Prince by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 5
Polly was impatiently waiting in front of her school at 3:30PM. She bristled and her back stiffened when she heard the whoosh of the pneumatic door, a sound that had never heralded anything good. She was somewhat relieved when she didn’t detect any nauseating odor, but kept her back to whatever made the grand entry or exit, hoping it would go about its own business.
But to her chagrin skinny Bobby showed up and chose to stand two feet from her. Initially annoyed, she soon thanked God for small favors, as at least it wasn’t smelly Ms. Dermer with some complaint.
Bobby was digitally manipulating his cell phone and suddenly said; “Look what I’ve got on the screen.”
“No.” She moved two steps further away and looked away from him.
He followed her and tried to put the cell phone in front of her face, saying; “Come on. You’ll like this.”
She shut her eyes tightly and squirmed, simultaneously wishing that she had a dog with her which would bite the entertainment Nazi. When she re-opened her eyes, there it was, right in full hideous view; a kinetically imprecise film of people entering the local discount store, stepping carefully to avoid stepping into a gigantic pile of, presumably, dog turd at
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the entranceway. Their gyrations and the looks on their faces were amusing, but the movie improved when Ms. Dermer walked to the door, head in the air, slipped and fell into the pile. Kids standing nearby smoking cigarettes couldn’t control themselves, laughing and jumping, and Ms. Dermer was yelling something at them as a sizable gooey morsel ran down her back. Polly wanted to laugh out loud, but restrained herself as she didn’t want to give the nerd and his cell phone any satisfaction. For the first time she had a possible reason for Ms. Dermer’s bizarre selection of toilet waters.
Content that she had gotten the gist of the film clip, she put her free hand on the cell phone and pushed it toward Bobby, saying; “That’s gross.”
In an unconvinced tone, he said; “No kidding. Ain’t it great?”
Before her natural inclinations forced her to tip her hand against her will, she was saved by the sound of tires dispersing the school driveway’s pebbles. Polly’s mother was driving her Saab more quickly than usual with a concerned look on her face.
She jammed on the brake in front of her daughter and the persistent entertainer and Polly immediately opened the front passenger side door and went in. With her mother staring at her, Polly started laughing out loud at the film of Ms. Dermer
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when they had exited the school grounds and could no longer be seen by Bobby.
In an elevated voice, Mom said; “What? What’s so funny?”
Polly couldn’t control herself enough to make a coherent reply and haltingly managed to blurt out; “The nerd’s ......
pictures.”
That was precisely the answer Mom did not want to hear and her mind visualized things she didn’t want her baby to see. As she veered to avoid an oncoming car which didn’t seem to be particular about which side of the road it was on, she nervously asked; “What kind of pictures?” fearful of the answer.
“Dog doo,” Polly laughed out, “Right in front of the discount store.” Mom was silent in her relief and Polly again laughed out; “And Ms. Dermer fell in it.”
Mom drolly said; “The internet never ceases to be amusing.
So what did you learn in school today.”
“Give me liberty or give me death.”
“Radical.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
Mom made her way through the development and once again managed to find the correct house, despite the frequency of look-alikes. She recalled that when the family had first moved there she stopped at the wrong one, unsuccessfully tried her key in the front door and was greeted by an older, wildly bearded
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man holding a rifle, who was said to be suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. It took a few minutes of panicky conversation to convince him that she was not attempting a break-in, nor was she an undercover operative in the employ of the Viet Cong. The final gunpoint attestation to her patriotism was not reached until she convinced him that she lived in a house visible from his front door, which displayed a “Stars and Stripes” on a thirty foot, gold-painted metal pole. She was embarrassed to subsequently appear to be friends with “Deadeye,”
who seemed to relish making a major production of their kinship whenever they crossed paths, attempting to play a version of
“Reveille” on his auto horn. July Fourth was a particularly excruciating holiday, as Deadeye made it a ritual of dressing in his combat fatigues and helmet, to ride his horse through the development from 10AM until 2PM, shooting his rifle skyward.
She hoped that his medical problems, which include late stage alcoholism made him forget about where she said she had lived and the absence of a red, white and blue statement of national pride where she did. On optimistic days she hoped his behavioral motivation was an effort to provide “proof” of his continuing PTSD, but couldn’t keep the faith more than six days per year. Who said suburban life was boring?
Mom got Polly home without having to be serenaded, as, since Camino De Lucia was partially circular, she took the long
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way around to avoid passing Deadeye’s house. However this choice was a matter of “lesser of evils” in the warm weather months as it necessitated passing by the domain of “Marietta the Masseuse and Part Time Realtor,” as she had heard her called and timing was terrible today as she was at roadside, diddling with her flagging posies. She was forty years of age, heavily made up with bare midriff and tight shorts. Mom had been told that Marietta knew a lot of people and continually sought to expand her boundaries. Marietta’s wide grin and ecstatic leaping wave seemed to advertise her excitement. Mom forced an office smile and waved. Mom said; “Smile and wave. It’s what passes for being sociable in this friendly interesting neighborhood.”
Marietta hunched over to get a better look into the car. When she saw the occupants she made a noticeable frown and went back to her posies.
Polly asked; “What’s her problem?”
Mom thought of a few speculative responses and settled on;
“Midlife crisis.”
As they entered the front door, Mom said; “Have you done any more thinking about the cell phone?”
With reticence Polly replied; “Yes. I think I’d prefer a dog.”
Polly was more than a little surprised when her Mom said;
“I’m on your side.”
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Pleased and speechless, Polly went to her room and changed into her casual clothes, awaiting the arrival of her father, when the cell phone issue was to be settled once and for all.
It appeared as if she had an unexpected ally.
Happy, she sat up in bed, her loose fitting, light blue, pullover dress, rumpling underneath, as she spaced out, nonchalantly reading an illustrated version of “Through the Looking Glass.” She noticed that Alice was wearing a dress just like hers in the pictures contained in the “Tweedledum and Tweedledee” chapter. The logical lack of logic, or vice-versa, was appealing and Polly thought that she would like to visit such a woodland. She got out of bed and stood in front of her mahogany, English glass on a stand and compared her appearance to that of Alice. She could see a number of similarities and the dress matched, as she revolved to obtain views from every possible angle. But in Alice’s place, Polly couldn’t imagine herself desiring to get out of the woods, at least not having that as her primary goal. It seemed a pleasant enough place with lots of interesting characters and had plenty of locations where one could experience total privacy. She considered that this may have been easier to come by in the nineteenth century and perhaps, therefore, was not as highly valued in antiquity.
Now, there seemed to be almost none, except when she went Bosque walking and even then, following her mother’s instructions she
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stayed on the main paths and consequently was never more than 100 feet from the nearest person carrying a cell phone with photographic capabilities. She couldn’t wait to get her own dog, which would enable her to feel secure in getting far off the beaten paths. She might be able to feel completely secluded and who knows what wonders might await those willing to depart the tidy, obedient dog walkers, pretending to be enjoying a cheery “nature walk,” sharing the land with discarded fast food bags and construction debris. Polly got so excited at the thought that she couldn’t wait and wanted to go this minute.
She stared into the mirror and saw waves of unreal reflection.
She tried to go head first through it and was successful in bumping her head, causing a lump she was able to cover by brushing her hair more onto her forehead. The mirror swayed on its base, apparently not certain whether it wanted to face up or down, perhaps doing its best imitation of contemporary, post-modernist writers. “Ouch, reality,” she thought. “Well, no matter, I forgot to bring the dog anyway.” Polly remained in place, rubbing her forehead, glancing at her reflection which alternated between views of her lower half and the carpeted floor and her upper half with the beamed, wooden ceiling. She detected some type of poetic statement in the making, as she realized that she was merely focusing on the extremes, while her reflections and their neighboring counterparts also were of
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every possible gradation in between. As always happens in the busy, noisy and un-private world of 2012, just when she was on the verge of a momentous, new breakthrough, she was jarred out of that space for eternity, by the slamming of the front door and her father’s booming, redundant announcement that he was home.
She found the humor in herself and her reflective situation and she ran from her room to greet her father, anxious to talk about cell phones and dogs. She slowed down on the stairs, not desiring another head lump and when she got to the brick floored first level, she saw her Mom and Dad cursorily embracing. They broke away, Mom returning to the kitchen wearing a gigantic, off-white, “THE COOK QUIT,” apron and Dad scurried to the master bedroom to change, patting Polly on her cheek and making an obligatory, pointed and passing comment of “How’s my cell phone girl,” smiling efficiently as he non-stop went by, displaying a brief view of his back and gray pinstriped work uniform.
Polly was annoyed and said nothing. She considered going back to her book and mirror, but understood that tonight was to be the showdown and that she better get prepared for it. She entered the kitchen. With no difficulty she sat on one of the plastic black chairs, an approximate replica of an Art Deco tri-form harpist’s, the original executed in reddish stained mahogany. One of the few home furnishings picked by Dad it was
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unusual in that the seat and base were triangular in form, while the backrest was a tall thin single splat, one piece with the seat and base, with heart shaped piercing near its top. The display of geometric angles rather than curves made a few consider its appearance severe. The backrest deceived the uninitiated. Those not familiar with the style thought it appeared too flimsy to support any weight, while in fact its union with the seat and base made it virtually unbreakable. Dad bought the set for its durability and appearance. Though the price was a bit steep he felt it would never have to be replaced. Polly leaned back not touching the wheat colored table and watched her mother clang around pots, pans, utensils and whatever else was in her way, unaware that she had company.
Polly interrupted the nervous clashing of iron and metal to re-confirm her pre-discussion position to say; “You’re going to be on my side, right, Mom?”
Mom flinched and dropped a china plate into the stainless steel sink, which was resplendent with stains. She heaved a sigh and said; “What side is that?”
Polly showed her frustration, when she mock-pleadingly drawled out; “You know. What we talked about before. That I can have a dog rather than a stupid cell phone.”
Mom recalled what she said and why she said it. She intoned; ”You have my vote, but Dad’s got one too.”
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Polly clapped her hands and beamed. She happily said;
“And, so I have the deciding vote and a dog it is.”
Mom shrugged and said; “You can’t vote until you’re eighteen. And you should be grateful for that, because if this was before 1930 or so, you wouldn’t be able to vote at all.
Neither would I, for that matter.”
Polly couldn’t fully comprehend what her mother was saying, as Ms. Dermer’s history lessons had only brought her up to the Revolution and the Minute Men. If taught at all, the Suffragettes didn’t come until much later. However, of most momentary significance to her was that it sounded as though her mother was waffling in some sneaky way. Polly didn’t have the slightest idea of what, if anything, to say. She sat there resolutely thinking; “If I get stuck with a cell phone, it’s going to get flushed down the school toilet.”
Mom laid out the plates, glasses and cutlery and started to dispense the Swedish meat balls, when Dad entered and sat. He had changed into his light tan, pleated pants whose color, or lack thereof, matched the wheat table. He was topped by his light green golf shirt with the tiny, apropos emblem of crisscrossed putters on the empty pocket. He leaned forward on his tri-form chair, hands on the table, not the least bit anxious, but rather indicative of his desire to appear alert and involved.
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Dad effected what he considered an appropriate smile and opened the three party conversation with; “Mmmmm. Swedish meatballs.” He surveyed the faces of the other room occupants for reactions and saw Mom make a busy smile as she remained moving, proceeding with her serving duties and Polly showed a serious countenance, with the slightest of frowns. He directed his next remark at Polly, saying; “Don’t you appreciate your mother’s efforts in preparing this fine meal?”
Polly looked down and loudly dropped her fork into her plate of Swedish meatballs and agitatedly said; “Of course I do.
But, we’re here today to discuss something of more significance, or at least that was what I was led to believe. Am I required to also complement the sauce and tea before we get started?”
Mom said; “The sauce and tea aren’t much anything other than efficient, so if anyone starts extolling their virtues, I’ll know that they are a wicked liar.”
Dad, a bit exacerbated, replied; “Well, excuse me for having manners.”
Polly giggled and said; “You’re excused. I decided that a dog would be more use to me than a cell phone.”
Mom gave her baby an encouraging look, not visible to Dad, who blinked his eyes a few times and said; “You’ve decided?”
“Yeah.”
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With gentle sarcasm, Dad said; “Pray tell, what made you come to that conclusion?”
Mom said; “I’d like you to know that she’s not alone in her thinking.”
Encouraged, Polly excitedly said; “A dog will protect me.
A cell phone is useless if anything really bad happens.”
The simple, direct truth disarmed Dad. He was not used to hearing it at work or in social situations and he felt refreshed, but did not yet want to agree without a thorough examination of the matter. He said; “A dog won’t call the cops for you.”
Polly showed exasperation and replied; “Well, why would I need to call the cops? If I was being attacked the attacker would grab my cell phone or I might not have time to use it.
Even if I was able to use it, by the time the cops got there it might be too late. A dog is right there and can take care of business. An attacker would probably even avoid me if he saw a dog.”
Dad nodded and said; “Good answer. How about if we want to reach you or vice-versa?”
Polly shrugged and said; “The same thing we’ve been doing for the last ten years.”
Dad questioned; “Nothing?”
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Polly shrugged and repeated; “Nothing.” After a pause she added; “It’s gotten us this far.”
Dad grimaced and leaned back on his chair, as usual appreciating the sturdy comfortable support. He looked to Mom for help. She had been half listening to most of the conversation, of necessity paying more attention to the timers and pots. She didn’t notice her husband’s glance as she was still occupied with the salad. She finished as quickly as she could, as she wanted to get into the meatballs before they required re-heating. She sat down and anxiously dug into her dinner and noticed that four intent eyes were on her. With a mouthful, she extended her hands palms up and curiously said;
”What?”
Dad said; “We’re looking for a little guidance. Polly has proposed getting a dog in lieu of a cell phone and has made a good case for its superior safety.”
Mom said; “I’m well aware,” and returned priority to her meal.
Dad expected a longer, more helpful response and prodded, asking; “And your thoughts are?”
Mom said; “Fine with me.” Polly nodded and smiled broadly.
Dad felt extremely unusual. He considered this one of the more substantive household decisions to be made and it was getting little discussion other than that provided by him. He
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didn’t expect the two areas to be identical, but this was the opposite of the process he dealt with at his office concerning lesser issues. It wasn’t that he was not prepared to defer to Polly’s wishes and rightly so in this case, but he had hoped that his wife would have said something a bit more wishy-washy seeking more input from him. He was devoid of further input, but wished that it was sought. Liberated women! He wasn’t averse to the dog. In fact he liked the idea of having one around. He thought he might put in one more comment before he acquiesced and said to Polly; “Okay, but how about having a dog and a cell phone?”
Polly was surprised at not previously considering that as a possible procedure. She thought of the issue only in terms of either-or and therefore had no pre-prepared counter. She couldn’t think of anything to say other than that she would flush it down the toilet and she didn’t want to say that as things seemed to be going too well to risk an openly adversarial situation. Her mother realized Polly’s predicament when she saw her daughter’s anxious look to her and complacently said; “Isn’t that like gilding the lily?” Polly tapped her feet on the floor in excitement. She didn’t know exactly what it meant, but it sounded good and demonstrated that Mom was with her all the way.
Though he didn’t like the idea of the decision being made with extremely limited participation from him, Dad was tired of
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playing the stupid nay-saying role and decided that he no longer wanted to appear the idiot. He surely liked having a dog around, not having had one since he was a kid. With the slightest hint of annoyance, he thought he kept some face, by firmly saying; “Fine. A dog it is. But, he has to be a good protector. No cutesy terriers.” The women nodded and smiled at each other.
As Dad wiped sauce from his chin, he decided to join the club and relinquish his cautionary position, saying; “Tomorrow is Saturday, so no one has to be at work or school. Correct?”
After getting two negative head shakes, he continued; “If Polly is to be properly protected, a small puppy is out of the question. I propose that we all go to the Corrales Humane Shelter and pick out a suitable one. I’ve always liked the idea of taking one that’s been abandoned, as I think that most of the time it’s the fault of the human and not the dog. It also fits the bill here nicely.” He surveyed two supporting female faces and saw smiles and contentment, so he squeezed Polly’s knee and buoyantly added in an elevated tone; “Then tomorrow it is.
We’ll have a wild house.” Polly and Mom made small laughs wondering if Dad fully knew the accuracy of what he was saying.
Prince roused from his slumber when he heard Debby slam the door as she left for the day. He didn’t spend the day sound
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asleep, as much as he spent it daydreaming about what the future held for him. While he appreciated the pleasant change being here and not being required to fight with other dogs, he couldn’t imagine the possibility of spending most of his life in a cage, even with the ability to obtain nocturnal freedom. He correctly thought that the room was tiny and once he had been around the perimeter a few times, he was ready for more. He had known the liberties allowed and the increased territory open to him when he was a soldier in the combat zone and did not picture himself as being one to long tolerate the severe limitations currently imposed. He wasn’t even previously content with the latitude afforded by the killing field, but at the time thought that his surroundings were all that existed. Now he knew better.
He wondered what the deal was in this weird place. What did the humans get out of keeping dogs in cages? They were adequately fed and brought out to do necessary business almost as often as required. Why go through the trouble just to maintain a dreary, limited existence for the dogs? What was in it for Debby? Maybe if he could understand her motivation he could think of a way to make the jam more mutually beneficial and enjoyable for both of them. The whole thing didn’t make any sense to him. He wished he could find out from the other residents how long they had been here and anything else they
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might know of the confining system. From the glumly accepting expressions that he thought he had detected, his guess was that they were stuck here for some time, had no idea why, nor hope of escape. Maybe they just wished for more volunteers to take them out for long walks.
He rose and turned around to see all the others looking his way, no doubt hoping to again be set free, at the same time doubting if such a miracle was possible. His time for reverie was over as Prince knew he had more important things to do right now. He put his paw through the wire bars and hooked two claws in the springing lock mechanism. As he monkeyed with it, he thought, if something didn’t drastically change very soon, that he would probably make a break for it and take his chances in the “wild.” Nocturnal absconding confined to one room didn’t do it for him. So, rather than another evening of full time play he would have to take some time to teach the other inmates how to get themselves some semblance of freedom. They, too had claws and that is all that is required. They only need to know that they are capable of doing whatever they can dream up.
With a pull of the simple mechanism and a push on the door Prince staggered out, a bit off balance. His friends eyes widened and they sat pertly on their haunches, now, for the first time, knowing that last night’s performance was no fluky freak chance. He first walked to the cage closest to him, which
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was inhabited by an adult female Irish Setter. Neither of them probably knew that her tiny placard indicated that she was
“Lucky.” She excitedly waited for Prince to do his magic and was therefore perplexed when her liberator just stood there and shook his head “No.” Lucky thought; “Come on, don’t tease me.
Do it!” She worriedly looked into his resolute eyes and when Prince saw that he had her full attention he moved his eyes to her locking mechanism and then back to her baby blues. After doing this twice she stood near the front of the cage, her worry converted to curiosity. Prince extended his paw through the cage bars and touched hers. Then he withdrew and touched the lock. He did this a few times and then Lucky got the idea he was trying to convey. She put her paw through the bars and felt around the lock. When she got near the bottom of it, Prince used his paw to guide Lucky’s to the right spot and managed to get her claws hooked into it. She tepidly pulled and Prince indicated a strong “No” by violently shaking his head. He inserted his paw alongside hers and pulled hard. The door popped open and Lucky rolled out head first, plowing into Prince and knocking him back a few feet. She looked into his eyes sheepishly, apologetically and mirthfully and Prince was her mirror. He touched her paw and she knew to put it back on the lock, this time pulling downward forcefully to show that she understood how the system works. Prince again caught Lucky’s
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gaze and he motioned with his head, to get moving. Together, they showed the other six dogs the same trick and in fifteen minutes eight dogs were again playing wildly in the room that was formerly only host to their barred penitentiaries, only this time with the confidence that they could make this dream happen anytime they desired.
The pretty female collie seemed so lost in her play, Prince didn’t note any sign of her former unease. The formerly timid male boxer showed another side of himself by tenaciously mounting every obstacle the room held, as if he had climbed Mount Everest and the tiny female pug forgot about how big he was and ran behind him, trying, with his lead, to assert herself on her little world. Prince was very self-satisfied, as he considered this the crowning achievement of his young life. His eyes beamed at the frolicking group, which no longer looked to him for their right to happiness.
He sighed, wondering why no one had done this simple thing before he had come. Sensing that an aura of wistfulness was invading his happy frame of mind, he joined the group and ran with them all evening. When he saw the first sign of sun filtering through the closed blinds, he barked and went back into his cage. The others didn’t question the necessity of doing so this time for at least two good reasons. They were extremely tired and they were confident that after resting all
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day, they would be back on the prowl tomorrow night with a brand new supply of energy.
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