Conspiracy Theories

 I personally am not someone who has any great number of conspiracy theories. Yes, when a sudden Swine Flu epidemic broke out shortly after Obama was elected as president, I did wonder if the man-made disease had been released on-command.

  But come on, when it comes to Obama, politics, and the American government, I am most certainly not the only suspicious person around.

  There are lots of conspiracy theories, like the ones you learn about when you watch National Treasure. But the kind of conspiracy theories I’m prone to come up with are slightly less political and exciting.

  I tend to watch my sister take a long drink from MY glass of water, and then say suddenly, “I see what you’re doing! You’re passive-aggressively trying to kill me by drinking my water, and slowly removing everything I need to live!” This is the sort of comment that leads to my sister’s laughter and to jokes about being passive-aggressive between a ninth grade boy and I, as he is constantly asking me for water.

  When I was younger- you know, eleven or so- every time my parents were angry or were being what I considered to be “mean,” I would become very afraid for my life, as I was sure that my REAL parents could never punish me for not doing my chores, and that the people standing before me were actually aliens who looked like my parents.

  For a large part of my childhood I thought that most people liked my sister better than me, because she always got better presents. Turns out, she was thinking the same thing about me and my presents, and once we learned to just open up about our secret jealousies, we also learned to like our own presents. Now, I tend to feel bad for my sister because I get all the good stuff, and she sympathetically returns the sentiment.

  My most recent conspiracy theory was dreamed up when I realized that my family was eating all sorts of delicious Christmas treats when my back was turned.

  Now, sometimes my family will get burgers or have ice cream when I’m working late or something, and that’s understandable. But over the past two weekends I realized it was happening even when I was home. I’d be upstairs in my room, editing a video or wrapping a gift or sorting through the scathes of useless things I keep lying about, and my family would be downstairs eating cookies.

  I imagine the scene must have gone something like this: My parents, noticing me going upstairs, look at one another slyly. One of my younger brothers- doesn’t matter which one- would follow me casually, and once they were sure I was thoroughly engrossed in something, they would run back down the stairs in a loud imitation of a rhinoceros charging an invasive wildlife photographer. Having thus descended, the treacherous brother would then whisper excitedly, “Sarah’s busy! She’s listening to Copeland and re-arranging her earrings, we’ve got at least twenty minutes!”

   My parents would smile broadly, and my father’s sometimes-terrifying eyebrows would leap up on his forehead with joy at the prospect of fudge and eggnog. And so, tiptoeing on their twelve respective feet like something out of a children’s book, my family would creep into the dining room and carefully remove the lid to the goodie tin. There, nestled inside, was a plethora of sweets- fudge, cookies, and other delicious things that I don’t know what they were because they’ve all been eaten.  After eating as much as they could, someone- probably my sister- would hear me trudging heavily down the stairs, because I walk like a man or a small elephant. Hearing my approach, my entire family would quickly replace the lid of the tin and assume their positions of innocence. My mother would quickly sit down at her computer, my father pretend to be checking the stack of mail on the table for bills, my sister turning the Kitchen Aid on even though there was nothing in the bowl, the oldest of my brothers diving for a magazine full of hunting gear, the youngest of my brothers beating a hasty retreat past me singing something in Indian, and the middle brother staring intently out the window.

  I would wander through all of this, unsuspicious, perhaps asking my middle brother what he was looking at. He would have the name of some bird I’d never heard of ready, and begin rattling off facts about it’s wingspan and tail length and bone density until I lost interest and went back upstairs to crease my pillowcases out of boredom…leaving my family to polish off every Christmas cookie in sight.

  That is my conspiracy theory. Whether it’s true or not I will probably never know, because my family is too cunning for me to catch them in the act.

  But even without proof, I can always suspect.

 And someday, perhaps, if I secretly attend finishing school and learn how to walk softly and balance a book on my head, and memorize sayings like, “Like a ship set out to see, I push my spoon away from me,” and other such important things- perhaps then I will be able to creep up on them one day and confront them with the truth.

  Until then, I will simply have to be content with buying my own eggnog, fruit, and candies and making everyone ask before they can have any.

12-17-10