GSI: Grime Scene Investigation (Teen Edition)

Did the front door just slam close? I wonder, as I turn on the garden hose on the back porch.

“Hello?” I yell out to no one, as I continue watering the flowers.

I hear muffled noises, footsteps, things being dropped, something hitting the wall, and various doors closing.

“HELLO?” I shout again, trying to figure out which teen just walked into the house: P, my 15-year-old, or T, my 18-year-old.

Silence.

Time to investigate.

Tapping into my extensive forensic background (one forensic science class in college, decades of watching TV police/detective dramas and my 18-year stint at motherhood), I begin to solve the “Who-Just-Entered-My-House Mystery.”

Looking for evidence, I start at the scene of the grime: the front door.

Hmm, I see P’s backpack and shoes sitting near the front door. But it’s Saturday, I reason, which means they’ve been sitting there since yesterday. I sure wish we had someplace near our front door where the boys could put their stuff, I think sarcastically, as I stare at the unused custom-built piece my husband made to corral the boys’ shoes and backpacks.

Next, I walk into the living room and spy a small pile on our green chair: a pair of socks, a book, a bottle cap, a paper clip and a big piece of black elastic. Not willing to touch the socks (clean? dirty?) to feel for recent body heat, I ignore the junk pile and continue my detective work.

I gaze around the room and fixate on the empty water bottle (no coaster, of course) on the table. I pick up the bottle and examine the evidence. Room temperature, no condensation on the bottle’s exterior, slight water mark on the table’s surface. Obviously, this is a relic from last night, I wisely deduce. This trail is colder than the icy look P gave me when I asked if he ate any fruit today.

Suddenly, I hear water running in the downstairs bathroom sink. Hoping to catch my Mystery Teen, I dash out of the living room just in time to see a shadowy figure dart around the corner and fly up the stairs, earbuds dangling from his head like a marionette.

“P, is that you?” I ask, wondering if my younger son got home from his soccer game or if my older son got home from his marching band fundraiser.

I walk into the downstairs bathroom to turn off the light. Both my teens can program my iPhone for me but can’t master a light switch. Interesting.

While in the bathroom, more clues jump out at me. Empty toilet paper roll. Open toilet seat. Damp towel thrown on sink counter. Yep, all signs of a recent visit from one of my teens. But which one?

Before I head upstairs, I notice more evidence in the kitchen. I discover an opened-but-unpacked lunchbox on the kitchen counter, with a cookie missing but an apple still inside. That sounds about right, I think, as I begin to mentally calculate how many days it’s been since I last saw either of my boys eat a piece of fruit.

Again, I remind myself that it’s Saturday, not a school day. I quickly realize that the red-herring lunchbox is diverting me from my quest to solve the mystery at hand.

As I refocus my attention back to the kitchen, I spot a few clues on the kitchen table. The maple syrup bottle and empty glass on the placemat indicate a recent meal, but not that recent. Breakfast was several hours ago. Darn! Another dead end.

But wait, upon closer inspection, I detect a pair of soccer socks with fresh grass stuck to the heel, hidden on the seat of the chair underneath the kitchen table. Of course! Why didn’t I think to look there in the first place?

There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact, Sherlock Holmes once said. But fresh grass means soccer. I’ve identified my Mystery Teen.

On my way upstairs, I pass a soccer jersey discarded on the steps, further proof that I’ve cracked the case.

“Hey, P, how was your game?” I ask as I walk up the stairs into his room, startling him a bit.

“We won, 3-2,” P says, as he unplugs his iPod. “But how did you know I was home?”

Elementary, my dear, elementary.