Two stories about an unusual way of seeing.
Ceahorse’s
Skins
Today is Tuesday. Nothing interesting ever happens on Tuesday, and today will end like any other. Tomorrow is going to be the mid week bipolar day. This Saturday, however, is going to be quiet intriguing. It is going to be the day I find out just how strange and carefree Kevan, my best friend, is.
On Saturday, I will wake up late, as usual for a weekend. I’ll get dressed; grab a breakfast of undercooked toast slabbed with peanut butter. The sticky knife will sit in the sink, and the crumbs will be left on the counter – no plate necessary. My shirt will hold a slight stink of a few days of usage, but not enough that it stands out like the obvious balled-up wrinkles.
When I get to his house, he will still be asleep. I’ll knock on his basement window as I pass by to the back door. He will meet me there, open then door with a lethargic hello, followed by a rub of the eyes. I will follow him down stairs into his gloomy bedroom. We will sit down on his folded up futon, the one that’s too troublesome to be unfolded to make a bed.
Then we will smoke. I’ll grab the bag off the tea table, without asking. I’ll reach in and take out a nice size bud for a satisfying early afternoon wake up tok.
After I finish cutting it up into tiny pieces, I’ll search and not find a packet of rolling papers. I’ll ask him, sincerely worried, but knowing there is always a bong as a substitute.
This is when I’ll get a taste of his insensitivity to what is common. His strange ignorance to what most would take for granted in knowing. He is going to point to a book on the edge of the table. I’ll look down at it leather cover and it’s single word title and grin and utter a giggle. He is going to raise his eye brow and tell me he is serious. I’ll open the cover and notice that a few pages will be already missing. When I see this, I am going to turn to him and ask him if he is worried about the consequences of using the pages of this particular book. He will respond with an unexpected answer along the line of the pages being ideal based on the thinness, and as for the ink, how bad can it be? This will cause pause in me. I’ll then ask him if he knows what book this in fact is after I end my assumption that he should. He will tell me that he found it in a box of paint cans, a used up sponge and a coil of RCA cable. We will then add that he tried to read it and that found it to be a messily written work. The main character not properly developed in the beginning but referred to a lot through out. He will tell me that he is not really interested in reading short stories, especially ones written in the strange form of English that he finds this one to be. I’ll pause before he reminds me that he doesn’t have any Zig Zags, and then I’ll tear a page of Genesis.
Lion’s
I Can See Orion
“I can see Orion”
“Where… I can’t find it.”
“See those three stars in a row just by the wispy cloud that looks like a guitar… and then the two above and below them.”
“No.”
“Right there!”
“Oh, there.”
“Yeah, there. That’s the belt.”
“What’s the belt?”
“The three, the three in a row, that’s the belt; and then the shoulders and knees of the Hunter are above and below it. And those three hanging from the belt, that is his sword.”
“More like a dong.”
“Is he tucking it up?”
“What?”
“Sure. What is Orion anyway? I mean how long have people been seeing that one figure in the stars?”
“Well, I know from Grecian times but I’ve got no idea of how long he’s been floating around. Why’s that?”
“I was just thinking they could use an update. I mean when is the last time you’ve seen a person hunt with a sword? Or a Medusa? Or a scale without a digital read out?”
“Well, what would you change it to? A man with a tuck up hunting beaver?”
“No, Look here: That Orion could be a rock star, extend the legs and turn the shield to the neck of an 60’s Fender Strat and have those stars above his right shoulder turn into an arm waiting for the right time to strike the cord.”
“Where?”
“See? There.”
“Awe, I see.”
“Cool right, a good up date?”
“That’s a good one but what would the rest of them be, stockbrokers, actors, directors, corrupt senators, and stacks of dollar bills?”