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| Riding The Raccoon | |
| By Emmuttmax | ||||||
| 06 May 2008 | ||||||
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I'm not sure if this is the beginning or the end of something.
Riding The Raccoon
Charlie rushed at the rainbow ostrich, tackling it low, right below its knees. It was caught unawares and fell with a woosh and a ferb and lay stunned for a moment—but only a moment. Holding tight to ostrich legs that felt like old baseball gloves soaked in pickle brine, Charlie wondered why he had tackled the bird in the first place. Before an answer arrived in his brain, the odd-looking creature pecked his pate and bit the living hell out of his arm. Reasons no longer seemed to matter, running away did. Charie let go and rolled into a clump of damp pampas grass. The ungainly bird rose, gakking and sputtering. He looked around and spotted Charlie laying there, wiping blood off his right arm. The bird walked over to Charlie on velociraptor legs and proceeded to kick his body like a street fighter as Charlie pled insanity. Eventually tiring, the pissed-off geek-bird screamed an ostrich curse, spit on Charlie, and then pranced away into the night. By then, Charlie felt like a torn bone sack, but at lease he was alive. Mirasol was not going to like this; she was not going to like this at all, so he decided the best thing to do was to stay away from Mirasol. He re-saddled his raccoon, Gerde, and rode towards the bluffs where he knew he’d find solace and solvents at his friend Leotis’ penguin-free condo. He arrived after midnight, but Leotis was still up working on his new play about the celery stalkers of lower Saxony. He welcomed Gerde and Charlie with open arms and quickly filled plates with foul-smelling cheese and offered his guests cups of licorice soda for sustenance. When the light repast was finished, Gerde crawled off to a nearby sofa and fell into a bushy tailed slumber. Leotis inquired about Charlie’s rather disheveled appearance and the state of things in his world. Charlie recounted the man vs. large-mean-bird episode and brought him up to date on Mirasol’s work. Leotis glowed like a beaver’s wine bottle and said, “Mirasol is not going to like this.” “That’s true,” acknowledged Charlie, “but I was desperately in need of a short ride of spontaneous discovery and cultural rebellion. My and Gerd’s disappearance, no matter how brief, will not go unnoticed by her, but we must do what we must do even if it doesn’t do whacka do whacka do. We need to massage our Mojo, an Mirasol will eventually understand.” Charlie gave Leotis a shy smile. “She thinks I’m a gorgeous curiosity.” Leotis Andrews loved Charlie like a son. They met at a reading Leotis had given during Charlie’s first year at U.C.L.A. Leotis was touring in support of his latest novel “Green Beans,” (which won a National Book Review Award), and Charlie wanted a chance to meet a “real” writer. Charlie got his chance at the “meet-and-greet” following the reading. He took Leotis’ hand, looked him directly in the eyes, and said, “Mr. Andrews, you make my brain dance. You make castles and cottages with words, and I am pulled into their parlors where you and I spend a few hours together. When I walk out the doors, I feel pleasantly plump. My name is Charles Catpool, and I am, at the moment, professorial fodder, a lump of clay that is being kneaded and shaped by the higher educational system of the great state of California. But no matter what the system needs, wants, or says I should be, I will be a writer.” Leotis Andrews invited Charlie Catpool to dinner that evening, and a great friendship was born. Andrew’s was now 65 years old, and Charlie had recently celebrated his 45th birthday. As Andrews watched Charlie talk, he recognized there was something different about his long-time friend. He couldn’t say what is was in particular, but some thing was a little off. Charlie had lost weight since the last time they’d been together, but the sight change he noticed wasn’t physical. No, this was something in the waves, a current flux perhaps. Charlie was very talkative tonight, but it wasn’t like a methamphetamine-induced word rush; he wasn’t spewing out manic word bullets. On the contrary, he was quite lucid. He spoke cogently, in well-measured sentences; his words flowed with insight, wit, and color. It was just that Charlie seemed as if he were to stop talking he might collapse. Leotis listened attentively, throwing out a comment now and then, but he instinctively knew that Charlie needed to talk…about anything. He needed to rid his mind of an excess of words. Gerde, Charlie’s raccoon, was making soft snurgerling noises on the sofa, and Leotis was beginning to tire. “Charles, my dear friend, you’ve been talking to me for half the night; are you really going to begin talking to me, or should we turn in” said Leotis. Charlie poured himself some more soda and took a long drink. He tilted his head down for a few seconds, as if gathering his thought. When he raised his face, there was a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked into Leotis’ eyes. “I think I’ve become more than human.”
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