December 11

December 11

         Pete and Brittany sat on the bench by the sports field.  School buses drove by, spewing fumes.  Students walked by on their way to school.  Nobody paid any attention to Pete and Brittany.

         “So do you think he wrote anything today?”  Brittany asked.

         “How should I know if you don’t open it?”

         “I mean if his cat died, maybe he’s still upset.”

         “He was writing in 2004, how could he still be upset?”

         “But we’re getting it now.  I think we’re getting it right as he’s -- ”

         “Just open the stupid notebook.”  Pete couldn’t believe how slow she was being.   He had a Geometry test first period, and he still didn’t understand how to calculate angles in polygons as well as he probably should.  It was always the same with him and math.  He could solve the equations, but he was never sure exactly which equations to use, or why.  And George wouldn’t have been able to help even if he had been fully functioning.  He would just say he didn’t know why they needed to know about angles anyway, which may be true, but it wasn’t helpful. 

He realized that Brittany was looking at him.  His fists were clenched.  He laughed a little, and unclenched them.  She opened the notebook, and read aloud.

December 11, 2004

"Did you ever see such a sight in your life?" asked Martin.

"Three.  Blind.  Mice."  Akelmeyer spoke with recognition, amusement, and mild disbelief.

Suddenly the three mice stood stock still and straight up, with their whiskers waving and their noses quivering in the air.

“No offense,” said Akelmeyer, noting the reaction.  The mice, however, were heedless.

They spoke all at once again.  “Eeek”

“Yip, he, comes, he comes.”

“Dread, Oh, dread.”

“Woe, comes the Raven.”

“The Raven.  Eeek!”

“The Raven!”

Suddenly there appeared, as the mice had forewarned, a Raven.  The mice collectively swooned, whether from fear, or from the foul odor, which emanated from the bird is uncertain.

Said the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Say, I have heard that,” said Martin.  “It is a poem.  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered -- ”

An ear-numbing screech from the Raven silenced Martin’s recitation. 

“Nevermore shall be that winter feast named Christmas. 

So shall your efforts needs be ever fruitless.” 

In contrast to the screech, the bird spoke with the cadence, clarity, and vague British accent of a Shakespearian actor. 

“Return, return from whence you came, O band

Of misplaced misfits foreign to this land.” 

Here the Raven punctuated his soliloquy with another painful screech. 

“My water trough has its dark magic worked. 

Powers of flight in mortal beasts reversed. 

Thus shall the Christmas mission fail. 

My darkness, woe, and sorrow will prevail.”

As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

“What was his problem?” asked Martin.

“Matter sure is unstable here, said Malchisedech.

“Oh, dear,” said Chloe.

“Geez, what is that stink?” asked Fawn, who had just landed, and had missed the Raven entirely.

“Fawn, dear, that’s not polite talk,” said Chloe.

Fred said triumphantly, “Confirmed.  An enchantment.  Dark magic.  An evil bird.  Why?  What does he have against Christmas?  Perhaps he is just evil.  Fawn can fly.”  Fred was thinking out loud.  “But the reindeer can’t.  Perhaps the water reversed their natural abilities, somehow.”

“Yes.  I drank some of that trough water, about an hour before I stopped being able to fly,” said Blitzen, who had been watching and listening intently.

“Oh, I’ve drunk trough water a million times, and nothing bad happened,” scoffed Dasher.

Fred, usually very cautious and never impulsive, lapped from the trough for several seconds.

“Are you nuts, Fred?” asked Malchisedech.

“Testing a theory,” said Fred.  He then jogged determinedly, clearly with upward intend.  The sight was comical, but no one laughed.  “Hmm.”  He tried a second time, and then a third. 

Finally, Akelmeyer chuckled in spite of himself.

“I think it does not work on dachshunds,” said Martin.

“Dachshunds, where is dachshunds?”

“Ouch, what was that?  Eeek!”

“Oh, boy, that smells!”

“The Raven!  EEEEK!”

“I think he’s gone.  Is he gone?  Fawn?”

“Yip.  Hey, watch out!”

The mice had regained consciousness.

TO BE CONTINUED…

         Brittany laughed.

         Pete asked her what was so funny.

         “You have to draw Fred the wiener dog trying to fly.  I can just see it.”  She got up, and ran around on the field with her nose in the air, as if she thought she might take off any minute.  Thank God she didn’t get down on all fours to really look like wiener dog.

         “Stop it!”  Pete snapped.  “People are looking at you.”

         She stopped and looked around.  Nobody was looking at her.   At least not more than people normally look at anybody else this early in the morning.  They were all going about their business, getting to school, finishing last minute homework, talking to friends, texting, playing hand held gaming devices, whatever.

         “You know, people really don’t think about much except themselves, especially at this time of day,” she informed him stiffly.  Nevertheless, she stopped running around, and Pete was glad.  “Well, now that you’ve ruined the moment,” she continued, “I think I’ll just go on to school.”

*   *   *

         “Anybody home?”  Pete called out as he opened the door to his flat.  George had actually walked down the hill with him after last period PE.  He hadn’t talked, or particularly acknowledged Pete’s existence, but it seemed like a step in the right direction.

         His mom was sitting at the computer.   “Uncle Duane is home from the hospital.”

         “That’s nice,” Pete called from the kitchen where he was pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk.  Gotta get those anti-oxidants, right?  “Is he all better now?”

         “Well, more or less.  He was breathing just fine at the hospital, but now he says there’s a terrible stench at his house that makes it difficult to breathe again.”

         “A terrible stench?  Has he looked around for mythical evil ravens?”

         “Mythical evil ravens?  Is that from one of those on-line games?”

         “Something like that.  But really, what would smell so bad?”

         “I used to worry about him living alone, and being able to take care of himself.  The last time I was there the smell of rotting food in the kitchen was pretty overwhelming, but he says this Cindi woman is living there, and helping him out now.  He says she cleaned the whole house while he was in the hospital.”

         “So she’s like a roommate?  A health care specialist?  What is she?”

         “That’s not entirely clear, but he says he’s in love with her.”

         Pete grinned and raised his chocolate milk in a toast.  “Way to go, Uncle Duane!  He’s got a girlfriend!”

         “I don’t know about this one, Pete.”  His mom had returned to the keyboard, and was busily typing out questions for her uncle.  Pete smiled.  It was cute that she was protective of him, but he was really old; he couldn’t have all that much time left.  He might as well enjoy himself.  After all, he had never been married, or had a family of his own.  Uncle Duane was a good guy.  He deserved a girlfriend.

         Pete drifted back to the kitchen to rinse out his empty glass.  He looked out the window.  Brittany was sitting on the bench, holding a soccer ball.  The notebook was beside her.  He had reading to do for science, and a French test to study for, but he really didn’t want to start just yet.  Besides, she had seemed upset this morning when he hadn’t wanted her to run around looking like an idiot with her nose up in the air.  He had mostly been stressed out about the math test, which had probably gone fine.  But maybe he would have blown it if he hadn’t stressed about it.  Maybe the stress had kept his mind sharp.

         He quickly grabbed some colored pencils, and drew a wiener dog hopping on its hind legs; nose up in the air, as if he wanted to fly.  A deer stood by, looking on in a way that Pete hoped would be perceived as enviously (the eyes were really wide, and the mouth tilted slightly downward) while a smaller deer, without antlers, but wearing red boots, hovered overhead.  He penciled in a water trough in the foreground, and ran outside to show Brittany his peace offering.

         She smiled, and tucked it into the notebook.

         “It’s funny, isn’t it?  The deer all doing what goes against their natures.”

         “I guess,” Pete answered.  “I mean, it’s just part of the story.”

         “Think about it; the reindeer are supposed to fly but they can’t, and the regular deer aren’t supposed to fly, but they do, and then Fred the wiener dog is so well grounded that he can’t go against his nature even if he tries.”

         “Yeah, I guess.”  Pete took the soccer ball and started absently tossing it in the air.

         “I mean, he’s like an adventurer, and a detective, and a scientist, so he has to stay open to mystery, and he seems to have a great time, but he can’t really be part of their nonsense, even if he tries.”

         “Yeah, I guess.”

         “You’re not used to thinking about things like this, are you?”  Brittany asked.

         “Well, you know, there’s so much home work, and all those aliens to battle on the computer, and then our parents are always invoking the “forced family fun” clause.  I guess there’s not much time left for deep thinking.  Pete had tried to say it flippantly, but Brittany was looking at him hard.  Maybe he was feeling a little resentment about his two failed attempts at Internet exploration.  Maybe that resentment was creeping into his voice.

         “I guess things get a lot busier in high school,” she said.

         “Yeah, I guess.”

         She grabbed the ball, and dribbled it out onto the soccer field.  He followed her.  They shot goals off one another until they were called in for dinner.

         Neither one of them mentioned the raven.

*   *   *

“Love, love,” we used to sing, a million years ago.

“Love, love,” we sang, before you told me to shut up, because you couldn’t stand my voice. 

A million years ago, we sang of love, sitting on the rocks above the ocean, fashioning our pretty castles in the air.  Oh, how we agreed, a million years ago, back in the once upon a time.  The naïve expectations of our courtship appall me now.

And then I turned my thoughts toward a child.  When I had a child, I thought, I would have someone to dance with.  

But no.  The boy is his father’s son to the core.  No games of savage Indians.  No tea parties for the stuffed animals, and no dancing.  Never any dancing.  Not since he was small enough to dance while I held him cradled in my arms.

And so my dreams died – one dream at a time, leaving me dreamless – inconsolable.