s on meds, he’s polite, wary, suspicious and sensitive. When he doesn’t take his pill, he exudes a confidence I can’t help but adore. Sometimes I wish I could blend the two together.

He climbed back into the Cobalt and I followed them down Columbus Avenue, simultaneously anxious and relieved. I was going home.

Lisa asked me later that afternoon how long I was planning on staying. "I don’t know," I said. "Maybe ‘til I make, like, 800 bucks."
"You think that’s all you need?"
"Yeah, I’m looking to be out of here in about a month." I was so anxious to get back out on the road, and even though I claimed Sandusky as a new home, I was petrified of getting too comfortable and never making it back out.
"Well, with gas the way it is," Lisa said, "I’d feel better if you left with about two grand. You can stay as long as you need to, but don’t you think that sounds more like a usable number?"
She had a point. She’s so good at that.
"Yes," I said, almost dejectedly. I was still so mad at myself for running out of money, but slightly proud that I was starting over in a new place rather than heading back home for Maryland.
"Well, we’ll help you in any way that we can," she said.
"You already have."

Earl and Lisa’s driveway is a menagerie of vehicles. There’s the Ford truck, the Cobalt, Lisa’s Taurus, an old Dodge, and my Civic (the token Asian). Back in June, when I first met Earl, there was also a red Ford Lightning, a racing truck, and since moving in the Taurus has been replaced with a Mustang convertible. Not to mention the Pontiac Grand Am, which belongs to Earl’s daughter Danielle, which has to double park the Dodge and the Civic, if everyone is at home. Meaning, my parking space was on the front lawn. "You’re killing my grass," Earl would tease me.
"Well, tell your pig to stop fertilizing the carpet and start fertilizing the yard!" I told him.

Yes, the pig. For those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile, or who have the time and patience to dig through the archives (which even I don’t), you may remember my last trip to Sandusky, in July, when Earl and I fell in love with the pigs at the Catawba Island petting zoo. We both said we would buy one someday. I meant it. He actually did it.

Well, Lisa bought the pig for him as a present, a little black one they named Bacon. That pig became the love of my life. I couldn’t be in the house without him crawling into my lap, mainly because he quickly figured out that I was a sucker and would feed him scraps of any snack. He loved to be scratched, and I just loved to have a pig, so if I was home, we were inseparable. I started working at Ruby Tuesday’s in the mall and would go home on my breaks to feed and walk him. I would brag about him to my new co-workers and think of little things to buy him, like special lotions for his dry skin. Bacon was the coolest new toy ever.

One morning Lisa was making breakfast and a piece of bacon was dropped on the floor. Bacon pounced on it before anyone could stop him. It was like a slow-motion scene from a movie - everyone saw the bacon fall, everyone looked at the pig, the pig started to move, and everyone tried to stop him, going, "NNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!", but to no avail. Bacon ate the bacon and loved it. He kept snorting and rooting around for more. We were all disgusted. But ten minutes later, we laughed.

The only problem with Bacon was his inability to be house-broken. Lisa suspects that he lived too long at the petting zoo, being able to go wherever he pleased, so it was too late to teach him to only go outside or in a litter box by the time he was brought to our home. Every day was like one step forward and two steps back, to the point where Earl and Lisa were at their wit’s end. "You’re taking that pig with you when you go," Earl said to me one day. "That’s your pig now."
"Fine by me."

Bacon went everywhere - in the kitchen, behind the fireplace, under my bed, in the living room. One day he went on a pile of clean laundry. It was really bad. Still, I adored him and talked about him incessantly to anyone who would listen, and I dreamed about the day that I packed up the Civic and headed back out on the road, my pet Bacon at my side.

And I loved my new home - living with Earl, Chris, and Lisa was fabulous. I fit right in. And once I started making new friends, everything fell into place. I had a family, a pig, a job, and a posse. I had everything I needed. Except money.