Dear diary,
Let’s make this morning’s entry very simple. Let’s just recount all the things that you did tomorrow, because you had a really nice day.
You wake up, you walk outside. The grass is green. There are flat lawns and small houses in your neighborhood.
You begin to walk down the street. You look to your left and see your neighbor, mowing his square green yard.
“Hello Abe!” you wave your hand high in the air.
Neighbor Abe smiles and waves. He shuts off his lawnmower and approaches you.
“Hi Bry!” he sez. He gives you a hug. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” you answer.
“Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?”
“Sure!” you say.
He takes your hand and leads you into his house. You enter by way of the garage. (It’s a very clean garage.) You follow him down the hallway and into the washroom. He stops and points.
“There it is,” he says with a smile.
A large orb sits in the bathtub. It is glowing. It looks like a miniature sun. You approach for a closer look. You try to touch its surface, but, the closer you reach, the more your hand gets pressured back: it’s like there’s an invisible current emanating from the orb, which is fighting against you. You find that you’re unable to contact it with your hand. You laugh and give up. The feeling of resistance reminds you of those oblong magnets that you used to enjoy playing with as a child — they each had a north pole and a south pole, and when you held them with the same pole facing each other (north to north, or south to south), they were impossible to press together. This orb in your neighbor Abe’s bathtub possesses a similarly rejective virtue.
“I found it in the woods,” Abe sez. “Last night, just after nine o’clock. Me and the wife like to go to bed early, so we were just getting under the covers after watching our stories, as we do every night (that’s how I know what time it was, cuz the last program runs from eight to nine); then there was this flash that lit up the whole entire bedroom. No noise, just the flash. I pulled the curtains aside and could see that there was something glowing in the woods, out back. ‘Be careful, Abe,’ sez Martha. ‘Will do, Marth,” sez I. So I put my tan leather jacket over the top of my pajamas, and grabbed the shotgun, and laced up my steel-toe boots, and kicked open the screen door.
“But, Abe! how did you even manage to lift the thing!?” you ask. “I couldn’t get near it, when I reached my hand toward it just now.”
“I spent a great while trying to puzzle that out,” Abe sez. “Then I had an idea...”
So after Abe explains in detail how he got the orb into his bathtub, you move to the living room, and he sets up a couple of tray tables with doilies, and he serves you tea & biscuits. Then you shake hands firmly, tip your hat and take your leave.
You look back and wave to Abe as you reach the end of his driveway. He returns your wave, starts his lawnmower back up, and proceeds to mow his lawn.
You continue to walk down the street in the same direction that you were traveling before. Upon reaching the intersection, you approach the traffic pole, find the button labeled “Pedestrian Cross” and press it. You now wait for what seems an eternity, but the light does not change: the traffic keeps zooming in both directions, while you stand stranded on your side of the street.
A vehicle now slows and pulls over to the shoulder of the road. It is a minivan. The windows are tinted, so it is impossible for you to see inside. The passenger window rolls down and reveals, in the seat on the far side, the driver: a woman wearing sunglasses, leaning over towards you — she shouts:
“Need a lift?”
You answer: “It depends on which way are you going.”
“I’m taking these kids to school,” she says, gesturing to the back of the van. You peek your head inside and look to see that the van is crowded with young children.
“I think I’ll just walk, thanks,” you say; “I’m only strolling about for pleasure, with no particular place to go.”
“Ah, come on,” sez the driver: “hop in. Keep me company. I need some adult conversation; these kids are driving me nuts — they’re like animals; I feel like a zookeeper.”
You ponder this for a moment. “OK, I’ll come; as long as I can sit up front, in the passenger seat.”
“Of course!” she sez. “What, do you think I’m a sadist? I wouldn’t make you sit in the back with all those chimps!”
So you pull on the door latch.
“Name’s Mary.”
“Hi Mary, I’m Bryan,” you say while shaking hands. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she sez.
The van merges back into the traffic.
“I work at the school,” Mary explains; “in the cafeteria. I love my job — every day, making tons of food for tons of people. I just love it; I’ve always loved food. I don’t really eat very much myself, but I love to play with the ingredients; all those textures and colors, the feel of dough in your hands, the look of liquid as it cascades into a bowl, and the strange changes that you can see as you mix together various substances. And it’s nice to know that the result will nurture multitudes; otherwise my appetite for experimenting in the kitchen would far outweigh my need to consume the results. And I don’t mind the kids, despite my earlier wisecracks; I just get tired of their jibber-jabber. I don’t need to provide this taxi service, but I live in a kinda poor area of the town, and I’m the only one with a dependable vehicle that’s this large; so I basically volunteer to be an extra bus for my immediate neighbors. Once I get to the school, the kids go off to their classrooms, and I head downstairs. That’s always a fine feeling: entering the silent expanse of that grand kitchen; the look of all those utensils — the ladles, the eggbeaters...”
“Do you find the upcoming generation to be promising?” you ask.
“Promising. What do you mean by that word, exactly?” sez Mary.
“To tell the truth, I don’t even know. I was just trying to keep the chat going. You said that you wanted some adult conversation, and now I’m a little embarrassed that I can’t think of anything to say.”
“Oh, no worries,” sez Mary. “If you simply speak actual words, as opposed to grunting & hooting & screeching, that’s more than enough for me. You don’t have to be Ralph Waldo Emerson — honestly, I’m just relieved to have a fellow mind to relate to.”
“Oh, good!” you say. “So, tell me more about the school.”
“Oh, it’s the greatest place,” Mary exclaims. “The principal is really excellent at her job. The proper leadership makes a big difference; cuz the previous principal was just awful, and the school became a mess as a result. But ever since Jane took over (that’s the principal’s name: Miss Jane), it’s been sheer bliss. Take one example: Just last week, the history teacher and the philosophy teacher got caught making love in the broom closet. The students of their respective classrooms, which are located kitty-corner from each other on the third floor in the northwest part of the building, began acting rambunctious; now, as their teachers were conspicuously absent, when principal Jane happened to walk by, she stopped and yelled: ‘Hey, what’s all this ruckus?’ And both classrooms quieted down immediately. Then principal Jane steps forth and sez ‘Where are your teachers? Shouldn’t there be a history teacher teaching in the history class, and a philosophy teacher teaching in the philosophy class?’ Then Jane turns her head & notices the broom closet, which is situated equidistant from either classroom. She strides over and yanks open the door, revealing the two missing individuals in a state of passionate embrace. ‘Oh, welcome, Miss Jane!’ sez one. And the other sez: ‘Would you care to join us?’ Principal Jane stands silent for a moment, takes a look back at the classrooms, then answers: ‘I think I will take you up on your very kind offer.’ She steps in and shuts the closet door gently behind her. After a while, the three emerge from the closet refreshed; and they end up teaching their classes better than ever. All the students receive passing grades.”
“That’s wonderful,” you say. “I like stories with happy endings.”
“So do I,” sez Mary. Then she takes your hand in hers, and raises it to her lips. “I think I’m in love with you,” she sez; “but now I must go punch the clock and begin my day of work.”
“I understand,” you say.
So Mary heads off and enters the door to the school, while you walk in the opposite direction, on the path that winds around the back of the building. You end up at a park.
“HELP!” (You hear a voice cry in the distance.)
Hastening in the direction of the sound, you see that one of the nearby homes is on fire. You dash inside and rescue all the pets and plants. Then you crouch down and speak directly to the iguana (who is one of the pets that you rescued):
“But which one of you cried out to me, just now? Didn’t someone yell ‘Help’? I was expecting there to be at least one human among you.”
The iguana rapidly twirls around in place a number of times.
“I understand,” you say.
So you dash back into the burning house and rescue the family: an old man & woman, and two grown daughters.
“Thank you so much,” the man of the house sez to you. “What do I owe you?” and he pulls out his wallet, which is bursting with banknotes.
“No, no,” you knock the wallet out of his hands. “Put that down. I don’t require payment for my services. Why is everyone always trying to turn my honest, heartfelt deeds into lucrative enterprises?”
“Well then how can we ever repay this enormous debt we now owe you, dear sir?”
“Please, call me Master Ray. First name: Bryan,” you say to the man, while handing him your business card. “Here’s my card; note that it says, under my title: ‘I’m here to help you’. That’s cuz my calling in life is to rescue people and children and pets and plants. That’s my identity. It’s what I do in this world: I save lives.”
“A professional savior? Certainly you must be very well educated,” remarks the father, the head of the household.
“Yes I am, but I did NOT receive any type of certification from any official school; I am entirely self-taught.”
“Wait, no accreditation or schooling?” sez one of the daughters: “but how can that be! for when you came to rescue us just now, we saw you sprinting from the path over yonder, which leads out of the school building.”
“That’s cuz I was offered a lift this morning from a minivan driven by a woman who was wearing sunglasses,” you explain. “Her name was Mary. Perhaps you know her. She works in the lunchroom.”
“Oh, Ms. Mallon! We love her,” sez the family in unison.
“And she loves me,” you nod. Then you take a breath & say: “Now, how do you prefer to be addressed, O friends — I believe I’m entitled to know the names of all the people I have rescued? Please tell me, so that I can memorialize you in my next blog post.”
“Oh, we’re so sorry for not introducing ourselves — where are our manners!” sez the father and head-of-household. “My name is Don, I’m the elderly homeowner. This is my wife Cheri, and our two beautiful daughters, Gretchen and Pamela.”
“Alright...” you pencil this info on your report form. “And the lizard?”
“Oh, yes, that’s Finny, our iguana. And the dog is Jish; and the trout is Bartholomew; and the horse is Tan-tan. Also the plants, from left to right, are Mort, Ernie, Dill, and Formica. And the grapevine is Solomon.”
“Glad to meet you,” you say to each new acquaintance, while shaking his or her hand, claw, paw, hoof, branch, or stem. Then, to make sure you remembered everything correctly, you point and repeat each of their names, one by one. Then you shout:
“Now how many souls does a hero have to rescue around here to get a free breakfast?”
“Breakfast!?” sez the father; “but it’s the middle of the afternoon — you can’t tell me that you’ve not even eaten yet today!”
“Indeed I have not,” you lie. “So should we all climb into the buggy and ride to a restaurant? They will doubtlessly have at least a few cooks in their employ, who will prepare us some sausages (made from hogs), eggs (from chickens), and pancakes (from flour, butter, and maple syrup; and if we’re lucky they’ll also have blueberry and apricot syrup). I promise to tip our server so well that she swoons. And, when we leave, I will remove my evening glove & use it to slap the face of the manager.
“But why must you always go around insulting upper management?” asks Gretchen, with a twinkle in her eye.
“My dear,” (now you reach forward & gracefully draw her face close to yours as you say,) “that’s for me to know and for you to find out.”
Then you vanish in a puff of smoke.
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