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22 December 2023
"Oh, look who's here!" Bob called as he saw me approach. He didn't have the slightest idea who I was.
"Hey, Bob!" I called.
"Hey!" he said, waving his cup through the air.
We stood smiling at one another for a while, nodding as though recalling nostalgic scenes of Christmas parties and picnics at lakes and slow-motion laughter at in-jokes.
"Well, how's it going?" he asked after taking a sip of his drink. "How's-- everything?"
"Good."
"Great."
We entered the second stage of nodding and smiling. I enjoyed the fact that he felt like an idiot because, quite frankly, that's what he was and it's good that people occasionally feel like what they are.
"And-- how are things with you, Bob? How's the business? How's the wife? How's the septic tank?"
His eyes twitched in confusion at the mention of a septic tank, but he was great at being friendly Bob from across the street. His social prowess was disgusting and admirable at the same time.
"I can't complain," he said. "The business has been doing great. Things are going pretty well. Hey, Nancy!" he called as his wife passed by. "Look who's here, honey."
Nancy's eyes widened and she gave me a hug accompanied with a strange squeal, which I guess was supposed to manifest some kind of enthusiasm.
"Janet!" she cried. "I'm so glad you came. Oh, and look at you! How pretty."
Bob: "Are those little ducks?"
"What? Oh, yes they are."
He smiled. "I love ducks."
"Oh, me too," his wife said.
They both stared at me with expectant smiles.
"Yeah," I said, "ducks are great."
They nodded. I felt it my duty to expand on the duck theory.
"They've got something you can't quite put your finger on."
"Exactly!" Nancy said.
Bob coughed and said he better go check on something and Nancy lead me through the crowd and deposited me in the middle of a crowd of laughing "Swim for Diabetes" members. At least, that's what it said on their t-shirts.
"This is Janet from across the street. She's Robert's sister," Nancy said.
There was an all around "ah”.
"Actually," I said, "It's Janice."
"Janis Joplin?"
"Well--"
Before I could do anything about it, they broke out into a chorus of "Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz,.."
I have to say, it's a strange feeling, standing in a duck dress on your neighbor’s lawn, stuck in the middle of a crowd howling "Mercedes Benz" while holding plastic cups with red stuff in them. It felt like I was in a movie and some catastrophe was going to happen. Some bomb was going to explode. Some terrorist was going to run through the yard in a bandana and take Nancy hostage. Or a scene would break out between a couple and they'd turn the Sunday into a scandal.
"So, Janis, what do you do?" a fat, little woman asked, smugly examining my dress.
"Yes, they're ducks," I said, answering her true question. "I climb mountains."
I had to say it. This afternoon was either going to kill me or I was going to kill it; and since I walked around everywhere with a spear anyway, I thought I might as well use it.
"A mountain climber? How fascinating."
Yes, it was. Even for me. There was a silence. It didn't look like mountain climbing was going to get us very far.
"What's that like-- climbing mountains?"
I began to wonder how one could elaborate on something as simple as climbing up a mountain and then down again. "Well, basically you just climb-- upwards-- until you come to the peak, or the summit, as we like to call it. And then it's pretty much downhill from there."
The diabetes swim team nodded in unison.
"Of course, it's not as easy as it sounds. There are certain factors that make the whole process more complicated. Like badgers, for example. They'll hide in the snow and attack you, when you least expect it."
Silence.
"Really? I wasn't aware that badgers lived in the mountains-- or that they were so aggressive," some smart-ass who thought he was a wildlife expert said.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Well, it's a good thing you don't climb mountains, my friend."
He laughed and then I joined in and drowned him out, because I knew how much he hated me at that moment. When we calmed down, the fat lady broke new ground.
"Well," she said, "Judy's from Canada. Are there any good mountains there?"
"I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't think much about Canada. Sometimes I totally forget that it exists."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I always found Canada to be one of those places that when someone mentions it, you just go blank."
"I don't go blank," Judy said.
"Yeah, because you're from there. But everyone else does. Trust me on that. Canada is just-- what is Canada, you know? It's not a country, it's not a state-- it's a vast-- nothing. If you weren’t reminded every now and then of its existence by some syrup bottle, you'd totally forget about it."
Everyone fell very silent. The fat lady, who seemed to be the captain of the conversation, began talking about root canals. It was discovered with much excitement that each of them had had root canals, and then the conversation took off full-blast in that direction. It's amazing how people cling to the trivial. Mention anything dull enough and they'll have so much to say about it. I crept away and looked for those damn red drinks that everyone was carrying around.
I could tell there was a sigh of relief when I broke out of the group, and of course they'd start talking about the mountain climbing, Canada-hater in the duck dress as soon as I was a foot away. But that's all right by me, because everything they now had to say I laid in their mouths, onto their soft tongues, all ready-made. I should have kept my mouth shut. When it became absolutely necessary to say something, I should have asked "who that one actor in that one movie is" or complained about gas prices going up. My mission there was not to have a ball, but to make a good name for my brother. Or rather-- to keep his good name.
When I had gotten hold of my own little drink and looked around the yard, trying to decide how to mingle, my eyes fell back on the diabetes swim team. Somehow I already felt at home with them, and it seemed senseless to go and barge into a foreign circle and start at the beginning. They'd ask me what I do again, and I'd have to say I'm a mountain climber again, and then they'd say "wow" again and ask me what that's like, and so on. I wasn't in the mood for a rerun of my own life. If I rejoined my own little group, we could take up where we ended off.
I approached them cheerfully and could see a few apprehensive glances dart my way. It seems they were talking about some new kind of cotton? Whatever. It was boring. I tried for a while to get into it, but it didn't do much for me at all. When I had finished half my drink I made an entrance.
"Isn't it funny how sheep are only really interested in the grass they're eating?" I asked.
They all turned and looked at me. They had an expression on their faces that parents have when they've finally worked themselves into the right mood to have sex and their kid knocks on the door. Although, some of them looked at me more as though I had just diagnosed them with cancer.
"Hmm," the wildlife guy said after a painful silence, "I never really thought about that before."
"Well, you should when you next have a quiet moment to yourself, because it's darn interesting. Sheep, you see, couldn't care less about what you're doing when they're eating. You could be doing a whole lot of weird stuff in front of their noses, and they'd never once look up. That's the main difference between a sheep and a human."
There was a weak attempt by someone to laugh. It sounded more like a death belch. And then there was silence. I had driven them into a strange corner. They weren't sure if it would be rude to abandon the newly introduced sheep conversation, and so were hesitant to take up their cotton conversation again. I thought it was great, the way everyone stood around, their muscles pulled into tight smiles, looking at various irrelevant details of their clothing, waiting for someone to sacrifice his manners in order to get the show back on the road. Yes, I thoroughly enjoy the embarrassment of others. I enjoy it with a hearty appetite.
When it was time for me to get another drink, I excused myself for that reason and ran off to refill. A guy named Bart was telling a story about the hygienic standards of Swiss hotels. It was sort of fascinating-- it's amazing how some things will blow your mind. I didn't expect it, but let 'em talk a while and one of them will actually hit on something worthwhile. I filled up two cups so I wouldn't have to run back in a few minutes, and made my way back. Only, when I turned around with my two drinks, they had disappeared.
The sneaky horde had stampeded to safety.
When I finally caught sight of them again it was as though I had found my long lost family. I don't know what those drinks were, but one thing is for sure-- hidden amongst that pretty color and cute taste was a whole lot of hard alcohol. I hugged them all and then asked them something that truly seemed like the greatest thing to know at the time:
"What I wanna know is-- what the hell is swimming going to do for diabetes? I mean, what's that got to do with anything? People are always doing stuff like that: running for AIDS; dancing for education; hopping on one foot for Africa. I never understood that. Maybe you guys could help me understand. And who knows, maybe I'll join your team."
Well, Christ-- how uptight some people get. So I had one red, little drink too many-- Lord have mercy on my soul!
The next morning, I got out a piece of paper and a pen and began a letter to my brother: "Dear Robert, I made an ass of myself (and of you-- and of the duck dress) at Nancy and Bob's lawn-thing (example: I asked Bob about 25 times how his septic tank was doing). Sorry, but I guess it's not a good idea to plant me into a decent neighborhood. So, in the end, it's all your own fault. Anyway, I thought I'd just let you know, so that you know why your clients are looking at you kind of weird when they come in next for a check-up. Guess I won't see you around for a while. Love, Janice."
I put the note in an envelope and laid it out on the kitchen table. Then I looked over it and wondered if they would even notice it. It was a pretty small envelope, after all. So I got out a big sheet of paper and drew an arrow on it, with a black marker. I put the paper next to the envelope, so that the arrow pointed at it-- and then I left town.
"Hey, Bob!" I called.
"Hey!" he said, waving his cup through the air.
We stood smiling at one another for a while, nodding as though recalling nostalgic scenes of Christmas parties and picnics at lakes and slow-motion laughter at in-jokes.
"Well, how's it going?" he asked after taking a sip of his drink. "How's-- everything?"
"Good."
"Great."
We entered the second stage of nodding and smiling. I enjoyed the fact that he felt like an idiot because, quite frankly, that's what he was and it's good that people occasionally feel like what they are.
"And-- how are things with you, Bob? How's the business? How's the wife? How's the septic tank?"
His eyes twitched in confusion at the mention of a septic tank, but he was great at being friendly Bob from across the street. His social prowess was disgusting and admirable at the same time.
"I can't complain," he said. "The business has been doing great. Things are going pretty well. Hey, Nancy!" he called as his wife passed by. "Look who's here, honey."
Nancy's eyes widened and she gave me a hug accompanied with a strange squeal, which I guess was supposed to manifest some kind of enthusiasm.
"Janet!" she cried. "I'm so glad you came. Oh, and look at you! How pretty."
Bob: "Are those little ducks?"
"What? Oh, yes they are."
He smiled. "I love ducks."
"Oh, me too," his wife said.
They both stared at me with expectant smiles.
"Yeah," I said, "ducks are great."
They nodded. I felt it my duty to expand on the duck theory.
"They've got something you can't quite put your finger on."
"Exactly!" Nancy said.
Bob coughed and said he better go check on something and Nancy lead me through the crowd and deposited me in the middle of a crowd of laughing "Swim for Diabetes" members. At least, that's what it said on their t-shirts.
"This is Janet from across the street. She's Robert's sister," Nancy said.
There was an all around "ah”.
"Actually," I said, "It's Janice."
"Janis Joplin?"
"Well--"
Before I could do anything about it, they broke out into a chorus of "Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz,.."
I have to say, it's a strange feeling, standing in a duck dress on your neighbor’s lawn, stuck in the middle of a crowd howling "Mercedes Benz" while holding plastic cups with red stuff in them. It felt like I was in a movie and some catastrophe was going to happen. Some bomb was going to explode. Some terrorist was going to run through the yard in a bandana and take Nancy hostage. Or a scene would break out between a couple and they'd turn the Sunday into a scandal.
"So, Janis, what do you do?" a fat, little woman asked, smugly examining my dress.
"Yes, they're ducks," I said, answering her true question. "I climb mountains."
I had to say it. This afternoon was either going to kill me or I was going to kill it; and since I walked around everywhere with a spear anyway, I thought I might as well use it.
"A mountain climber? How fascinating."
Yes, it was. Even for me. There was a silence. It didn't look like mountain climbing was going to get us very far.
"What's that like-- climbing mountains?"
I began to wonder how one could elaborate on something as simple as climbing up a mountain and then down again. "Well, basically you just climb-- upwards-- until you come to the peak, or the summit, as we like to call it. And then it's pretty much downhill from there."
The diabetes swim team nodded in unison.
"Of course, it's not as easy as it sounds. There are certain factors that make the whole process more complicated. Like badgers, for example. They'll hide in the snow and attack you, when you least expect it."
Silence.
"Really? I wasn't aware that badgers lived in the mountains-- or that they were so aggressive," some smart-ass who thought he was a wildlife expert said.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Well, it's a good thing you don't climb mountains, my friend."
He laughed and then I joined in and drowned him out, because I knew how much he hated me at that moment. When we calmed down, the fat lady broke new ground.
"Well," she said, "Judy's from Canada. Are there any good mountains there?"
"I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't think much about Canada. Sometimes I totally forget that it exists."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I always found Canada to be one of those places that when someone mentions it, you just go blank."
"I don't go blank," Judy said.
"Yeah, because you're from there. But everyone else does. Trust me on that. Canada is just-- what is Canada, you know? It's not a country, it's not a state-- it's a vast-- nothing. If you weren’t reminded every now and then of its existence by some syrup bottle, you'd totally forget about it."
Everyone fell very silent. The fat lady, who seemed to be the captain of the conversation, began talking about root canals. It was discovered with much excitement that each of them had had root canals, and then the conversation took off full-blast in that direction. It's amazing how people cling to the trivial. Mention anything dull enough and they'll have so much to say about it. I crept away and looked for those damn red drinks that everyone was carrying around.
I could tell there was a sigh of relief when I broke out of the group, and of course they'd start talking about the mountain climbing, Canada-hater in the duck dress as soon as I was a foot away. But that's all right by me, because everything they now had to say I laid in their mouths, onto their soft tongues, all ready-made. I should have kept my mouth shut. When it became absolutely necessary to say something, I should have asked "who that one actor in that one movie is" or complained about gas prices going up. My mission there was not to have a ball, but to make a good name for my brother. Or rather-- to keep his good name.
When I had gotten hold of my own little drink and looked around the yard, trying to decide how to mingle, my eyes fell back on the diabetes swim team. Somehow I already felt at home with them, and it seemed senseless to go and barge into a foreign circle and start at the beginning. They'd ask me what I do again, and I'd have to say I'm a mountain climber again, and then they'd say "wow" again and ask me what that's like, and so on. I wasn't in the mood for a rerun of my own life. If I rejoined my own little group, we could take up where we ended off.
I approached them cheerfully and could see a few apprehensive glances dart my way. It seems they were talking about some new kind of cotton? Whatever. It was boring. I tried for a while to get into it, but it didn't do much for me at all. When I had finished half my drink I made an entrance.
"Isn't it funny how sheep are only really interested in the grass they're eating?" I asked.
They all turned and looked at me. They had an expression on their faces that parents have when they've finally worked themselves into the right mood to have sex and their kid knocks on the door. Although, some of them looked at me more as though I had just diagnosed them with cancer.
"Hmm," the wildlife guy said after a painful silence, "I never really thought about that before."
"Well, you should when you next have a quiet moment to yourself, because it's darn interesting. Sheep, you see, couldn't care less about what you're doing when they're eating. You could be doing a whole lot of weird stuff in front of their noses, and they'd never once look up. That's the main difference between a sheep and a human."
There was a weak attempt by someone to laugh. It sounded more like a death belch. And then there was silence. I had driven them into a strange corner. They weren't sure if it would be rude to abandon the newly introduced sheep conversation, and so were hesitant to take up their cotton conversation again. I thought it was great, the way everyone stood around, their muscles pulled into tight smiles, looking at various irrelevant details of their clothing, waiting for someone to sacrifice his manners in order to get the show back on the road. Yes, I thoroughly enjoy the embarrassment of others. I enjoy it with a hearty appetite.
When it was time for me to get another drink, I excused myself for that reason and ran off to refill. A guy named Bart was telling a story about the hygienic standards of Swiss hotels. It was sort of fascinating-- it's amazing how some things will blow your mind. I didn't expect it, but let 'em talk a while and one of them will actually hit on something worthwhile. I filled up two cups so I wouldn't have to run back in a few minutes, and made my way back. Only, when I turned around with my two drinks, they had disappeared.
The sneaky horde had stampeded to safety.
When I finally caught sight of them again it was as though I had found my long lost family. I don't know what those drinks were, but one thing is for sure-- hidden amongst that pretty color and cute taste was a whole lot of hard alcohol. I hugged them all and then asked them something that truly seemed like the greatest thing to know at the time:
"What I wanna know is-- what the hell is swimming going to do for diabetes? I mean, what's that got to do with anything? People are always doing stuff like that: running for AIDS; dancing for education; hopping on one foot for Africa. I never understood that. Maybe you guys could help me understand. And who knows, maybe I'll join your team."
Well, Christ-- how uptight some people get. So I had one red, little drink too many-- Lord have mercy on my soul!
The next morning, I got out a piece of paper and a pen and began a letter to my brother: "Dear Robert, I made an ass of myself (and of you-- and of the duck dress) at Nancy and Bob's lawn-thing (example: I asked Bob about 25 times how his septic tank was doing). Sorry, but I guess it's not a good idea to plant me into a decent neighborhood. So, in the end, it's all your own fault. Anyway, I thought I'd just let you know, so that you know why your clients are looking at you kind of weird when they come in next for a check-up. Guess I won't see you around for a while. Love, Janice."
I put the note in an envelope and laid it out on the kitchen table. Then I looked over it and wondered if they would even notice it. It was a pretty small envelope, after all. So I got out a big sheet of paper and drew an arrow on it, with a black marker. I put the paper next to the envelope, so that the arrow pointed at it-- and then I left town.
artid
103
Old Image
4_5_duck.swf
issue
vol 4 - issue 05 (jan 2002)
section
pen_think