Genevieve; the Third of January by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 14

“The Bambino,” the undisputed greatest soccer player of all time, tells his friend that the year he set the goal scoring record, there were actually at least ten more. He said that he thought it was a joint, emotional over-reaction on the part of the record keepers, as they always felt that he wasn’t paying enough attention to them. It had to have been intentional as it’s difficult to miss a goal if awake, and the subsequent ruckus would likely even wake up a snoozer. However, there was no way to prove his claim as there was no film in those days.

Only surviving photo of “The Bambino” in his heyday; property of the author.

“The Bambino” seemed matter-of-fact about what he was saying to some non-descript hominid with his back to Genevieve.

He wrinkled his face and shrugged, perhaps because despite the precise number, he was always going to be considered the

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greatest soccer player of all time; no predecessors and no descendants anywhere near him.

Genevieve is not a part of this conversation. She is observing it from a distance, but can hear it quite well. It’s not quite all that, but it is something of a monologue, only because “The Bambino” chooses to attempt to keep things moving through prattling whenever his conversationally challenged, temporary cohort falls silent.

For no readily apparent reason Genevieve is compelled to go to the Boggy Cleave River which some may know borders her loved Poochville to look for something related or maybe something unrelated to “The Bambino’s” records. She was hampered or helped in that endeavor by never even having previously seen a soccer game.

Genevieve is suddenly walking on the elevated levee path.

Her artificially created and raised view allows her to see as far as the eye permits, upriver, down, right, and left. Despite that, Genevieve sees nothing which has or overtly hasn’t to do with “The Bambino” and his claimed records.

To her left, abruptly and unexpectedly the Boggy Cleave River rises up like a Tsunami. Of much more significance to her, its well pronounced wave is heading in her direction. Genevieve is frightened as she’s sure that she will be swept away. But, the water goes past her as if it was inaccurately shot out of a

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North Korean short range ballistic missile cannon, with the predominant bulk of the water landing in a thirsty open field a few thousand feet beyond her. Her fears completely dissipate when there is no second one. She is thankful that the delivery system utilized was not one of those outmoded gravity bombs.

Genevieve is okay; just a bit wet from the spray created as the bulk of the wave flew over her head.

Tsunami; property of the author.

That scene quickly segued, frustratingly just when it became tolerable to her. Now, all of an impulsive, gossamer sudden, without the benefit of spiders mind you, Genevieve was in a big city, such as she had never seen. Her naiveté being the case, how she came to know that she was in a big city as opposed to having died and gone to heaven, hell, or both simultaneously is a matter of totally uninteresting conjecture beyond saying

“common sense.” Big buildings equals big city. Duh?

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Big city; the kind courtesy of Pexels,com under their CC0 license; minimally modified.

She was walking down a wide concrete sidewalk. She was surrounded by stores, skyscrapers, cars, and wall-to wall dogs as well as the hominids she had only previously suffered on the web. She was hungry and looking for a pizza place. Genevieve somehow knew that she would come across one any moment; worst case a few blocks ahead. ....... Angled from a bent, rusted metal, intermittently cavity infested stick near the curb was a yellow sign with a black border. To make curiosity type matters difficult, it contained the clarity of the fine print Genevieve was accustomed to not seeing when she received her annual credit card “change of terms.” She was encouraged by the street’s natural light; went to it and read; “The degree of difficulty in comprehension is directly proportionate with the degree to which

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one chooses not to pay attention. If the reader is a waking member of the annoying scientific strain, please re-read the mangled previous in the case of the expected, pedantic series of whys. IF STILL CONFUSED, GO PLAY IN TRAFFIC.”

Genevieve thought; “I guess this is intended for pedestrians rather than cars. ...... Well, that’s kind of harsh in the former. ......... But, I just have to give it credit for being helpful in getting to the point.” She was coerced to chuckle as she stepped away. For a moment, that unintended overt response made her worry if her appearance had become unusual to those sharing the sidewalk. She felt much better after she performed a speedy visual scan, and saw that no one was paying any attention.

Genevieve again began moving toward that inevitably close pizza place; her belly rumbling like a hollow August cloud in the Southwest. Senator Dog stopped her and said that he’d like her to accompany him to a banquet given by the President. He seemed nervous and probably most wanted some company. Genevieve thought that it was weird that she knew him because she doesn’t know him. Further insight was recalled from the yellow sign.

However, Genevieve did not feel threatened in any way and was hungry; not 100% sure of the pizza place to come. They walked a short distance into a very ritzy place. She was sure of that as its appearance did its fashionable best to seem otherwise; if

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not opposite; chicly de classe. Genevieve followed the Senator to the rear, where they took seats at one end of an otherwise unoccupied and tangibly stretched table surfaced with the sprightly grace of faux ash finished with a wispy polyurethane spray.

Senator; property of the author.

This Senator’s destination place was faux-high-brow-state-of-the-art twenty years prior, now the commodity of discount suppliers, yet still has its exaggerated and “stylish” adherents centered in Trump inspired builders. Not being very acoustically obliging it is officially labelled as post-modern, which is actually more of a description of time than style; perhaps conveniently. In this incarnation the posh and expensive banquet hall resembles something unfinished, cold, and hard; a big city construction project with the first level flooring in place and swept. More particularly, in this case the metallic bones have been left permanently exposed. The unadorned supporting beams may better be enhanced with cantilevers; the triangular

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connotation more precise and cost efficient. If not for the skylights on the western side it was a duplicate of an unpainted 1940’s bowling alley. Genevieve was not a bowler, but she also wasn’t sufficiently aesthetically offended to spew forth any sort of complaints and leave as she didn’t have to live there and she was sort of promised food.

Genevieve and the Senator were the first ones to arrive at that section. But, there were dogs in the others already; but they were of sufficient numerical insufficiency to cause a B

movie producer to consider a career change.

Banquet hall; the kind courtesy of Pexels,com under their CC0 license.

The President arrived next and sat at the other end of the table. Genevieve knew he was the President because he looked regal in his tuxedo smoking a pipe. The President said something gruff to the Senator; who answered sheepishly, mumbling something like; “Yes, yes. ..... Well, if they ........ .” The President cut him off saying a loud “Yes.” Genevieve was most

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hoping that others would get there so she could get some food.

Politics was never her thing.

President; property of the author.

Genevieve didn’t immediately get her wish. Instead of more dogs at her table, the banquet hall workers came out of someplace hidden and started to remove tables and chairs from the other areas. The dogs who once occupied them depart.

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