Prince by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 9
Polly walked by her parent’s room and dawdled there listening for signs of activity. She was happy not to detect any as she desperately wanted to keep her night visitor a secret. She was confident Prince wouldn’t spill the beans and went back to bed. She immediately slept, exhausted from the events and emotional ups-and-downs of the day and night.
She woke and squirmed to her father’s hand tickling her belly and saying; “Come on. It’s 8AM already. You can’t sleep Easter Sunday away.”
She didn’t consider 8AM worthy of “already” status. Polly turned onto her stomach, pulled the pillow over her head and said; “Watch me.” Her motives for this response were complex.
She really was tired and could use a bit more sleep, though she wanted to get up to check on Prince and she knew that the maneuver would invite more desired tickling. She was right and she “tolerated” the onslaught until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She half fell out of bed and lay on the floor laughing.
Dad said; “Come on. Come on. We have a basket full of goodies for you and Prince is anxiously waiting.”
Polly was thankful to hear that. Her eyes lit up as she stood and donned her robe.
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Dad added; “We fed and freshened his water already. You know that should really be your job.”
Polly sort of nodded, rocking her head back and forth with her tongue perched on her lower lip. When she didn’t detect a smile or even a small grin on her father’s face she said; “I know. I know. I will. I will,” and headed for the door.
Dad followed and said; “Maybe you can take him for a walk in the neighborhood later and introduce him. It’s a nice day and some people might like to meet him as there used to be a Dalmatian in the development that was a terror.”
Polly looked back at him quizzically.
“Yeah. I just found out from the people next door that it died about a month ago. It used to hop the fence and it attacked a few people and more than a few dogs. People probably won’t be thrilled to see another one.”
Polly grimaced and disdainfully said; “Prince won’t do that.”
“I don’t think so either. But it would be neighborly to show them that they don’t have to be concerned.” Dad was never one to previously use words like “neighborly” sans sarcasm, but in this case he thought it inevitable that Polly and Prince would be out on the conventional gossip loving streets and he wanted it to be as pleasant as possible for the duo.
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Polly raced down the stairs and looked out the kitchen window to see a tail-wagging puppy looking right in it. She rapped at the glass and Prince’s level of enthusiasm elevated as he put his front paws up on the stucco beneath the opening to get a closer look. She held up her right index finger hoping he’d understand it meant; “Soon, soon.” She quickly devoured the breakfast Mom had waiting and started back to her room to dress when Mom called out; “Don’t you want to see the basket we put together for you?”
Polly actually could have waited until after her walk as she surmised that it would still be there then. But she didn’t want to put a damper on their efforts and perused the wicker basket which rested on the gray granite veneered kitchen counter. She was delighted to see sugar coated marshmallow eggs of all colors, chocolate bunnies and jellybeans hidden in the mass of green synthetic “grass.” She grasped a pink egg, hugged both her parents and ran upstairs to dress. Hoping to favorably impress the neighbors she decided to wear clean blue jeans and a white Eminem sweatshirt replete with hood, covered by her unzipped short red quilted jacket.
Polly went out the back door and there he was chasing a bird. When he heard the door slam he looked, saw her and ran over at top speed, his logical hopes realized. She squatted and
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they licked each other’s faces and then she put the leash on his deep blue collar.
He was expecting another ball playing session, so he was surprised when she led him toward the triangular room. He momentarily balked, the thought crossing his mind that this might be some new tactic to get him in there and close the door.
Polly said; “Come on. We’re going to see the wonders of Camino De Lucia and I don’t mean the landscaping.” She chuckled at her own sarcastic witticism and he was somewhat less appreciative, adopting a reserved posture beyond his years. He couldn’t quite detect what she said, but concluded that it was intended to be some kind of good natured humor. Since it seemed to lack any purpose he followed her to the room and chastised himself for not being able to merely trust her. She opened the door to the garage. Its door already raised, Prince was ecstatic when he saw the great outdoors and ran as fast as Polly could move down the hundred foot driveway, straining at the leash. Polly tried to stop him at the street so she could watch out for cars. She had no problem as when Prince got there he willingly stopped undecided whether to go left or right. He didn’t yet know that his direction didn’t matter as Camino De Lucia was shaped as a circle where he was and he’d wind up covering the entire territory no matter which way he started out. That was unless he took the right-of-way off shooting from
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the circle to the wild Bosque, natural and unevenly contoured land, half wooded and bordering the Rio Grande River. A huge street by Corrales standards it had other parts that were laid out differently. One section was comprised of two parallel, non-intersecting roads, both leading to the town’s main thoroughfare. Another section was a warped “L” with two culs-de-sac leading to a real dead end after creating a false impression of an earlier one. This wannabe “L” actually insisted on being referred to by a different name; Manzano Road, probably to emphasize the view of the Manzano Mountains which it didn’t have, though the rest of the area did. Magnanimously people called it Camino De Lucia, despite the occasional pompous protestation. An aerial view of the entire street was that of a lollipop with an incomplete useless handle on a stick with a spare.
Prince sniffed the air, got a whiff of the low, muddy river and ran left toward it, pulling Polly who was laughing and almost keeping up. Coincidentally, one of the residents of a two story, traditional, square white stucco house on the inner side of the circle also entered the street. Prince slowed down appreciably. Demetrius Shamsky, a retired engineer who previously worked no-bid government contracting jobs very sporadically, specializing in easily refutable land studies loved by builders. He was grinning without having had the
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benefit of seeing the Friar Tuck by way of Bozo hairstyle partially hidden by the baseball cap he perennially wore, even indoors, though he didn’t know a cut fast ball from first base.
“Morning, Polly. Is that a new dog?”
“Morning, Dim,” Polly echoed back utilizing the shortened name Demetrius disliked, but everyone used. She tried to think of an interesting response to his opening and drew a blank, so she said; “I think he’s about a year old and he’s new to me.
Wanna say hello?”
“I don’t know. Is he all right?”
Prince came to a full stop as did the others. He was trying to figure out what was going on, having that in common with Dim.
Polly said; “Yeah,” and moved toward her neighbor. Prince took that as an indication that she was comfortable with Dim and in excitement at the possibility of making a new friend he wagged his tail and ran at him. Dim ducked something no one else saw and put his hands in front of his face resembling Floyd Patterson attempting to survive a Sonny Liston onslaught. Peek-A-Boo.
Prince kept going and put his front paws up on the mail order, loose fitting, tan slacks Dim purchased for “country”
expeditions. Dim yelled; “Get him off me. Get him off me.”
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Polly pulled the leash and held it short five feet away from the neighborly country boy. Prince tried to get back to his new buddy and didn’t understand why Polly denied him access.
Dim walked away, utilizing both hands to brush away the invisible offensive evidence on the shining pants, poorly mimicking the sun’s unfettered display. He looked back and chastised; “Keep that dog away from me. You ought to train him better than that,” apparently unaware of the adequacy of his own training in engineering.
Polly grimaced and was silent, seeing the humor in the situation, but was not enough of a wordsmith to adequately share her feelings without opening up the possibility of a “rude”
characterization and an “I’m going to tell your father”
scenario.
Prince was befuddled. He thought that Dim wanted to meet him and that Polly was going to allow it. In a matter of seconds the situation reversed. He was becoming accustomed to human nonsense and wished that he was not compelled to dwell on the problems of a Dim-ly lit world. In the future he would try to focus only on his new family.
Polly again walked and Prince quickly ran ahead of her seeing one of his favorite things. Puddles! Shaded depressed areas in the dirt at the side of the asphalt road still held some water probably from the downpours of the prior week. There
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was now more mud than sea, but Prince didn’t care as he could easily splash and slide through either substance, not knowing or caring where mud ended and water began or where water ended and mud began. However he was soon to discover that Polly did have a line of distinction. She smiled and ran with him, both covering their lower bodies in kicked up mud. Polly had a harder time in the mud than he did, possibly being limited by only having two legs, but was his equal in the less slippery water.
Prince suddenly felt his head pulled back and turned to see that Polly had fallen and was sitting in the mud. He was worried thinking that he may have been responsible for hurting her. He went to her and licked her face frantically as if to say; “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Are you hurt?”
He was surprised to see her laugh and lick him back. She put her arms on his back and stood up after a few false starts absolutely covered in mud like him. She said; “Let’s go,” and started to move again, so he continued through the water-mud.
Prince soon felt a gentler tug on the leash and turned to see that Polly was still standing, but she was back up on the asphalt brushing herself off. She mumbled; “Another neighbor.”
She liked playing in the puddles, but didn’t like to be watched doing it. This is virtually impossible for a puppy to understand, but also unnecessary for Prince. If she could
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convey her reluctance to perform for an audience it wouldn’t make any sense to him anyway. All he needed to know he already did. Sometimes Polly likes to play with me in the mud, despite having more difficulty handling it and sometimes she doesn’t.
I’ll respect her wishes.
“Dog taking you for a walk?” came the boisterous, smirking, well-anticipated, time-worn remark from Maximillian Propanis walking with his wife Minnie. He outdid himself when he chuckled and added; “Or should I have said taking you for a wallow?” Broad near laughter was on the faces of the couple who boasted that they were on occasion capable of completing the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle; no doubt unchecked for accuracy. Polly had to smile at the second quip, considering it a remarkable improvement over the first. Prince was nonplussed and remained stone faced as Polly brought him to a halt.
Polly replied; “Wallows are cool? Wouldn’t you say?”
Max looked to Minnie for help as she pretended not to notice finding fascination in the chamisas she had only previously seen about a million times.
When prompted a second time by a direct question of what she thought about the controversial subject, Minnie felt the need to adjust something on the bun holding the bulk of her pulled back brown hair and Max replied; “I’m thinking about the contradictions apparent in those chamisas, perhaps a bit of a
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double bind. They are defined as evergreen plants which is at best a half truth. While they always maintain some foliage, what there is of it at this time of year is akin to the stretched dry skin of a corpse reclining in a funeral home. In bloom, the densely packed, five foot by five foot mature shrubs display sulfur to gold flowers, appealing to all tastes, but then turn to an invigorated straw color, for some reason choosing to remain on their stems.”
Minnie said; “The unstoppable attraction of body and soul.”
Max’s eyes widened and he fidgeted with the top button of his well-used-no-longer-office-quality white shirt. He scanned the scene and saw Polly and Prince staring. He put his right hand on his wife’s shoulder and exclaimed in a voice that almost displayed sincerity; “That’s pure poetry Minnie. How do you come up with these things?”
Minnie feigned over-complimented ordinariness and self-effacingly radiated; “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose anyone can do it,” as she basked in the glory of her impromptu brilliance.
Max turned his attention to Polly and asked her; “Don’t you think that was right to the point?”
Without missing a beat and without inflection Polly said;
“Oh, yeah. I especially liked the part about the corpse.
Reminded me of ‘The Fall of the House of Usher.’ Ever see that?”
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The couple donned their smile masks, saying nothing, but implying; “Of course, hasn’t everyone?”
Polly imitated Roderick, put her hands over her ears, writhed her body in torment and in the best mock baritone voice she could conjure said; “The noise. The noise! It gets louder every day. I can’t stand it.” She laughed genuinely and saw six eyes looking her way, none of which displayed the slightest hint of mirth. She cleared her throat and with rapidity said;
“Never mind. Want to pet my dog Prince?”
Minnie replied; “Of course we would were he not dirty.”
Max added; “Maybe next time when she’s had a bath. She’s pretty and might be a great dog.”
The couple walked away and undetected Polly mumbled; “He.”
She and Prince went in the other direction and Polly said;
“They’re really nice people. So far one vote for potential menace and one abstention leaning toward not yet clean enough.”
Prince was temporarily out of puddles and the next item that piqued his interest was a trail through a lightly wooded brushy area. The partially bent weeds either meant that something very light, like rabbits, used it or that human activity was infrequent. The river fragrance was the strongest he had encountered today and he wanted to further investigate.
Polly wanted to get the neighbor introductions over with as quickly as possible, so she preferred to stay on the asphalt
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road and attempt to favorably impress the next people out for a stroll. Prince went his own way until he felt his collar tighten. He stopped, surprised and aggravated and looked back at Polly, firmly motionless on the asphalt.
Prince thought; “Oh, come on, now. I know you can get through this easily and there are some wonderful scents this way. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” He looked at Polly with a combination of probing and insistence in his wide eyes. He was answered with a back turn, Polly’s eyes on the oncoming couple, Jack and Jenny. She tugged gently. He heard a faint drumbeat generated by the Native Americans across the river, five miles away and saw the pink towel hanging from a nearby clothesline. He turned to the drums and provided his own not so gentle tug. Polly was obliged to turn in his direction and took three steps to maintain her balance. Prince was amused until he was brought to another abrupt halt. He lowered his head gaining leverage and attempted to continue his way. He managed a few difficult steps and thought that there has to be a better approach. At this pace he would be worn out before he got there. He sat and thought, but refused to go an inch in her direction.
From fifty feet Jack called out; “I once had a dog like that. One good crack in the head fixed him fine.”
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Jenny gave him a playful shoulder slap and said; “Don’t listen to him. That’s his weird sense of humor.” Jack’s huge chest rippled under his gray UNM sweatshirt as he laughed louder than the commentary seemed to warrant. Perhaps he was amused to have been so lightly struck as the high school football coach was a former player switching between offensive lineman and fullback. For his own personal development he preferred the line as he thought he had a shot at the pros, but his college team needed a running back desperately and the team consideration outweighed his personal goals. He would say that he preferred the line as he was just too slow a runner to attract the pro scouts, often wistfully which he would soon convert to an “I don’t care” attitude.
Prince’s attention was drawn to the noises and he took a few slow steps toward the group.
Jack did an approximation of his line squat and called out;
“Git over here you bad dog.”
Prince charged and put his paws on Jack’s thighs and licked his round red face. Jack turned his head, smiling and pretending to be disgusted by the quick tongue. He stood up and Prince also elevated again putting his paws on Jack’s thighs, somewhat disappointed that there was no play scrap. As everyone watched the two Jack asked; “How long you have this dog?”
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Polly pulled Prince back toward her and replied; “Just since yesterday.”
Tiny Jenny, less than half Jack, went to Prince and rubbed his head saying; “Don’t let old Jack fool you. Our last dog was a little terror and Jack didn’t do anything but yell; ‘Stop barking,’ as the pug barked and ran all over the place.”
Jack feigned a “Don’t give away all my secrets” look, eyes directed at the clear blue.
Prince felt very at ease with both of them and forgot about his aspiration to get to the river. The three humans remained in the same general area, in front of an oddly shaped one level house. Its current cockeyed “U” appearance with a distended way off center entranceway and a sloping roof to the left and a flat one to the right made one wonder who the bogus architect might have been. Aesthetics aside the sloping roof blocked the mountain view which otherwise might have been enjoyed from all rooms in the right wing. Was this an intentional or accidental denial? Two ignored eyes peered from a closed left window; the attached or unattached brain annoyed at the group’s positioning near his property line.
All houses on Camino De Lucia are subject to a ten foot
“utility” easement. Most houses are fenced at that point, but some aren’t. Local protocol varies. Most don’t mind if a person or dog walks this area and some do. Some landscape with
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rocks to make walking difficult and express no verbal preference. Customarily people walking by themselves or with other humans stay on the asphalt and safely avoid all possible controversy. Travelers of the canine persuasion go to the ten foot limit as they seem to prefer dirt and grass, but not rocks.
They have difficulty in discerning their limits in front of unfenced houses for a variety of reasons too boring to detail and the possibility that they might absurdly think that open means open. Prince will later learn the necessary nuance to this radical thought.
What it unquestionably means in reality is that as soon as they step onto the easement they will be viewed by the interior occupants, whose main concern in the moment is that the dog doesn’t adopt a squatting position while on hallowed ground.
One might think that the occupants might be watching something more interesting on TV, the internet or reading a book. That one has not lived in America’s suburbs, where the height of entertainment is the glee induced when a dog squats on the easement of someone they don’t like, presumably making the simultaneous statement that he or she won’t need to squat on theirs.
Because of the complex drama the dog can’t possibly fathom, it squats, not in defiance of, but perhaps in essential disregard for community standards. This was what perplexed the
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arguably attached eyes in Weird U. They were compelled to watch the long rendition while they knew that their neighbors were amused at their plight. Eyes pressured brain for a plan. Brain was more interested in going back to the computer to watch the dog squatting websites.
Jack was trying to keep his weight down, so after a short period of dog petting, happy talk and smiles he and Jenny continued on. Prince again showed how easily distracted he could be as he no longer thought of the fascination with the river scent he had just a few minutes prior and he too walked on. Or so he thought as Polly moved her feet quickly to keep pace. Eyes and brain were at odds; not only because the programming was visually repugnant to eyes yet mentally amusing to brain, but because brain’s preoccupation with vulgarity precluded him from formulating a plan regarding the possible boundary line invaders.
More puddles! Prince silently screamed and he ran to them, Polly running to keep up after seeing the source of the excitement. They were in front of another non-standard house; this one a one story adobe with a sloping blue tin roof. Its peculiarity was the exterior display of uncovered adobe shunned by virtually everyone as an open invitation to early collapse from the rain and snow’s ability to deteriorate the dirt based cement which held everything together. This hacienda had a
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unique idea. Desiring to maximize the beauty of natural adobe it was left exposed in areas under an overhang umbrella and covered by tan stucco in areas open to the mercy of the clouds.
While visually stimulating the idea had a serious drawback recognized in early Greek architecture; to maximize exterior beauty it was necessary to also maximize interior darkness as windows under overhangs get no sunlight. Skylights have been used to attempt to attain the best of both worlds, but work best on flat roofs and are rarely used on slopes for a number of rather obvious reasons one can glean from their local Mr. Fixit if so desired. The point, if any, is that barring the foresight of a flat roof with skylights one has the choice of an externally stunning house with inner darkness or an ordinary house with inner light and warmth. Complicating things one practical step is that despite their unique look fancied by the uninitiated, flat roofs are avoided by Southwestern natives who know them to be a perennial leaking problem.
Prince’s favorite feature was the mud puddles which succeeded in attaining the best of both worlds by choosing to reside in the easement next to a weathered post and rail fence outside the house. He splashed through them slowly recalling his partner’s good natured difficulty the first time and also in recognition of his own desire to spend more time in the mud-water. He slowed down more as he watched Polly’s surprised
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smile; she expecting another track meet and prepared for it still retaining much of the mud from her fall. Prince liked the feel of the squishy matter and slowed to a point where any further deceleration would result in a stop. Polly’s feet finished moving and she merely swayed.
George and Adrienne Lovelace exited their lavender streaked front door wishing to get a closer look at the attractive couple. The door closing behind them drew Prince’s attention.
Seeing them he meandered to dry land and grumbled. Polly did the same. In a low charming voice Adrienne slowly said; “Oh no.
Don’t stop on our account. We’re admirers.” George vigorously nodded his head in agreement.
Polly dejectedly shrugged and said; “Too late now. The mood is broken.”
Had he the power of speech Prince would have produced an echo in a mildly belligerent tone.
George, a middle-aged, tall, thin and craggily handsome man adjusted the lapels of his denim jacket and led the way to Prince. He stopped a bit short at the fence opening and asked;
“Is he friendly?”
Wanting to make Prince welcome in the neighborhood or at least not be a subject of constant scrutiny; at the same time desiring to be truthful Polly said; “Definitely, but go a little
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slow right now. You may have caught him in an unguarded moment.”
Addie wasn’t paying any attention to the spoken words. The only thing in her head was Janis Joplin singing “Ball and Chain.” She strode past George. From Prince’s ground level point of view all he saw was long confident legs incarcerated in the tightest pink, stone washed, denim jeans he had yet seen.
Of course he had never previously seen pink denim jeans of any sort; loose or unwashed, but that’s getting too technical.
Everyone and he knew what was getting his attention. Addie leaned over, her curled blonde hair falling onto her lightly made up face and caressed him under the chin forcing his vantage point upward to her rocking blue eyes. In a silly adult version of a childish voice, which any child would be embarrassed to duplicate she said; “Is he the prettiest boy?” three times, either for emphasis or the provocatively catchy beat and since Prince didn’t respond, then answered her own questions with a closing; “Yes he is.”
Everyone laughed, excepting Prince and that was merely because he didn’t know how to. Addie’s rhythm reached his happy chord, but all he could do was to let his tongue hang out and pant. Not to be outdone George put one arm around Prince’s neck which was greeted with a “Watch it, fella” grrrrr. George persevered and commenced scratching Prince’s head with the fury
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and roughness of a compadre Super Bowl winner. With the couple focused entirely around his head Prince thought that the rest of his black spotted, white body deserved more attention and he squirmed free, presenting them with a side view. He soon had four hands all over him producing an ecstatic tiny yelp.
George and Addie moved back and admired the beautiful puppy. They were oblivious to the fact that they stood in the mud, undeterred from satisfying their optical senses. With the slightest hint of a Georgia drawl Addie said to Polly; “Now don’t you let anybody, and I mean enn-nee-body, tell you that this dog needs any kind of robotic educating. You know what I’m saying, girl.”
Polly wasn’t sure, though tended toward “Yes, with a clarification required,” but in the beaming happiness of the moment nodded her head and said; “You bet.” George and Addie caught each other’s eyes and used them to simultaneously motion toward their house and walked that way. George said; “Have a great day.”
Polly responded with an uninspired; “You too.”
Addie said; “Can’t miss. It’s Easter. Happy Easter!” She laughed at something only a southern belle understands as she opened the lavender streaked front door letting a grinning George in behind her.
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Polly and Prince looked toward each other as if to say;
“Tell me what I’m missing.” They shrugged, Polly overtly. They smiled, Prince utilizing his tongue out, panting version and they walked on. Polly whispered; “I like them, but I can’t tell you why. Sure, they made friends with you, but so do others think so.” She smirked and quickly after did a pirouette to see if anyone was watching or in earshot. Not detecting any spies she added; “Sometimes it hard to tell if the others are sincere.” Had Prince been able to understand that and talk he would have said; “Not for me, precisely because I don’t get confused with words,” quite a Catch-22, as if he really could understand words and talk he wouldn’t be able to say what he sort of just did. Some fun house mirrors project images that are not really there. Some switch the sides with the center.
Some invert bottom and top. Some ignore what is really there and show something else. Some make you fat. Others make you skinny. Some do combinations and mixtures of the real or distortions. The one at home doesn’t do anything at all.
They came to a fork in the Camino De Lucia road. Left would put them on a long straight road with few bushes and trees taking them further from home. Right was curved and therefore not entirely visible with lots of trees and bushes, but would lead them right back home. Prince came to a complete stop and Polly stood still beside him. Prince sat and looked up at Polly
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for guidance. She fully understood him or thought that she did and said; “I don’t care either.”
Prince thought; “Darn it. Why does she leave the tough ones for me?” He took long looks in each direction hoping something would come out of somewhere or that Polly would show a preference. He sighed heavily when the delay produced no movement. He wanted not to go home yet, but the road toward home was much more attractive. He continued to sit but was becoming fidgety and his audacious stomach growled at him and he felt like eating. Polly took a step right and Prince eagerly got up ready to follow, his biggest decision of the day settled for him. Then she took a step to the left. Prince stopped moving in confusion. She stepped right. She stepped left. She was dancing to a tune he couldn’t hear. She gave him a hint with a few words. As she moved her feet she leaned over and touched his nose saying; “Pardon me, Alphonse.” She danced away, put her hand across her belly and said; “No, pardon me Gaston,” making a small bow. Prince stared motionlessly. If he had any thought it was not apparent to Polly. She grimaced and sat on the asphalt next to her confused puppy who was physically on his haunches and mentally on some broad edge.
In a few seconds that seemed like hours to Prince, Polly jumped up and excitedly said; “I got it!”
Prince was composed and required some convincing.
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Polly began her one step right, one step left dance and said; “I’ve got to get more modern. You’re too young to know about any Alphonses or Gastons. Besides you’re an American dog not expected to know anything of France.”
Prince thought; “You’d be surprised.”
Polly said; “Okay, American interpretive dance,” as she put her hands behind her neck and rolled her belly. She moved right to him and again touched his nose saying; “Pardon me, Jonathan.”
Prince was captivated but chose to retain his low viewpoint.
Polly giggled as she moved left and put her left hand on her undulating midsection and sloppily said; “No, pardon me,
......” She drew a blank and stopped moving. Prince showed his eagerness by rising from the ground. Polly put one hand on her forehead to show that she was thinking. Prince sat back down and made a disinterested face. He peered down the long straight road wishing to see some interesting trait in the lifeless monotony; a hedgerow, a thick grove of evergreens, wild shrubbery, wild flowers, anything but the boring nothingness.
Polly was disappointed at his reaction to her silly entertainment improvisation. She thought that he should have made a good attempt to fake interest as this wasn’t the least bit easy for her to do. Deep down she was a very shy person.
She stopped moving and stood with her hands at her sides. She
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said; “Oh, the heck with it. It’s some contradictory contemporary genius Mom told me about. Frau Kroger. No.
Crammit. No. Cramzit. No. Pedantzen. No. I give up.” She saw Prince turn his head sideways as if he was on the verge of some sort of idea, but not yet comfortable with it. Polly shrugged and shook her head from side to side and in exasperation said; “Oh, I don’t know. Something like Francine.”
Prince again rose and vigorously pulled an astounded Polly all the way home, down the driveway, through the triangular room and into the back yard. She removed the leash from his collar and out of breath and perspiring from the jaunt said; “You will never make any sense to me.” Prince panted and his tongue hung out, always his most flattering way of being photographed, which is no rare occurrence in “curious” Corrales, New Mexico. Polly evoked the same countenance, but would have hidden from any detected paparazzo.
She held up one finger and keeping an eye on him entered the house. Prince lay in the grass enjoying the feel of the directly overhead mid-day sun. A large multi-colored butterfly haphazardly flew near him, but he was too tired to chase its crazy and elusive flight pattern, preferring to watch it dive and ascend. At times it relaxed on the ground, but curiously was compelled to exercise its wings as if it hadn’t had its fill of that when elevated. Prince wasn’t sure, but he suspected
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that it was not yet time to go in the house. He usually made note of patterns repeating and though he was far from certain about drawing conclusions from a one-time event his previous visit was in the dark and Polly first called to him from her second story bedroom window. He got a more useful piece of evidence when he recalled that Polly didn’t invite him at first.
He grumbled and tried to bury himself in the soft grass, but was unable to sleep with his hunger pangs.
Polly heard her parents having a jocular rambling discussion at the kitchen table. Apparently the local mores had affected her instinctive attitudes about “curiosity,” so she stood un-noticed alongside the open door and listened.
Dad clumsily placed his wine glass on the table, spilling a few red drops, which he immediately wiped with his shirt cuff.
He said; “I knew we were in trouble as soon as we elected a codger who doused his head with iodine and called his wife
“Mommy. Jeez.” He felt more uncouth than his actions and words indicated and enjoyed it.
Mom was in a similar frame of mind and put two fingers halfway down her throat, mistakenly going too far, resulting in her spitting up some of the former contents of her empty wine glass mixed with something like spittle on her pants. She made a half-hearted attempt to wipe it with her bare hand. She forced the tiniest, shortest smile and checked her hand for
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damage. She said; “Don’t make me puke.” She found that funny and made a brief snort, then continued; “I hope it was merely a sign of early Alzheimer’s. I wouldn’t want to envision any other possible thought.” With some difficulty she got up and went to the pantry for a refill.
Dad followed her carrying his quarter full glass. They refilled, her pouring. He said; “The country was desperate and as a result is even more desperate now. Remember that idiot convinced everyone that the debt level doesn’t matter? Talk about detached. He wouldn’t be capable of running a household, so we put him in charge of the country.”
Mom laughed when she said; “If you take them seriously you have to cry. How about the governor with some commentary about the girly-men?” She reached down to a drawer and retrieved a cork remover, preparing for the next bottle.
Dad staggered to his chair and said; “I wish I was there.
I would have asked him if his preference was more for the steroid freaks.”
“I’d of followed that up with asking whether or not he still subscribed to ‘Muscle Monthly’ and does he have a favorite pose in that magazine?”
Dad said; “I’d be a bit afraid of hearing the answer, ready to yell out ‘Too much information. Too much information.’”
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She slurred; “Can you come back over here and get the cork out of this thing for me?
Dad obliged her as best his wobbly legs could and when he finally got there he let out a long breath of air. He stabilized somewhat by putting his arms around her waist and he said; “I’m not too good at getting these things out either.”
Polly entered the room and announced; “I can do that pretty well.” She extended her hands and continued; “Here, allow me.”
Mom and Dad turned to her with identical faces that conveyed surprise and wide-eyed embarrassment while their subsequent tiny sighs and smiles indicated momentary inconvenience.
With a flat tone Dad said; “Ain’t it great to have helpful kids?”
Duplicating the sound Mom replied; “Sure is,” and handed her daughter the tool and the bottle.
Polly popped the cork in about two seconds compelling Mom to slur; “Where have you been to learn that?” which sounded more like; “Whrvyubintalindat.”
Polly thought she understood the part that roughly sounded like; “Where have you been?” and thinking that was a stupid question to ask as Mom knew exactly where she was, matter-of–
factly replied; “I’ve been around the block.” She held the cork
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in her hand near her face and said; “I’m amazed this little thing gives you so much trouble.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other’s startled face, then laughed. Dad facetiously shook his head and said; “It’s that darn internet.”
Polly carried the cork to the kitchen table and sat. She said; “You two are both nuts,” while she rolled it around noticing its almost unpredictable patterns of movement on the glossy, wheat colored surface. She declared; “I’m hungry.
What’s left for me?” As Dad scooped some room temperature meat loaf into a plate quickly covering it with a red sauce which was bubbling on the range Polly thought about iodine head and girly men. She wanted to ask what these terms meant, but didn’t want to divulge that she had been eavesdropping. They were difficult terms to work into a conversation without being very obvious.
Mom fell into another seat and was victorious in not spilling a drop of her wine with a synchronized movement of her hand, head and mid-section. Dad delivered the plate and a glass of ice tea with a precision that stunned Mom, who responded with a head nod which imprecisely conveyed stoned approval. Dad proceeded to retrieve and carry his drink, but his attempt at head, hand and mid-section synchronicity in re-gaining his seat got mixed reviews; Mom liked the wine spilling and Polly thought of it as a critical success likely to be a popular flop.
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Polly’s body came to attention. Her eyes popped and she said; “Oooh, I’ve got to get something for Prince! What do we have for him?”
Dad raised his eyebrows as he took another slug. He put the near empty glass down with a thud, but no flood and said;
“Meat loaf?”
Polly looked to her Mom and said; “Meat loaf? Is that okay for him?”
Mom shrugged and said; “I don’t know. Probably. I survived it.” Mock offended about his culinary skills Dad just looked at Mom. Mom waved her hand dismissively and added; “I’ll pick up some dog food as soon as I’m able to drive.”
Polly looked from one to the other, then did it again. Dad said; “I’m not even going to try to get up again.”
Mom said to Polly; “And when you feed Prince, would you also bring that bottle over to the table?”
Polly expected that this would be her job and after giving mild hints that she wouldn’t mind if someone else performed the chore, especially after finding out that Prince would be getting something he never previously had, she unreservedly went about her lunch preparation and wine delivery duties. She immediately saw a problem and asked; “Didn’t somebody buy a dog dish?”
Two somebodies glanced directly at the other’s eyes with mouths agape, as they felt deficient in their grandparental
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obligations. Their feelings quickly became blasé when the wine kicked back into gear. Mom said; “Polly. Don’t worry about it.
I’ll get a dish when I pick up his food. Use a plate.”
Polly was aghast at the thought of letting a dog eat from one of the regularly used family plates which sat near the sink.
She opened a cabinet door hoping to find one of the infrequently used plates usually reserved for guests. She saw them on the top shelf, out of her reach. Drawing out the first word she said; “Mom, can you get one of these for me?”
Dad answered for her and disgustedly said; “Polly. For God’s sake. Do you have to make a big issue out of everything?”
Polly curtly retorted; “No, I don’t have to make a big issue out of everything. Name one other thing I make a big issue of.”
Dad drew a blank and Mom counted the pine tongue and groove ceiling planks. The realtor had said that they were whitewashed, but Mom always thought gray washed or blue washed were more appropriate terms, though those words didn’t seem to be in the lexicon of the local painting and staining industries.
With three small steps and a “Whooo” Dad was on his feet and said; “Sorry, babe. Someday you’ll know what it feels like to be loaded.”
Polly was happy to see her father reach up and come down with a porcelain dish; cream background with blue inlaid
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depictions of countless tiny flowers. He handed it to her and kissed her on the top of the head. Dad got back to his seat utilizing an irregular version of Chubby Checker’s twist. As she prepared her puppy’s meal Polly said; “My friend Gale is twelve now and she tells me that she’s been drinking a few months now. Is that when I can get loaded?”
Mom and Dad simultaneously raised their voices to offer a resounding “No.”
Polly calmly asked; “When?”
Dad looked to Mom for help and saw his perplexed mirror.
Ditto for Mom, except that she looked at Dad which really should go without saying except that in the current state of their public appearances and conversations a possible erroneously perceived movement or statement could result in the necessity of a protracted examination of both what was precisely said, taking somewhat into account what the dysfunctional and imprecise speaker later says they actually intended to say, but giving the latter inferior psychological, emotional and clarification considerations, with a salient bow to self-interest and the mask chosen by the analyst and if found deficient face the possibility of social ostracism (supposedly a punishment,) though having made that certain degree of inference that original material rightly seems to be given an overly high weight this process may actually at times be the fault of a
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particularly naïve and inadequate interpreter, at times masking their mask, perhaps deficiently instructed in the classics, or mentally challenged with an incapability to comprehend same, which in turn could be the result of many factors not mentioned right here as that would raise the distinct possibility of a reader getting disinterested and un-entertained, so therefore is discussed in footnote number one located at the end of this book, if it is ever finished and if the writer still remembers what he wanted to say in the footnote when and if he gets there and though the reader may have lost track of the original thought, or lack thereof and its flow in this painfully un-explanatory narrative, one must consider that the interpreter may merely have an aversion to classics or pretend to, which may be the logically most likely possibility as the packages in which old things are presented in an era called Post-Modern, since no one has the audacity or insight to give it a descriptive moniker, have slight chance of competing with the gilt (possibly but not certainly SIC) and flash endemic to less mature, derivative and confused arrivals, though this phraseology is not intended to cast aspersions on the young in utilizing a term which can be erroneously considered to have a derogatory connotation (i.e. equating less mature with the distinctly different thought attached to the correct usage of immature) and so much of everything is a mere function of
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imperfect first perceptions of appearance, those prejudiced views affected and perhaps determined by direct means, publicly or socially induced subliminal persuasion, not to forget the private demons, which contemporary intellectual thinkers believe has completed its merger with their public brothers, which in fact is not yet a fait accompli, psychologically (industry or self-imposed) and or market prescribed fantasies ,without consideration of masks or masking masks or masks masking masks, on to infinity entirely for the obvious self-interest of the perpetrator, but no one dare say, which may doom Post-Modernity to a cursory examination of the beautiful or ugly pictures, if anyone still risks making that value judgmental determination without resorting to sarcasm or poor attempts at humor, with no understanding of the thought process encapsulated in those or that pictured or which is the result of a devious writer’s, also known to the few as an incompetent would be painter’s, attempt to fool the few surviving archaics who actually read and understand WORDS, by creating the impression to that silly archaic that the inadequacy of the narrative is the result of a stream of consciousness style, supposedly more honest, but in truth possibly contrived, when in fact the thought was undoubtedly biased in its origination and was also the result of twenty-four hours of manipulation utilizing the input of three expert editors, each bringing their own tastes, mask
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configurations, monetary goals, desires for power and penchants for honesty or dishonesty to the situation or that confusion compounded by their interpreters and the writer’s predilection for accepting advice that may at times seem antithetical to his fundamental beliefs, with or without masks, if any are truly inherent and not the result of a dismal nurture attempt, done in good spirit or insidiously, the result of this laborious, boring and antiquated process conceivably bringing the whole thing back to the true stream of consciousness, possibly the most honest style depending on the writer’s ability to be honest with himself or herself, his sincerity, his competence, his abilities to recognize and attempt to balance his biases, his desire for the acceptance and remuneration attendant thereto of the mass market, which pious religion, consumer persuasion or what passes for them has had cornered since the flood, not to ignore the psychology industry, industry itself and fly-by-night government, what remains of the private and his feeling for the statistically insignificant, popularly dismissed possibility that he might just like the hole thing, in the latter case bearing the risk of being detected and subjected to sacrificial crucifixion, at the very least a temporary deathly escape;
everyone knows that you do know exactly what is being said and do you still insist on playing dead thinking that it hides that you just don’t care anymore; as plenty of excellent reasons
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exist not to, merely necessitating the choice of the one most comfortable to you if you still retain an ability to articulate a clear choice, circling back to the beginning, though this time taking the opposite path, forgetting the simple prehistoric truth that Mom looked to Dad and not a mirror and simultaneously Dad looked to Mom and not a mirror to cause the pacific explosion by moving in each other’s direction which has come and gone; feel it if you’re still alive. Ne pensez-vous pas que?
Dad, having had plenty of time to think of an answer, did one even better and came up with a question; “Do her parents know about it?”
Polly said; “Of course not!”
Mom was overwhelmed by the illogical direction of her daughter’s words and derisively said; “Then why on earth are you asking us? Of course you shouldn’t. In the words of a great American; ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’” She placed her empty glass firmly on the table, proudly leaned back too hard on her chair and toppled over backward, but was able to avoid the floor with a deft shift of weight. She laughed maniacally while Dad came to her in an adroit effort to maintain her stability.
Polly thought about booze while she finished filling Prince’s plate, adding plenty of the rad sauce on top. She exited the back door and Prince immediately jumped up and went to her. He wanted to sniff the offering up close, but she held
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it over her head waiting to find its proper place. Prince thought; “It’s about time. My stomach has been growling for a year. And now you have to tease.” His keen sense of smell told him that he was in for a surprise ...... eventually. Polly laid the plate in the just blooming grass after passing over the brick portal, fearful of staining the absorbing composite.
Prince put his face near the offering and thought; “What is this? I’ve never had this kind of stuff before,” focusing on the warm red sauce which covered all the meat loaf and ran off its sides. He inquiringly looked up at Polly and she firmly said; “Eat it!” He carefully lapped at the sauce and decided that it wasn’t at all bad. He slowly tested the underlying meat loaf and immediately recognized that it was very similar to something he previously had. Seeing that her puppy was doing well with his food, Polly went back in for hers. Instinctively he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to show Polly how much he liked the somewhat untraditional meal, but now thinking that he was not being watched, Prince gobbled and licked the plate with abandon, his biggest problem keeping the food off the grass. He had been accustomed to deep dishes, but the plate’s gentler incline resulted in much of the meatloaf and sauce winding up in the newly emerging pasture. However he found that no problem at all and discovered that he also had a taste for the grass in this yard. When finished he got a drink from a bowl kept in the
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triangular room, went back to his sunny spot and this time soundly slept.
Polly returned to the kitchen table and joined her sloshed parents. As she wolfed down her portion of the meal she thought that it might be momentarily amusing to get them talking and tried to come up with some question that would get them going.
Polly facetiously asked; “What do you make of the state of the economy?”
Mom’s laugh was more of a snort resulting in an accidental dump and consequent need to refill her wine glass. Dad waxed eloquent and said; “Dismal, holding steady and any movement will be to the downside. Clinton handed Bush II an unexpectedly huge budget surplus and a good economy, which was quickly turned into a huge deficit and the mess we’re still in. Under Bush II everyone who wanted a house could get one whether they could afford it or not. Lo and behold, prices went up and everyone was happy. They borrowed against their increasing equity to fuel consumer spending which masked the fact that incomes were flat or down in real terms. When it hit the fan house prices dropped and everyone got very sad when they actually had to start paying earned money for their status symbols and learned that their house was worth sixty percent of what it used to be and had loans exceeding that against it. Add this to a credit system which has been stressed since the 1970’s when Nixon went
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off the gold standard, each “crisis” a bit worse than the last, because there is more money available than there are credit-worthy borrowers, which resulted in a continual decline in bank standards. There’s no short term solution. Things will limp along until some unexpected major event prompts the next slide; maybe China announcing that it no longer will accept payment in US dollars. You can’t spend more than you earn for very long even if you own the printing press. Lyndon La Rouche called it well before it happened and offered some possible solutions that were not financially mainstream, but these are not mainstream times. One approach is to re-establish a WPA system in order to get money into the hands of the people rather than the banks, who, in turn will get their loans paid. In return for their pay they would build railroads which might make us less dependent on foreign oil. Radical!! In Washington he was laughed at and all he did was be right, apparently a crime in America today. Check out his website.”
Polly finished her meal without any follow-up questions and after she ate as quickly as possible, imitating Prince, she said; “Sorry I asked,” and got up to leave. As she walked out Dad said; “Typical,” and Mom used her left hand to protect her wine glass.
Polly returned to her room intending to change into some old sloppy clothes as she was on her way out to play with
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Prince. She went to the lowest drawer of her simple, country version of a Queen Anne chest. She could not remember opening the bottom one in recent history and it was stuck shut. In frustration she grabbed the two brass handles and yanked, succeeding in bringing the chest closer to her and almost toppling it on her, the chest swaying perilously forward and settling back with gravity, while the blue candle on its top slid on its pewter base, landed on the floor and smashed the candle. She thought; “This will never do. These things are a lot more fragile than they appear.” Polly used matches to reattach the candle and put it back in its place. She tested the three top drawers and found them to be in good order, but they didn’t have any of the funky old clothes she wanted. She tried her current favorite again and it was still stubborn. She smacked it a few times with the side of a closed fist and the hurting of her hand was the only noticed effect. She stomped her foot loudly on the floor and was tempted to use some words that she had heard people occasionally say, but she didn’t know exactly what they meant and she didn’t want her parents to hear them. She sat there and thought about the problem. She spoke in a low tone saying; “What happens when an irresistible force meets an unmovable object?”
Mom heard the stomp and concerned for her daughter’s safety she staggered upstairs to investigate. As she entered the open
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door she heard Polly’s question and replied; “You re-define terms. What’s the problem little girl?”
“I can’t get this drawer open.”
Mom was surprised at the answer thinking that Polly was much too competent to get bogged down in something so easy. She got on her knees and put her hands on the brass handles. She said; “It just needs a little coaxing after being ignored for so long.” She gently tugged with her left and then with her right.
She repeated the process and each tug produced a small movement of the stubborn drawer. Soon it was showing an unmistakable opening which was wide enough for Mom to insert her fingers.
She pulled a bit harder and the drawer slid open. Mom eyed Polly and smiled. She said; “See how easy. Now do you think that you can do it?”
Polly had no interest in learning anything. She just wanted to get to her old clothes. So she dismissively said;
“I’ll just leave it open,” and started to rummage through the drawer.
Mom was displeased with Polly’s response, so she removed her daughter’s hands from the drawer and re-closed it. Mom got up silently and wobbled out.
Polly clucked her tongue and inaudibly mumbled; “Thanks a lot. If I wanted a lesson I’d call stinking Ms. Dermer.” She thought about what she had just said and realized that it wasn’t
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true. She didn’t want to see Ms. Dermer under any circumstances, no matter how dire, as her approach would probably be to spray insect repellent on the drawer making matters worse. She used her mother’s approach and in no time it was again open. Rather than going right for the desired apparel Polly investigated the different items from her youth that managed not to be discarded. The first thing to get her attention was a graying and damaged, multi-colored box that she used to call Pandora. She pushed the silver button, the top flew open and out jumped a velvety red thing with a big head.
The huge pressurized spring inside it still worked and the red thing leaped for the ceiling, managing to make it to about six feet in the air, before falling back to the ground. Polly recalled that when she was little she would lock up the red thing in different positions to see if the next release would go further. It didn’t seem to make much difference and eventually she gave up and put the box in storage, the bottom drawer. She attempted to put it back away, but found that she had forgotten how to get it back in the box. Every time she thought that her efforts were successful it would spring back out before she could close the top, a few times jumping into her face. It caused no pain and Polly was both surprised and tickled by the ancient one’s persistence. She said; “If you want to be out
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here so badly, fine with me,” and she put the box and springy thing back in the drawer next to each other.
Her interest went to a wind-up tin train. Its engine and caboose enclosed five other cars painted to look like caged animals being brought to the new circus site. Lions, tigers, gazelles, monkeys, zebras and other beasts remained still and silent as they waited until they would be released for another show. She wound it up as tightly as she could and put it on the floor. It did just what she remembered it doing ages ago.
Without the benefit of a track it went in near circles, the larger ones twice the size of the smaller. The straightforward power supplied by the engine was moderated by the unpredictable movements of the caboose, which determined the near circle’s size. Polly recalled winding it up again and again to see if it would ever come back to the same spot where it started. After many excursions, the number of which seemed to challenge infinity, some ending on the other side of the room, she finally got one trip where the engine ended at its approximate starting point, though it was hard to tell if all the cars were in their precise starting position. As this was what she wanted to see she put the train in the drawer and never again looked at it until today. This Easter journey was particularly chaotic as the caboose seemed to have picked up a stronger sense of wildness in the years of rest and its movements determined a
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strange trip. Sometimes the caboose swung inward and then quickly changed its mind and swung outward. Polly didn’t recall this type of activity when she was young. The result of this temporary indecision caused the engine to come to a few near stops, trying to first move in one direction and then changing course. Some near circles were extremely large and some extremely small. Polly laughed as the net result of the whole thing brought the entire train back somewhat near its starting point, none of the cars seeming to be the worse for having made a trip they never had before. She put the train back in the drawer and her eyes went to her puppets. Though tempted to again refresh old memories she decided to save that for another day as she recognized that she was getting diverted from doing what she had come to do; getting some old clothes and playing with Prince. She found an old pair of blue jeans torn at the knees and just below her butt, matching that with a shrunken silvery washed-out sweatshirt with a football logo and the words
“New England Patriots” on the front and the number thirteen on the back, both a diluted blood red that now approximated intermittent wine. She changed into them and admired herself in the standing William and Mary cheval glass. The tight top ended at her belly button and the pants above her ankles. She grimaced and thought; “Ridiculous.” She kept looking as she twirled to get vantage points from every possible angle. She
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smiled and thought; “Perfect.” Now certain that she was capable of opening the stubborn drawer she closed it and hurried down the stairs.
She passed by Mom and Dad sitting at the kitchen table where he was still babbling something about the Republican inflicted economic distress and its long term consistency with England’s conspiracy to regain world dominance through re-establishment of the colonial system only he and Lyndon LaRouche were adept at seeing from this side of the ocean. Not breaking stride he waved to Polly in an unfocussed manner and Mom held up and wiggled two fingers of her right hand and deadpanned;
“Toodles.” Dad did a double take and gave Polly a discriminating look, apparently not in full approval of her Easter outfit. Polly correctly detected his wordless commentary and answered it with her tongue, her feet unfazed. Dad repeatedly shook his head in a “yes” fashion and looked to Mom while he waved his arm at Polly as if her appearance was conclusive testimony to his radical economic position. Mom thought of a number of possible responses, but dismissed them all as being too serious and simply smiled and shrugged, giving no hint of approval or dissatisfaction.
Polly went through the back door, slamming it behind her.
Sleeping beauty, more commonly known as Prince, was jarred awake by the sound and excitedly ran to her, putting his paws up on
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her thighs and licking her face. He lowered to ground level and thought he sensed something unusual. It was her pants which had been sitting in the lower drawer undisturbed for years. The mustiness was intriguing and he moved around her sniffing at them seeming intent to investigate every square inch. Polly was amused and said; “Wait until you get a whiff of this sweatshirt.” She ran to the tennis ball and threw it across the yard. Prince hesitated a fraction of a second, not sure what he wanted to do, but took off after the bouncing ball. He tried to take it out of the air, but that proved too difficult. He did succeed in knocking the ball further away with each try resulting in an irregular darting and slashing type of maneuver practiced by linebackers. The ball finally came to a stop on the grass and Prince got it firmly in his mouth. Now he had to decide what to do with it. He tried to recall the differing options open to him when playing yesterday, but the closest thing to a pattern he could recall was that the response was whatever felt right at the moment. Yesterday Polly had spent a fair amount of time chasing him, but not yet today. She was standing still watching him. Prince decided to be co-operative and bring the ball back to her. At the same time he could further study what it was that she had in or on her new pants.
He trotted over, dropped the ball at her feet and commenced sniffing.
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Polly saw their neighbor, Gerald, standing at the bordering eastern fence, grinning into the late day sun and watching the activity. From previous experience Polly was certain that he was ready to articulate his judgment implying questions of the situation in a fashion amusing only to him. Polly pretended not to see him and picked up the ball and threw it toward the western boundary. Prince was still more interested in her pants, so she ran after the ball and he followed. She got to it first and sat on the ground with it in her hands because she wanted an excuse not to be on the other side of the property where Gerald was now pretending to show avid interest in the standpipe five feet from the fence which was attached to an outdoor watering system that had not yet been turned on. Polly glanced in his direction hoping that he had left as she still believed in the possibility of miracles. Prince didn’t understand her reluctance to move and tried to pull the ball from her hand intending to run with it. Polly was afraid of that as it would bring them near Gerald, a retired computer technician who knew nothing of anything devoid of programmable plastic parts. If engaged in conversation Gerald always performed a tedious soliloquy about all the intricacies of how his state-of-the-art watering system operated, though it rarely did, which speech he had previously well-rehearsed, chuckling in what he considered the amusing parts, waiting for a return
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chuckle before continuing his pedantry. If one attempted to re-direct the flow of the chat to any other subject, rather than saying what he knew about it, which was nothing, Gerald would always respond with a question designed to suggest that at his high level of sophistication and education whatever was ventured was incredibly and stupidly opinionated and not worthy of any commentary his feigned broad view encompassed. When Polly told him of what she had learned about local coyote behavior Gerald responded with his customary; “Isn’t that just one way of looking at it?” He said that to everything mentioned except his expertise regarding his programmable, non-operating watering system.
Prince settled down somewhat seemingly content to sniff at the “strange” pants on Polly while she considered her next move.
Her parents had told her to introduce Prince around and Gerry was about as around as one can get. She thought that she might as well get things over with when Prince stopped showing such an avid interest in her “new” old pants. In the quiet calm Prince heard a sound come from the east that broke the windless silence and ran in its direction. Gerald was squatting by the standpipe, clearly visible in the “overlooked” designer, red baseball cap, which covered his bald head, but allowed the curly, gray Friar Tuck fringe to stick out, unknowingly imitating Bozo without coloring.
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Prince’s mind was invaded by Apaches in red bandanas playing war drums. As he already had good ideas of where his new boundaries were, but he had a problem with his uncontrollable need to use the very American concept of “eminent domain,” and Gerry was close enough to it to warrant an investigation he started the dialogue with a threatening bark.
“Grrgrrrgrrrop,” he yelled as he approached the noisy man with his hands lovingly on the stem of his standpipe. Gerry wasn’t surprised at the sudden company; he knew it would get there sooner or later.
Polly was slowly walking and less than half way there. She was in no rush to get there for a few reasons; first, she liked watching and hearing Prince display what humans would like to had they no manners; and second, she knew she would get there sooner or later.
Gerry feigned fear and put his hands up in front of his chest and popped his eyes and mouth widely open, keeping the pose for only a second as he was uncontrollably compelled to laugh at the mercifully short performance.
Polly was now close enough that she could see his face well and with Gerry laughing and desperate for company she felt required to make an obligatory short smile without parting her lips. Prince toned down a bit when he saw that Polly wasn’t agitated, but still was far from thrilled about the intrusion
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and growled resonantly between the sporadic short barks. The Apaches with weapons stepped out of camera view.
Polly said; “Feel pretty safe with a fence separating you, don’t you, Gerry? Oh yeah, ‘Happy Easter’ and all that.”
Gerry wasn’t sure if Polly had a momentary lapse or if he’d been dissed and somewhat threatened. If he knew elementary history he would have known that it was the latter case, but his plastic preoccupation precluded the time necessary to learn the matter and resulted in his passion for the most common buzzwords distributed by the coiffed, smiley lady on the 6PM big station
“News with Kathy,” in some circles referred to as “News to Kathy.” He offered a grin weaker than Polly’s and said; “Is he vicious?” He bent down to get a better look at Prince’s hindquarter’s and merrily added; “Or should I have said she?
Yuk. Yuk. Yuk,” another line funny to one-third of the audience delivered by the flexible plastic man. His wife, Barbie was currently in the hospital recovering from complications associated with her latest plastically surgeoned head fix, so Gerry is in desperate need to berate someone, a surrogate now necessary. One has to say “head” as “face” would no longer apply to every situation as scalp forays have been in evidence for a while demonstrated by her covered bald spot which always manages to protrude from her pink baseball hat.
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Hoping it would expedite things Polly chose to play the unwanted game straight and chirped; “Prince is a he and he can be stubborn and protective,” as she inserted one hand into Prince’s collar, holding him close. Prince thought what seemed logical to him and concluded that the toothy man on the other side of the fence was a friend or that it was all right with Polly for him to be there, completely wrong on one count and middling on the other. People, in what humans would identify as an Independence Day parade with plenty of US flags marched into his head, the red aspect now extremely diluted.
“When are you going to have him trained?”
“When he attacks someone he shouldn’t.”
“Isn’t that a bit .......... cavalier?”
“Not really. We can get away with one. Legally it takes two attacks before there’s any real trouble.”
Gerry didn’t appear shocked; at least he had years of practice covering that up as he never, never wanted to jeopardize the “man of the world” image only he thought he conveyed. At the same time he realized that his proximity to the Thatcher house and his penchant for fence sitting made him the most likely candidate for attack number one.
Gerry’s silence made Polly conclude that the conversation was over and she let go of Prince’s collar and threw the ball
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westward. She ran after it with Prince. Gerry called out; “It might be safer to have a few training sessions.”
Polly didn’t break stride when she saw the opportunity to end the encounter with a bit of a role reversal and said; “How many dogs did you say that you have had?”
Prince easily got to the ball first, picked it up in his mouth, faked right and then went left, eluding Polly. He ran back to the eastern limits as Polly looked to thankfully see that Gerry was either gone or hiding under a rock. The two played for hours. Who was supposed to chase the ball and who was supposed to get it back was not clear at times, but, left to their own volition each would complement the other’s willful behavior resulting in both doing what they wanted.
It seemed as if Prince could run forever, or at least that was how it felt to Polly after a few hours. The sun was casting long thin shadows, the temperature decline reminding her of the time of day. She wanted to sit as much as she could, but at the same time wanted Prince to exercise his puppy energy while he had it. Nothing lasts forever. She threw the ball ten feet from her and when Prince got it she was right there and cradled her arms around his neck. She held tight and after enjoying the embrace Prince tried to get free. The struggle didn’t last very long as Prince succeeded with the third try, spoiling Polly’s plans of tiring him out by holding him in her arms. They just
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weren’t strong enough. She got up and chased him a bit, but couldn’t get near. In fatigue she sat on the grass. Prince still wanted to be chased more, but soon got the idea that that was not going to be. He trod to her and she again put her arms around him, but this time when he started squirming she wrapped her legs around his belly. Prince was unable to escape his playful captor though he pushed and pulled with all his might.
He used all his energy in a few minutes and then lay tired and still. Polly loosened her leg grip when she felt his body go limp and the two lay there a few minutes without a thought in their heads. The sun was no longer visible, but somehow managed to faintly illuminate the area and made the few low hanging clouds pink-washed fragments perceptible over the now less dominant gray.
Polly petted his neck and got up. She said; “We’ve got to eat,” held up one finger and went in the house. She found the dog dish and food Mom had promised on the kitchen counter and proceeded to dole out an appropriate portion. She brought it to Prince. Initially he ate voraciously, but as he saw Polly going back to the house he looked up and his face showed surprise, as when one first hears of a death. Polly came back to him and scratched his head at which point he re-discovered the dish.
She said; “I wish you could understand. After Mom and Dad are asleep I’ll come back for you, just like last night.” Prince
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didn’t understand a word but was re-assured by her concerned tone and distracted by his appetite.
Polly re-entered the house and took another portion of the meatloaf to the unoccupied kitchen table. The tiny red dots on the microwave silently and imperfectly informed her that it was 5:30, though the precise reading was something like a squared off “S,” followed by a colon, followed by a squared off “M”
standing on its side and an unconnected almost rectangle, the only suggestion of flawlessness emanating from the colon. Polly needed a drink and noticed the open wine bottle. She sometimes considered herself too serious a child and wanted to be as goofy as her parents who probably are getting some help from the spirits. She went to the counter, looked at the bottle, again looked at the bottle and wondered if she would get caught. She had never noticed any visible evidence on her parents. Sure they acted like nuts but they were capable of that without drinking. They didn’t grow any warts or lesions and their noses didn’t grow. If she was accused of behaving nutty she could always say that she learned it from them or Prince. As she decided to pour she felt a tickle on her exposed belly and nervously jumped, thinking that some apparition out of a Stephen King movie had an interest. She turned to see her Dad and exhaled heavily. He simply stared at her face and Polly felt it necessary to blurt out; “I was just going to put the cork back
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in,” in the process effectively confessing her guilt and simultaneously lying.
Dad furrowed his brow and said; “Polly.”
Polly knew she was caught. Worse, she was caught for something she didn’t even get to do. With a combination of shame and frustration she said; “All right, all right. I was only going to have a little.”
Dad picked her up, gave her a big kiss and a squeeze and said; “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Polly happily put her arms around him and kissed him back.
She said; “I promise.”
Dad put her back on the floor and she added; “But you guys really shouldn’t leave it lying around like that. It’s tempting.”
Dad corked the bottle and put it into a cabinet top shelf and poured Polly a tall glass of ice tea. She brought it to the table and placed it near her meatloaf. Dad started to walk away, stopped and said; “We’re going to sleep early. Drinking wore us out. You know, it does away with your inhibitions, but it takes its toll. You and Prince don’t yet have any inhibitions, so the only thing it will do for you are make you dizzy and nauseous. You’ll probably puke swearing that you’ll never do it again as your face is in the toilet bowl. Large charge.”
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Polly nodded as she ate and Dad again commenced his journey to the bedroom, but turned to say one more thing; “I know that you brought Prince inside last night.”
Polly looked up fearful of an unwanted direct order.
Dad was at the door when he added; “And it’s all right with me, because everything went all right.”
Polly smiled heartily as he exited and then he popped his head in again to say; “But if he goes anywhere in the house you have to clean it up. No ifs, ands or buts.”
He left and she called out; “Thanks, promise.” He came back again to add; “But, don’t tell any of the neighbors about it; all right?”
Polly suspected that she knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her Dad, saying; “Sure, all right, but why?”
“Because they’re weird, you know. Just don’t volunteer the information. It’s none of their business anyway. Can you imagine anyone asking if your dog sleeps with you? I take that back. I can imagine it. If they do ask, lie and say he sleeps on a pillow in the triangular room. Actually, that’s not a lie because he does sleep there sometimes. ............ See how confusing this all gets when other people get involved. Freedom is clandestine. Do you know what I mean?” He should have asked Prince.
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“Yes, sort of and not exactly.” Dad opened his mouth to say more, but Polly quickly added; “I know that just like you don’t like outsiders knowing that Mom has as much to say as you do, maybe more,” she paused briefly and giggled, “You don’t want outsiders to know that I sleep with my puppy. Talk about weird.
But, no problem, I’ll handle it.”
“Smart girl.”
“Woman.”
Dad appeared to be dazed.
Polly said; “Just kidding.”
Dad smiled and again turned to leave, but Polly was compelled to say; “For a while.”
Dad turned back, but this time silently smiling. Polly went to him and jumped into his arms, gave him a big fat wet kiss and said; “I’ll always be your little girl.”
Polly ate and drank mulling over the events of a pleasant Easter. Two working parents made holidays less of an occasion than it was in times past, at least according to the books she had read. Something gained, something lost. She wondered which side of the equation was pre-eminent. She thought; “It’s not possible to gauge such things, except in the few extreme cases.
How many turtles equal one puppy?” She finished and went to her Easter basket which was resting on a small fragment of the kitchen counter, set away from the larger, continuous, main
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section, took out a chocolate bunny and relished the slightly slippery feel in her mouth. Afraid that they might be melting, Polly put the rest of the chocolate animals in the refrigerator and went out to Prince, toting the remainder of the meatloaf wrapped in aluminum foil.
The half-moon’s light was sufficient, so she turned on no flood light. She didn’t see him and was troubled because she had expected him to either be there or come running to her.
“Prince,” she called out in a typical speaking voice which was magnified in the dark stillness. No answer. “Prince, don’t hide from me. You’re starting to freak me out.” She thought about the possibility of him being gone as it would be fairly easy for him to tunnel under the wire fencing if not hop it.
She knew of a coyote den within a mile and that its residents prowl the area for easy pickings, especially un-enclosed chickens. She was told that they were afraid of humans and generally wouldn’t bother with a sizable dog, unless they were desperate. She realized that her mind was racing, but that didn’t enable her to bring it down to street speed, anyway. Her voice elevated; “Prince!” Absolute silence prevailed allowing her to hear her breath. She went into the triangular room and there he was contentedly sleeping on his pillow as if nothing happened. Polly exclaimed; “Prince, don’t ever do that again.”
Prince looked up dumbfounded and yawned. Polly dropped to the
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floor and put her arms around him. Still befuddled Prince thought; “I don’t know what I did, but I’m going to do it more often. You’re early.” Polly unfolded the aluminum foil and presented him with the remains of the meatloaf. He stood up and stretched out his legs before burying his face in the surprise meal. Now feeling privileged, as he ate he tried to think of what magic he could have possibly done to deserve this fine treatment, intending to memorize the procedure. He thought;
“Sleeping? No, I’ve done that many times. Sleeping in the triangular room? Maybe, but that doesn’t seem to be any sort of accomplishment. Sleeping on a pillow in the triangular room?
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Why are the important things always the hardest to figure out?”
When he was done eating Polly attached the single length chain to his collar and led him to her room. He leaped to the bed while she changed into her yellow Dr. Seuss jammies before joining him. She got behind him and put her arm around his belly, closing her eyes. Prince was now wide awake and put his chin flat to the bed. He thought; “I’ll never comprehend. I don’t know what great thing I did and then she woke me up to put me back to sleep. Humans are weird, some nicely so.”
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