Genevieve and the Two Scotties by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 4

Genevieve woke for the second time that day and for the second time firmly decided that she was going. She firmly and rudely pressed the plastic thing’s half forbidden button twice, the first intended as a short and transitory nasty tease; the second intended as a turn off; precisely what the writers of the instruction manuals said that the zero and one repository didn’t want. If ever there was a subtle producer of suicidal thoughts in the machine that was it. But, for their mental well-being the monsters had two twelve step support groups at their disposal.

Computer Gaming Addicts Anonymous (CGAA) seemed to have a more serious and committed approach than On Line Gamers Anonymous (OLGA), but names can be misleading.

For the second time Genevieve had also decided that she would first look for a partner. Thanks to his kitten abundance Clement was no doubt occupied all the way up to his capacity now, so she focussed on which of Pacific Lane’s residents were without a current companion. Using that easy and sometimes visually deceptive standard, unconsciously attributing a higher value to the former, there was slick Willy, Maureen, and Pablo to choose from.

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Tuckered and happy Clement with the kittens; property of the author.

She decided to make a personal call on Maureen.

Maureen; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Maureen lived a few doors down from Genevieve; toward the side of Pacific Lane where it dead ended into the woods. She was obviously smart; often throwing extraordinary commentary into the conversation; in effect volunteering to be Poochville’s resident Wikipedia and analysis thereof. Most times she also

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chose to segue her delivery into an overly colloquial manner of speech as if she thought that her “brilliant” ideas would be more acceptable and understandable to the hoi polloi if tempered with a down-homey manner of presentation. Some regarded this as unnecessarily condescending. However, that wasn’t much more than a momentary, fleeting issue with anyone, as Maureen seemed nice and well intentioned; and as well sometimes completely and endearingly off the wall. It was generally thought that she also had a disproportionate affinity relative even to her Doors-Huxley-one-arguably-almost-one-shy-of-basic-cubism-triptych inclined poster for the solace of her over-prescribed Xanax.

The Poochville fall weather had taken its inevitable turn toward winter, temperatures dropping virtually overnight. While there was no congregation of ominous clouds, the sun seemed to have been filtered through some sort of haze all of the previous day. It was far from the January freeze, but it did hint at a need to bundle up. Though she didn’t expect to be exposed to the elements for more than a few minutes, Genevieve thought it best to don her pink, French, terry hooded sweater. She thought that it couldn’t hurt that it was cute too.

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Genevieve in her sweater; property of the author.

After a bit of a quick step Genevieve knocked on Maureen’s door.

Quickstep; property of the author.

Genevieve quickly heard a “Hey, hey, hey. Welcome,” half of it muted before the door was actually opened. After greetings were completed through the fully opened door, Maureen continued, saying; “It’s so good not to be invaded by cops, salesmen, and politicians. It just makes me puke when they seem to think that we don’t see right through them. ........ Goodness! Sorry to

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have put things in the negative. I’m glad to see you. Come on in.”

Genevieve was waved to one of the wooden chairs which helped colonize the periphery of Maureen’s circular dining room table. She sat while Maureen sort of flopped at the opposite end.

Genevieve’s thoughts now wavered between her seeking of a companion for a journey, Maureen’s indicated antagonism toward those who Genevieve now regarded as benefactors, a repeated vision of an inebriated albatross, and her compulsion to try to fix that; the latter always a mistake in its personalized assessment of other pooch free choices.

In the sedated halls of modern chemical “enhancement”

Genevieve half pretended to have a primary interest in speaking of the contradictory information, with which she had been cyber supplied about Billy and Jack. Factually, she then mentioned her desire to know more of them.

Maureen complacently nodded through the presentation and at a perceived lull in the auditory jangle said; “You seem to be suggesting some sort of willful deception. On the one hand the supporting evidence is not fully in place, and on the other, the so-called fact yet to be determined is irrelevant to the at present reached, satisfactory resolution of the temporary problem of the past. So, what’s your deal?”

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Genevieve appreciated Maureen’s directness; even if stewed.

Avoiding the complications between she answered in but one of the possibilities contained in the arrays which mathematically present a number of answers which solve the equation, saying;

“I’m curious. Are you not?”

Overlapping sets property of the author.

Maureen shrugged and replied; “I don’t know. It’s difficult to generalize or in this so recent case to even be specific. Frankly, I’ve been sort of blissed out over the outcome; and haven’t yet gotten into all the who’s, why’s and wherefore’s.”

Genevieve said; “Yes, perhaps I’ve allowed too short a time for the celebratory aspect. I’d just like to thank these guys for what they did.”

Maureen said; “What exactly was it that they did? Knock on doors at inconvenient times? It was you that solved it.”

Genevieve said; “The point to me was that they tried to help us for no discernable reason. It seems as though they

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didn’t have to. It wasn’t their job. So, I can’t help but wonder about what makes them tick.”

Maureen shrugged and her eyes blinked a signal of disinterest.

Genevieve said; “Perhaps it’s just my silly obsession; or some sort of excuse to do what I wanted to anyway. I’ve been thinking about taking a tour of Poochville for a while, and I was looking for a companion.”

Maureen said; “Like a hike. No access to sanitary facilities and all that?”

Genevieve said; “I guess you could characterize it as such.

But, it wouldn’t be like a trek across dangerous, uncharted territories. It would just be some day trips right here in Poochville. ......... Trees and paths. I mean the wildest thing here is the land down by the river, and we’ve all handled that already.”

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Typical early Fall Poochville scene; property of the author.

Maureen said; “Not quite all of us.”

Genevieve thought it best to change the subject; and said;

“Don’t I recall you once saying that you were a fan of Huxley?”

Maureen said; “Oh yes, and among others, including Lawrence. With all of the information available on the web, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the tangents.”

Cover of D.H. Lawrence’ “Women in Love;” modified public domain.

Genevieve said; “Not exactly out in nature.”

Maureen said; “Depends on what you mean.”

Genevieve said; “I only stopped here for some gasoline.”

Maureen said; “What?”

Genevieve said; “Pardon me. More silliness. I was reminded of some blues song. ........... Hey, I know I’m keeping you from

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something. Appreciate the time. Let me continue my search for a travelling partner.”

Genevieve nodded and let herself out the front door.

Maureen silently and without motion, other than that displayed by her seemingly surprised eyes, watched with the look one makes when the bus passes one by.

In fresh air again, Genevieve thought; “What a crummy first choice. Should have known better by this age. Sigh. Who next?

....... Of course, Pablo! ....... Hope he doesn’t have his snout buried in a book.”

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