Too Much Dexter

30 December 2024 

1128

R. Linda:

It's been a holiday and then some! Indeed, my brother-in-law, Bruno, has the distinct honour of being the only person I know who has watched 83 episodes of Dexter in seven days—to this date, 87. Once he started, he lay in bed for three days and nights, watching this eight-part series back to back (Christmas Eve, Christmas, and part of the day after before going whole hog), nearly driving his lovely wife mad. 

On day seven, she came down in the morning to coffee with his family (we were all staying at his parent's house in Cape May, New Jersey, as we do every Christmas until after New Year's). As soon as the sleepy-eyed wife melted into a chair at the kitchen table, her mother-in-law (Dragon) asked, "What's the matter with you? Didn't you sleep last night?"

"No, Mom, I did not." The black circles and bags under her eyes were shocking. "That son of yours has been watching that serial killer series until 3 a.m. for the past three days non-stop, and he isn't finished yet! He's on season eight, episode three, and 83 episodes he has watched without leaving for food, bathroom breaks, nothing!"

"Oh, dear, he must be dehydrated." The Dragon muttered, looking into her steaming cup of coffee as if there were tea leaves with a bad message floating on top.

"Dehydrated? That's the least of his problems! This morning, at 4 a.m. I awoke to this dark shadow standing over the bed. I was frightened, I can tell you that much. I was struggling to sleep while YOUR SON continued watching that awful show, and here I was, suddenly awakened to this grunting, moaning shadow standing above me. Well, you know what I thought, don't ya? I thought Dexter had come to life, and I was his next victim!"

"Oh, my, oh my," Dragon muttered, looking in horror at her daughter-in-law. The rest of us looked into our cups, trying to act like we weren't hearing any of this.

"Turns out he's stiff from sitting in bed for three days watching that stupid show! I switched the light on, and he stood over me. I said, "What the hell, Bruno?" he said he couldn't move to his left. His neck was also stiff, and he could only look forward and not turn his head in either direction. Did I feel sorry for him? Hell no!"

"Where is he now?" Dragon asked.

"He's upstairs moaning and groaning, but it hasn't stopped him from getting back in bed and watching Season Eight!" 

"Why would he get back in bed if being in bed for three days straight put him out of whack?" Tonya ventured.

"Because he's hooked on that show. Why does he do anything?" The wife threw up her hands, clearly exasperated.

"The good news is I think that's the last of the series," Dragon said brightly, but that got her a dirty look from her put-out daughter-in-law.

"Um, no, I think there is a new season coming on January 7th, Mom," Tonya said, seemingly uncomfortable about sharing that news. 

The sound of halting steps coming down the stairs caught our attention. Shuffling stiffly into the kitchen, the subject of conversation emerged. He couldn't sit down for his life; he was so stiff. His mother looked at him disapprovingly.

"Bruno? Are you yourself, or do I need to call emergency services?" Dragon asked, sarcasm dripping from her mouth. 

Bruno struggled for his phone in his back pocket. Once he had it in front of him, he clicked it on and asked his mother for the phone number of their chiropractor.

"It is the holiday. You won't reach him, but here is the number." Dragon clicked on her phone and read it off to him. He punched the number on his phone and made the call despite what she said.

The phone rang and rang, and a message came up. Bruno didn't leave one, just sighed, defeated.

"You don't listen. I told you they weren't there. It's the holiday. Someone would have called you back if you had left a message." 

"And there he is. The man who stood over me at 4 a.m. groaning AUGHHHHHHH and scaring the crap out of me. I thought he was going to murder me." His wife said, looking at him.

"I couldn't move. I was stiff from three days in bed. I didn't realise it until I got up to use the restroom and couldn't move from a standing position. I couldn't move my head, and as it is, I still can't get it to move normally without hurting."

"And, whose fault is this?" The wife snapped.

"Please get me some coffee. I am fine, " he said, addressing his mother, knowing his wife wouldn't do it.

"No, you are not fine!" Dragon said, getting up to pour him a cup. 

He took the cup from her and shuffled off for the stairs that must have looked like a giant mountain to someone who could hardly move. 

"Where are you going?" Dragon called after him.

"To watch my show!" He yelled back, and then the sad one step at a time could be heard, accompanied by moans and groans as he ascended to the second floor. 

"Good thing we aren't on the third floor," the wife mused with a snide smile. "Take him a month of Sundays to get up those stairs, but you know he would do it. He's obsessed, and that's not healthy."

"Well," Dragon offered, "at least you know where he is."

"What does that mean?" The wife asked, astonished. 

"My husband, sons and sons-in-law are all down the street playing bocce, except for Gabriel here, who Tonya has well-trained."

I was about to say something contrary when I got an elbow from the wife not to. The three other women, one a daughter and the two daughters-in-law, twittered. Not funny to me. 

"Our neighbor's wife had a bocce court put in as her Christmas present to her husband. With you being up in your room for three days, you didn't notice the "boys" were missing. It wasn't from any doings from the wannabe Dexter upstairs; they are all down the street acting like little kids in a candy store where the candy is free!"

"Oh."

"Yes, OH," Dragon said, looking put out. 

"I would prefer Bruno was there and not upstairs. At least I'd get some sleep, and he wouldn't be impersonating a serial killer at 4 a.m."

"All I can offer is for you to go up to the third-floor bedroom where the cat is. You can sleep in that room. Just clear the cat toys off the bed. It is made up and available." Dragon sighed, shaking her head. "Watching that and so much binging of it can't be good for his psyche. He is acting like a zombie."

 "You think?" the wife asked, agreeing. "Every night, I complain, and he says, 'Just one more episode,' but it goes on because he thinks I'm asleep."

"Well, dear, go to the third floor and make yourself comfortable. I'll take care of Dexter."

To my surprise, she took her coffee cup and herself upstairs. I wondered how thrilled the cat would be to share its room. 

"So, what's the plan? Unplug the television? Cancel the cable?" Tonya asked her mother.

"Ummm, nooo." Dragon said, "I'm not sure, but I'll think of something."

"But if he's on season eight, he's almost done," I offered.

"Not helpful, Gabriel." Dragon spat at me.

"Why don't we," Tonya pointed to her sister and the two sisters-in-law, go out to the garage and get some plastic sheeting and a few saws. Gabe can take them to Bruno's room and dump them on the floor. Ask him, uh... oh, I know, if he wants to put into practice his new TV skills and that you'd like to watch and ask him who's first."

"Oh, brilliant plan, Tonya," I said, hoping she wasn't serious.

That afternoon, I returned from the errand Dragon sent me to pick up a gallon of milk and the largest bottle of ketchup I could find. When the ladies saw me leaving the car, they ran out and grabbed the ketchup, taking off laughing. The sound of their laughter told me they were up to no good, and I was right.

As I came into the kitchen, I saw the table covered in thick sheet plastic covered in what looked like blood and a few hack saws laying "bloody" on top of the plastic. Scattered here and there was what looked like flesh and hair. I was appalled, but when I looked closely, I realised I was looking at chicken bones, ground beef and tufts of dog hair. I could hear the slow steps and groaning of Bruno coming down the stairs. I heard giggles under the table and stepped back into the hallway. I wanted no part in that, but I did want to see Bruno's reaction. 

It was an intense moment when he stopped in his tracks. His intake of breath was audible, and his eyes were wide. Then he started blinking like he was seeing things. His mother came up behind him and said, in an accusing tone, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

He jumped, he did. He tried to turn around but was still too stiff. I could see a momentary fright change to anger as he realised he had been had. What gave it away was the burst of laughter from under the table. 

I'd like to say that did it, and Dexter was done, but no, Bruno is a stubborn man. After shaking his fist at the ladies as they emerged from under the table and informing them, "THIS IS NOT FUNNY! Have fun cleaning that UP!"  he turned around and went back up the stairs to watch the rest of the infernal Dexter show, more determined than ever. I tell ya! 

For all I know, he's still up there. I haven't seen him at dinner, breakfast, lunch or any other time. His wife has made an appearance for meals, but for the most part, she has been sleeping with the appreciative cat to catch up with what she lost while her husband was enjoying Dexter Fest. 

Yes, these are me in-laws. They are, I am told, a typical New Jersey family. I thought the prank was excessive but said nothing. This morning, the Dexter fan was sitting at the kitchen table with his forlorn wife beside him. 

"What's wrong?" Tonya asked. It was apparent Bruno was depressed.

"It's over. I watched them all. Dexter is finished." Bruno whined.

"Yeah, until the next series starts in January. But it's one episode at a time." His wife smiled brightly. "No binge-watching."

"Yeah, well, time to put into practice what I learned from binge-watching," Bruno said with a sneer at her. 

Yup, and Happy New Year!  

Gabe

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