Wilbur by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

#24-An Unplanned Gathering Pre-Destined?

Life was good at the Monty-Maggie residence, very good.

That was until Maggie decided to do a minor re-modeling; centered upon the removal of the Cheeseball trophies. She said;

“I hear them mumbling all the time. It’s creepy.”

Monty had a different auditory experience and outlook. The trophies never mumbled at him, and when with psychiatric help, admirably not boosted by the usually required ingestion of psychotropic drugs, he got over his feelings of trophy rejection, professionally referred to as Trophy Rejection Syndrome (TRS). He proceeded to focus upon how much effort the Crocker brothers had put into acquiring them. Indeed, two had catastrophically lost their lives in an attempt to re-acquire the cutting edge status symbols. It seemed so “American.”

Maggie was patient, yet persistent with him. She gave him time, and no more than twice a day whispered; “It’s either those trophies or me. You have a week, buster.”

Monty was no fool. Had he been forced to choose between Maggie and the Cheeseball trophies, Maggie would have won hands down. But, since her ultimatum was always “a week” into the future, he was only being forced into making a decision within the non-constraints of “never” time. Hoping to hone his natural skills in this area, he took to reading Jonathan Franzen’s short

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story collection; “How to be Alone.” It assisted him in developing a series of techniques which allowed him to periodically spout agreeable rhetoric, and later negate that, without clearly lying or contradicting himself, as he had no real desire to get rid of the trophies. These procedures are nowhere near as easy to do as they sound, and as a consequence US federal level politicians pay tens of thousands to attend seminars on the subject, opening up more space in their freezers to store “Great Value Fish Sticks.”

Monty’s position became more negotiable when he considered that his use of Maggie’s possibly accidental rhetoric to avert giving Maggie her wishes was an unfair procedure to use with a loved one. It also did not impede his loving thoughts when he learned about the unprecedented, severe decline in the market value of the trophies. In return for complete capitulation on this topic, Monty got Maggie to agree to the planting of daffodils bordering the entirety of the lollipop shaped path which led to the front door. He had suspected that Maggie had silently wanted to do that anyway. In the throes, Monty had not been remiss in inferring further likely extensions from Maggie’s not being a screamer.

Monty didn’t want to just dump them, regardless of whether the receptacle was to be the trash or E-Bay. He felt that he

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owed the trophies at least that much. He also didn’t want to go through the trouble of selling them on line for a lousy hundred bucks apiece, so he offered them to his neighbors, Cable and Barb.

Cable and Barb were more than surprised at the “kind”

offer. They also were aware of the recent activity in the Cheeseball market, though they had been previously unaware that Monty had them and was a likely source of at least part of their good fortune. It was kind of funny, though they didn’t know how to tell the “joke,” regardless of view point. As they had an affinity for the trophies, they graciously agreed to accept them. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ................. “

The trophies again experienced a few worries when they were again put in a container. Now being well experienced travelers, they took another modicum of solace in their being properly surrounded with more of that bubbly, protective material. But, since they thought that they were already in a nice place, they experienced some trepidation over being compelled to change that.

“These trash bags are getting to be someone’s bad habit.”

“Actually, I’d rate the accommodations at four stars.” “’ A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.’ Three tops.” “These rude intrusions must end. Trophies have rights.” “I been rollin’

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and a tumblin’ the whole night long.” “Hang on Beatrice. This is going to be a bumpy ride.” “These group plans are certainly affordable, but they tend toward being overly generic.” “How did

‘Travel and Leisure’ rate it?” “The constant changes in time zone are wearing.” “You have to enjoy the journey.” “I would if Rodney would stop poking me.” “Come on over here and poke me, Rodney.”

Before they had exhausted their needs to express or joke, they were at their destination. Some were further encouraged and some were further discouraged by the short trip. “A quickie?

Damn.” “Thank the powers that be for premature ejaculation. You don’t have to shower.” “Linda Lovelace popularized a satisfactory alternative a long time ago. Forgot?” “Personally, I blame the Viagra.” “Better living through chemistry.” “That is so fifties.” “It’s back on HGTV.” “Open concept.” “No, that’s eighties. The cheap furniture. Soon blonde wood will be resurrected.” “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” “Feral, feral, feral.”

It is impossible to have sufficient time to hear all points of view. If you crave them, read more than 1,002 books, and see more than 200 movies. It is also absolutely impossible to satisfy everyone at the same time; and terminally foolish to try. This “Come Together” stuff happens as frequently as

“Titanic” and “Great Gatsby” re-makes coincide, and even if they do, it is most often interrupted and rendered saccharine by “The

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Prison Meditations of Father Delp. ” Now, is that enough of a triple bind fo’ yo’ ass?

Then the unwrapped and once again free trophies saw Wilbur and a newcomer who looked something like him. Wilbur was elated beyond comprehension, but coolly said; “Meet Wilma. You guys always take the roundabout route?”

“ .............. “

“Get over here you serious birds. It is so great to see you again.”

As Cable and Barb placed the trophies on the shelves at both sides of Wilbur and Wilma’s mantel, all with Reciprocal River views, tears of joy attempted to flood the living room.

They came close.

Un-noticed Thomas M. Hartfield, who was taking his daily constitutional in his new neighborhood could not help but notice the exchange of the “collectibles,” between and during the cursory waves. He had been slothfully remiss in his monitoring of Cheeseball trophy market values, and still thought that they were six figure items. His comfortably numbed intellect once again became as alert as it had been when he was under the bridge with Desmond and Caligari, this time in an arguably increased level of knowledge-ignorance, his mind once again brimming with “lucrative” ideas.

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Wilbur and Wilma; property of the author.

Some would rightly say too soon after the introductions and soppy re-introductions caused by the happiness to again meet with old friends is expressed, the trophies proceeded to get into their Trump-No Trump discussions; essentially a timeless liberal-conservative discussion-argument by way of incorrect

“legalistic” yadda yadda. Wilbur and Wilma looked at each other and shrugged confoundedly in their lack of understanding, but also happy to have the company of so many passionate advocates of something which they may one day positively determine.

Wilbur and his friends knew nothing of the Thomas M.

Hartfield’s of the world; never knew of meeting one and didn’t care to venture into the darkest sections of the unknown. The animated Cheeseball trophies liked their surroundings, and Wilbur was glad to see that. He might also have been glad to

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have this strange Wilma bird near. What he also knew nothing of was that ignorance is both toucan and cheeseball bliss.

Wilma whispered a question to Wilbur, saying; “What are the Cheeseball trophies all talking about with that Trump-No Trump stuff?”

Wilbur said; “I have no idea. I’m just glad that we’re all together again.”

Wilma said nothing, but her tiny frown showed dissatisfaction with Wilbur’s reply.”

Wilbur said; “I think that it has something to do with Bridge.”

Wilma almost scrunched up her beak when she said; “What’s Bridge?”

The two bird brains turned toward each other and started laughing.

And the Beat Goes On More or Less

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