I answered the front door in my grizzly bear costume.
“What’s this?” said the policeman standing outside.
“Welcome to my house,” I proclaimed from within the furry fake head; “would you like to step inside?”
The cop visibly relaxed and said: “Yes, I thank you.”
So I offered the officer coffee. Then I spread some jam on toast, and also made him some eggs. “Do you want pancakes?”
“Yes, please,” he said.
After serving his meal, I sat down to eat my own breakfast. I removed the bear head of my costume and stabbed one of my pieces of bacon and asked: “So, what brings you here this sunny morning? Am I, at last, officially arrested?”
“You’re on house-arrest, yes,” said the policeman. “But I think I could allow you to wander around your neighborhood, if you like. You’re a pretty nice person — I feel that I could trust you.”
“Ah, thanks,” I said, eating a forkful of hashbrowns. “I hope you’re not mistaken. Would you like some spirits?” I held a bottle of vodka over the cop’s glass of orange juice.
“Sure,” he said. “Just a little.” So I topped him off.
Then we went for a ride in his cop car. There were no crimes in progress, so the officer apologized: “It’s a slow day.”
“That’s fine,” I said; “I prefer it this way.”
It turned out that this cop had a daughter who wanted a new dress. “Let’s go shopping — it’ll be my treat,” I said.
So we drove to the tailor’s office, which is located in the south bay of the Burnsville Mall.
“I’m able to work with most apparel items; I’m used to helping with hems and seams — embroidery services are also available — but I can’t fabricate a yellow dress on the spot, ex nihilo, as it were, unless I know the dimensions of the damsel who is to wear it,” said the tailor, whose name was Michelle.
“Look, Michelle,” said my cop-friend, “just make it look cute, OK? We’re not dealing with rocket science here.”
Michelle ended up doing a first-class job. We drove back to the policeman’s suburban house and knocked on his daughter’s bedroom door.
“How old is your daughter?” I asked, propping up the bear-head of my costume with my paws, so that the officer could hear me better. “And what is her name? — I’m only asking in case we need to perform a singing telegram.”
“She’s in her mid-twenties. She’s in college. Her name is Samantha.” Said the cop.
The girl opened up the door.
“Surprise!” we both said, and her father held forward the gift box that contained her yellow dress. I offered a takeout bag from a local fast-food franchise that we stopped at just before pulling into the cop’s driveway — the bag held a basket of French fries and several packets of ketchup.
The girl grabbed my offering first and looked inside: “Ooh! papas fritas!” she exclaimed. Then she took the box from her father, my cop-friend, and placed it on her bed and lifted its cover. “A yellow dress! Just what I wanted!” she said. “I love it! Thank you so much!”
The cop looked at me and whispered, “I think she likes it.”
“I’ll try it on,” she said; “to see if it fits.”
Then the cop and I attended a matinee showing of the movie Serpico (1973).
After the film, we drove to the place where his wife hangs out:
“What’s your wife’s name?” I asked.
“Marsha.”
“Marsha, hello,” I said when she opened the door of the establishment. “I’m your husband’s new friend, Bryan Ray (the famous author).”
The woman gazed at me for a while; then she turned and gazed at her husband. “Are you guys here on a job?”
“No, no — just visiting,” said the officer.
Marsha exhaled. “OK? Do you want me to show you around? You’ve never visited my place of employment before; I’m not really sure what we should do.”
“Yes, show us around,” I said; and my cop friend, her husband, chimed in: “Yes, please, let’s have a look around.”
“Alright,” said Marsha, the cop’s wife. And she led us into the area where all the secretaries work. “These are the mahogany desks,” she made a sweeping gesture with her arm; “and these are the telephones. Here is the vending machine — they have chocolate bars, in case you’re hungry; but they cost several shillings, so…”
“We just ate,” I said. “I made Frank breakfast.” (Frank Butterbaum is the full name of the cop that I befriended; that’s why his badge reads “Officer Butterbaum”.)
The cop’s wife Marsha stared into the jaws of my bear costume, which is where my eyes can be seen — it’s a big head, so, when you’re wearing it, you need to look thru the mouth — and she asked me: “Are you supposed to be under arrest, or are you guys just hanging out?”
I turned my whole body to look at Officer Butterbaum — I wanted to allow him to answer for himself; and, honestly, I didn’t feel like I knew a reply that would sound polite enough.
“We’re friends,” said Frank. “We’re just painting the town red, this lovely morning.”
So Frank’s wife Marsha finished giving us a tour of her salon, or whatever it was. She showed us the place where all the people were getting massages, and she showed us the enormous blackboard where mysterious oracles were being recorded in chalk.
“Is this ancient wisdom?” I asked, pointing my huge claw at one of the enigmas.
“Not necessarily ancient,” said Marsha; “we’re constantly engaged in the process of discovering new truths.”
Then it seemed time for Frank and I to leave; so we all enjoyed a big furry group hug, and Officer Butterbaum and I went on our way. We got into his police cruiser and drove until we spotted a 2022 Bentley Continental GT Speed. (That’s a VERY fine automobile, for those of you who are not in-the-know about such things.) Immediately, Frank parallel parked his patrol cruiser, hopped out and began prying open the door of the luxury sports car. Once inside, he waved his hand, to indicate that I should join him — he even leaned over and pushed open the passenger door for me.
“Are you sure that we’re on the right path in life?” I asked, crouching to address Officer Butterbaum before entering the vehicle.
Frank pooh-poohed my suggestion; so we sped down the street with a cool rock-&-roll song playing on the radio.
“Am I still arrested, by the way?” I dared to ask, after we’d driven thru several stop signs and a few red traffic lights.
“Nah, I’ll have the judge sign a paper that will get you out of trouble,” said Frank the policeman.
So we sped to the edge of the state. We then screeched to a stop and climbed out of the windows of the car. There before us reclined the Great Lakes.
“Which one do you want to explore?” said my friend Frank the cop.
“Um…” I took a long time to decide — I was like a kid in a candy store… “How about Erie?”
Frank smiled very wide: “Lake Erie it is!”
So we put on our scuba gear — Frank stripped out of his uniform and donned a full wetsuit, while I fastened the oxygen tank to the outside of my fur and affixed its accordion hose thru the throat of my bear costume (since that’s where my own human mouth is located); and we dove in and went down to the bottom…
Once on the floor of Lake Erie, we found the remains of the Titanic. “Look!” I nudged Officer Butterbaum: “It’s got skeletons and incriminating evidence, plus French horns, muted trumpets, shiny trombones and tubas — these brass instruments are probably from the band that kept playing as the ship sank!”
Frank and I swam thru the vessel’s vast carcass and picked up and looked at various items. We then filled out a crime report under the ocean, using astronaut pens and a special type of waterproof parchment. And we made a note to arrest all the presidents of other nations. And Yahweh helped us.
But then I had to serve my day in court. I entered the building and was immediately scared by all the gargoyles that stood on either side of everything. Their menacing appearance tormented me for many days and nights, just like Prometheus. However, as a comedic callback (or, would the callback be technically tragic, in this case?), just as the LORD God came to our aid in the sunken treasure scene, the manifold Demogorgon saved me from the present predicament.
When we got out into the courtroom’s lobby, Demogorgon removed its heads — and there shone the familiar face of Herr Butterbaum the police officer.
“Frank!” I said, “My best friend in the world!”
“You’re not under house-arrest anymore, chico,” Frank smiled proudly.
So then we walked on foot to Texas, and we stayed at a motel there. Seeing that we were pedestrians, the staff argued with us for a while about our carless condition, in an attempt to deny us service: They said that the word “motel” is defined as “a roadside hotel designed primarily for MOTOR-ists” and thus, if we own no MOTOR-coach, we can’t possibly be the target audience for their respectable business; also the definition goes on to say that “typically the rooms at a motel are arranged in a low building with parking for automobiles directly outside”; and they pointed out that we have no cars to park; not even a Torjan Horse; therefore, why in the world does Reality even exist? — But we struck a deal with them: We said, “We promise to remove our shoes each night before going to bed.” And that made them happy. They probably experienced sweet dreams, after they trusted us.
We left our door open constantly, so every woman in the vicinity could sneak into our motel and visit us, for the duration of our stay. Then we settled up our bill and walked on foot to a place called Donbas, which is a region in south-eastern Ukraine. Frank the cop and I bought a small house there, and that’s where we’ve been staying ever since. We found that we can earn enough money to sustain ourselves on sardines, which we order online, over the Internet, if we are careful. In other words, we must avoid mentioning any matter that might alarm any powerful person, when posting our videos. For, nowadays, my policeman-friend Frank and I make our living by uploading audiovisual material to public websites. There is a fair amount of interest for how folks are living in different regions of the globe. We also bought freight-hauling trucks and parked them in Canada.
Before concluding, I should report that the yellow dress that we paid to be tailor-crafted for Frank’s daughter Samantha ended up fitting perfectly. And I myself found a great net filled with salmon in a nearby stream — this was a welcome change from the sardine tins that we had been ordering on a weekly basis heretofore.
And there’s no longer cancer or any other diseases plaguing existence, because common people everywhere solved all the world’s problems; so now my only complaint is that I can’t complain!
2 comments:
No worries, sooner or later I will come up with some little thing or another to complain about, just you wait and see!
Besides that, I'm sure being “constantly engaged in the process of discovering new truths” does mean having to astray from the path quite a bit, right? I'm with Frank here, just jump in and I'm sure it'll be fine! ;)
Also, tbh I really Love everything about this story! Perfect beginning, perfect flow plus a, to say the least, MUCH more appealing Bear character than the one in my nightmare last night!
I can't thank you enough for offering to come up with more things to complain about. Complaining is one of my favorite activities, and I'd hate to be forced to stop on account of perfection... Also, I'm sorry yet intrigued to hear that a bear invaded your dream — for me, this has always been a good thing; but that's because all the bears in my imagination (even the grizzly bears) are basically teddy bears. For my mind has been Disneyfied.
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