Episode Number Twenty
Martin was in a glorious mood. Winter seemed to have finally left the area. Sunshine ruled. Unlimited blue sky. The air smelled different. Fresher. Cleaner.
He liked how things were going. Thick described him – legs, chest – which was also deep – arms, neck. Everyone thought of him as a bear without the violence, a slumbering bear, his first ex described him in college. Other than hair drawing back from his forehead and a thick mustache and goatee, he looked much like the man he was forty years before.
His house was finished. He’d moved in and it was beginning to feel like home. Lot couldn’t be replaced from the loss, but life, you know? Heard from daughter. She and her children were safe, great news. Cherry on dessert was his night of passion. Been a long time since one of those.
Seeing his fornicating partner coming toward him launched a big grin. She hugged him. “Hello, how are you, Martin?”
“Hey Cindy, long time, no see.” A joke. He leaned in and planted a big wet one.
Cindy snapped back. “Whoa, Martin, what the hell? We’re old friends but that was a little over the top.” She was wiping her mouth. “No offense, but I’m not interested.”
Martin stepped back and drew up, looming over her by a foot. “Hold up. We did the nasty three times last night and this morning. The last one was just over five hours ago, and a little kiss upsets you? Seriously, really? I guess I read too much into it. Forgive me.”
She was staring. “Did the nasty? In what reality did we do the nasty?”
Pieces acquired new meanings. Fresh air. How it smelled. Sunshine. His safe daughter. “Damn.”
He was in a different reality. Episode number twenty. Real mystery was when it happened. Why, of course. “Sorry, Cindy. My sincere apologies.”
“That’s okay. I forgive you.”
“Will you indulge me and tell me, who is President?”
“President?” Cindy laughed. “Man, you are in another world.”
Friday’s Wandering Thought
He recalled the mother of his youth. She was always reading. Michner, Robbins, Jong, paperbacks purchased at drugstores. Movies fascinated her. She always recommended actors, directors, movies.
Now, she doesn’t have time to read. Hasn’t in years. She’d moved from fiction to true crime to nothing. She doesn’t like movies, she says. She wants drama and none of them provide it. Time is spent watching MSNBC, or shows like Doctor Pimple Popper, My Feet Are Killing Me, and Dateline.
It’s not surprising. Everyone changes. He thinks about the episodes, powers, and energies that shaped and reshaped her, rising to a comparison with the planet, and how unseen events work together to reshape the world.
The Rope Dream
It was hot, dry, and clear. I was on a broad and empty plain. Two riders on horseback galloped toward me. I watched, trying to understand, who are they? Nothing auspicious about them, they resembled cowboys out of a revisionist western. They were approaching at slightly different vectors, dust pluming out behind them. I realized with some slowness, hey, they have ropes. Hey, they’re going to rope me.
Out in the open, nowhere to go, I thought that I’d run toward them, separating the space. Yeah, that didn’t work. They lassoed me. I awoke with a start, heavily sweating, struggling against the ropes. Took several seconds to understand that I’d been dreaming — or maybe experiencing another reality.
Floofex
Floofex (floofinition) – Existence or conscious reality created or maintained by animals. Although skilled at doing such, human presence tends to distill or distort animals’ realities, sometimes with adverse consequences resulting.
In use: “Having realized human impact on their Floofex, and appreciating the ways in which cats, dogs, and other creatures could co-habit with human in roles as pets, the Council ordered a quantum increase to the number of animals going to Earth in that role in an effort to reverse some current, terrible trends and establish a happier, more pleasant Floofex.”
Monday’s Wandering Thought
He encountered a friend and told him, “I like your shirt. That’s very nice.”
“Thank you,” the friend replied.
“Would you sell it to me?”
“What?”
Brainstorm! He’d start a reality game show — “The Shirt Off Your Back” — where minor celebrities would go around offering people money, gifts, or favors for the clothes they were wearing. It’d be sort of a poor person’s Indecent Proposal.
It was dumb enough that it might just work.
Michael Seidel, writer 