Prince by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 18

A few weeks and ten Turtle Island escapes later, Polly woke up early. The special day was August eighth, her eleventh birthday and she was anxious to see what new playthings waited for her. After a night of little sleep, she saw that her clock had its little hand on the five and its big hand on the six.

She turned on the light, jumped out of bed and felt a cool gust come through her bedroom window. Undeterred, she covered her white, Caspar the Friendly Ghost pajamas with a light blue robe and went downstairs. Prince opened one tired eye and decided he wanted no part of this nonsense. He grumbled and squirmed around trying to bury his body in the warm bed.

She flicked on the kitchen lights and in the middle of the table she saw a small, pink, giftwrapped package bearing a tiny card, which bore the cliché; “To: Polly, From: Mom and Dad.”

“They put a lot of thought into this one,” she mused. “Hope it’s good.” She ripped it open, carelessly leaving the paper on the floor and saw a DVD and an accompanying book titled; “BEING

POPULAR: A Guide for Young Women,” by Sappora Middler, an Israeli émigré.

She was disappointed to the point of anger, but then stepped back thinking; “They are joking with me. They probably have a camera going in here to see my reaction.” She scanned the room, didn’t see anything, but also knew that surveillance devices can be virtually undetectable. She opened drawers and

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cabinets to see where the real presents were hidden, finding nothing, but at the same time feeling watched and she freaked out.

Her mind was no longer able to focus on any one thing.

“Bad present. Where’s good ones? Enjoying my demise. Funny as a dead cat. Lack of interest. Too much interest.

Surveillance. Cameras. 1984 + 28. No privacy even in your own house.” These thoughts quickly whirled in her head in no particular order.

She kept slamming drawers and cabinets, pulling out anything in the way of a complete view. The floor collected old paid bills, self-addressed envelopes to Enron Corporation, three cent shy postage stamps, a poster of Ronald Reagan grinning like Alfred E. Neuman with a bubble containing the words; “What me worry?” and various other pathetically archaic items.

Mom woke early, hearing the noise, which reminded her of the day when her cat got locked in the pantry eons ago and followed her ears. She stood at the kitchen entrance and watched what she thought was Polly frantically looking for something. Mom got nervous when her next thought was that looking for a fire extinguisher was the only thing worthy of such methedrinistic speed.

Concerned, Mom yelled; “What’s wrong?”

Polly kept on working and with her back to Mom answered;

“I’m looking for my real presents.”

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Mom was glad nothing was physically on fire, but her fears about the DVD were confirmed. She hadn’t thought that it would be one of Polly’s favorite birthday presents, but she also didn’t expect it to be so hated. Mom walked over and took her inconsolable child by the hands, primarily for damage control.

She said; “We got the Middler DVD, hoping you’d at least listen to it and maybe come up with some techniques for handling some situations better.”

“Like what?”

“Like ...... Like ...... Like, getting along with the neighbors better.”

Polly defiantly cocked her head to one side and said; “Like you?”

“You don’t have to do something wrong just because I do.”

“Then you’ve been wrong?”

Mom realized that she had misspoken and tried to precisely convey her thoughts, saying; “Wrong word. My tactics could be better.”

“Then you listen to the stupid DVD. I’d have preferred a slant eyed kachina from Nunzio’s.”

Dad entered and found the whole thing somewhat amusing as the DVD was Mom’s choice. His serious countenance was betrayed when he picked up the book and said; “This book is for young women. Mom hasn’t been allowed to touch it for years.” He didn’t get any laughs, but seemed to have succeeded at changing

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the tone away from the two women being openly angry with each other to one wherein the two women were mildly displeased with him, which was evidenced by Mom’s attempted open handed slap at his head. He blocked it easily and thought that he’d push his luck. He wagged an index finger at Mom, shook his head mock-knowingly and said; “I told you that there was something special about those slant eyed kachinas.”

The sun made its paltry existence known subtly as a 40 watt bulb in a closed black shade, as the sky was lined with wall-to-wall bulbous dark clouds. Mom felt a gust and closed the kitchen window.

It was near rising time anyway and Prince wanted to see what was going on. He crept down the stairs, entered the kitchen and saw the debris on the floor. His senses told him that the three irrational humans in his presence were on three different wavelengths and none of them liked what was on the other two channels. He was glad to see that there was a lull in the open warfare and sat on his haunches like a UN observer.

Having had time to collect her thoughts, Polly screamed;

“This is no birthday. This is an educational seminar for nice, conforming girls. Charm school.”

Prince wondered if he wanted to experience the foul weather inside or out. That took about a second. He went to the back door and Dad let him out under the obscuring, but mercifully silent clouds.

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Having received no response to her last observation, she decided to make another. She calmly said; “For future reference, I am not interested in being Ms. Popularity, a cheerleader, pom-pom girl or a baton twirler.” She retrieved a can of dog food and emptied it into Prince’s dish.

Mom looked to Dad and deadpanned; “You better give your present to Prince and try to convince him that it’s a bone.”

Polly rushed upstairs and changed into her Bosque clothes.

She went back down into the kitchen, grabbed the dish and with determination that masked a pleading desire to be free and away, went to the back door without making eye contact with anyone.

Dad called to her; “Be patient. We got something else a lot more interesting for you. It was supposed to arrive at the store yesterday, but because of a computer glitch something else was sent.”

Polly said; “Sure,” and slammed the door behind her.

Mom said; “What’s this?”

Dad said; “I’ll think of something. I’ll call in sick and do some shopping. You know, that book and DVD wasn’t a very good idea.”

“I wish you were more adamant about it before. Your 20-20

hindsight makes you suited to work at a bank.”

Dad was silent and very insulted. He had always been somewhat embarrassed to say that he worked at a bank and at times considered telling people that he was in the music

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industry, but thought that the “fact finders” would do their thing. More importantly, he didn’t understand what he should do with two willful women. He thought; “They want to be free to make their own choices, which is fine with me, but whenever they make a wrong one I get blamed for not having made the right one.” He had forgotten that it was he who had brought up the issue thereby prompting the response.

Mom decided that today wasn’t going to be a work day for her either. She poured herself a glass of wine and took it back to bed. She felt sufficiently out of sorts to dial her mother.

Dad emptied the bottle into his own glass and sat at the kitchen table, staring out the closed window at the threatening clouds, creeping with a slow confidence across the low sky. He soon found this occupation entirely derivative, the sky striking him through the obstructing, closed glass as a television playing a century old, not very good, silent movie. He got up and turned on the static diseased, 1950’s, blue, plastic radio by clicking one of the oversized cobalt nobs.

Mom had two feet on the floor, butt squirming to get off the bed as she listened to her mother recite how girls, who were real girls, knew their place when she was young; before America paid any attention to the green college kids, who thought everything was wrong. “A man worked and the woman took care of the kids. People were happy to be moving into the nice new suburbs ...... “

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“Sorry to cut you like that, but I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“See what I mean? There’s no more family. Years ago

......”

“I’ve really got to go.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Sure, and you?”

“Sure, how’s my grandchild?”

“Fine, mom. I’ve got to say goodbye.”

“When am I going to see her again?”

“Soon, soon. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Mom downed the last of her wine and went back to the kitchen for a refill. She heard the retro music station playing the fifty-eighth available version of Led Zeppelin singing

“Stairway to Heaven.” Just as Dad smiled and her head commenced humming, the music stopped and after a crackling pause a rabid male announcer said; “There has been a gigantic explosion in a Japanese nuclear power plant; the largest ever recorded. The US

west coast has been advised that there possibly will be massive tidal waves in the Pacific Ocean.”

Mom opened a new bottle, refilled her glass and held the bottle toward Dad, who nodded “Yes” and drained the remainder of what he had. She replenished him and took a seat at the table.

The intense announcer continued; “Though Hezbollah gleefully

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claims credit, joint intelligence says they are not considered capable and are merely attempting to enhance their world position, unless the technology was recently supplied to them by a bankrupt super power. America directly blames Russia and vice-versa. Each holds the other responsible even if it is determined that Hezbollah scientists developed the technology as the intelligence says that they could only have gotten the gotten as far as they possibly have if they had assistance from one of the two powers or both. America and Russia vehemently deny any responsibility, each citing expected damages to their own interests.”

Mom was annoyed that she had missed her favorite part of the song, took a swig and said; “The Pacific Ocean is too tranquil, anyway. Now it can be as rowdy as the Atlantic.”

Mom and Dad heard further reports that skirmishes have been reported on Israeli borders and that its military was on full alert. Dad found the report a tad sketchy and amusedly said;

“Which borders are those?”

Mom reflected the humor and answered; “Whatever they claim they are today, I guess. It’s a full time job to keep track and I’ve got other things to do.” They simultaneously got up and went to the wine cabinet. Dad shut the radio and they imbibed.

As they giggled in a way that some hanging, capital crime convicted have, Dad thought of his “promise” to Polly concerning

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the late delivered birthday present and said; “Want to go shopping with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s going to drunk drive?”

“Can’t you ever make a decision?”

Each howled as he chased her to the bedroom.

Prince ate as Polly glowered at the kitchen window. The clouds lightly rumbled. Polly looked up at them defiantly and said; “Do your worst.” Bird doo-doo hit her left eye.

They quickly went through the development without seeing any critics. Polly concentrated on Prince, as anticipating his next move was the best way for neither of them to be shortchanged. As she watched his nuances, as usual she forgot about everything else and was just happy to be on another adventure with her silly puppy.

They went way off the beaten track and didn’t see any established path for an hour. Prince led her to the raging river and walked the edge path, the grounds looking familiar to him. With her need to concentrate on Prince diminished by the pedestrian ramble, her thoughts of the stupid book and DVD that were her birthday presents returned. She scanned the area for the ever present creeps with a passion for watching and commenting. The longer she thought about it, the more enraged

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she became. In a raucous speaking voice she said; “Pom-pom girl garbage and then the nerve to gawk and make jokes about it.”

Thinking that she was speaking to him, Prince looked back at Polly and wondered why she was upset with him. He got no indication, shrugged and settled back into his humans-don’t-make-any-sense mentality.

He brushed easily by the many tiny but thorny Russian Olive babies, his thick coat providing full protection. Polly didn’t recognize the area and was maddened that he took her to something new that necessitated her skipping precariously around hazards, most significantly the thorns, which were difficult to detect. She kept saying; “Slow, slow,” but had as much success with this phrase as always; none. She got livid when her pants leg was pierced by five stinging hooks at once, feeling them hit bare flesh. Out of necessity she stopped abruptly, stuck in the hazardous and confusing mess and brought Prince to a sudden unexpected halt. He was jerked sideways into a small tree trunk and hit his side; hard. He turned to see Polly trying to extricate herself from something he couldn’t detect and thought she had chosen to pick berries or do something else frivolous, certainly not anything momentous enough to risk giving him an injury. He started to see red and when he tried to walk he was stopped and heard; “Wait a minute you stupid dog.” He waited until she was free and moved quickly right under a Russian Olive with three foot ground clearance. His speed resulted in her not

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being able to stop quickly enough and her face found the spikes, blood running into her mouth.

Polly jerked the leash back toward her with a fury capable of stopping an ox. He wheeled around from the force and faced her, thinking; “What’s wrong now? We’ve come here before.”

Three bizarre red-devil outfitted drummers tried to drown out the others. He saw her leg strike out, kicking him in the still sore side he smacked on the tree stump. He felt extreme pain, saw blood red and heard only the uninvited, angry, insistent drummers. He sprung at her hand and sunk in his teeth. When the blood flavor hit his taste buds he was immediately sorry for having acted out of bad instincts for the third time. He had forgiven himself for the first two events, but a triad did not meet his own standards. Three strikes and one is “out.” End of story. He felt guilty as Pilate. He watched her angrily rub her hand, trying to stop the bleeding, but she only succeeded in increasing the scarlet flow. He looked up at her face and saw it red and twisted with rage. His expression was pleading, eyes wide and tongue out, panting. He thought; “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I can be a good dog! I know it! Though I know I don’t deserve it, only you have the ability to forgive me. I’m sorry for everything.” She picked up a fragment of a bulky, lifeless tree limb with her left hand and raised it above her head, poised to bring it down and permanently crown him. He lowered

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his head and closed his eyes. Prince waited for what he had earned and cried like a newborn pup.

A lifetime of memories raced through his mind in an instant. He recalled the first day he went home with Polly, helped by the advice of Marion. He remembered their wild backyard play, Polly tiring him out by holding him; sleeping warmly in her bed; the crazy people they met; and their many long walks on and way off the paths. He recalled the unsolicited advice she got concerning his behavior patterns and understood her dilemma. His tears flowed as the river, warming and moistening the hard earth below him.

In his state of mind he couldn’t tell if a second had passed or an eternity, but it definitely seemed like a long time and he had not yet felt the wrath of the club. Trembling, he slowly raised his head and opened his dripping eyes. Polly had dropped the stick to the ground and was kicking it away with her right foot. She knelt in front of him displaying wet orbs that matched his own. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big passionate kiss on the nose. This was the best feeling he had experienced in his near two years of life and he frantically licked her face. He nuzzled his wet snout against her cheek and together they cuddled, laughed and continued to cry tears that now reflected joy and neither cared who might be watching.

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The still morning was broken up by a sudden, warm southern breeze which surpassed the crest of the distant levee. Its work was high and low, clearing out the ominous dark clouds from the sky, creating tiny whirlwinds of dust on the ground and whitecaps on the deep, rushing water. It turned their faces rosy, his concealed with fur. Their glistening eyes looked up to the sprawling sun, then down to its reflection off the water pointing right at them. The two forgot the lower elevations and their eyes again rose from the eternally rushing river and the spiky desert floor to the clear, sapphire blue heavens. Now they could see that it was truly a great birthday and the sky was never before so high.

The End

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