Saturday, May 20, 2006

 

A Fine Job on a Very Full Lake

So, we are still in the woods and, a few days ago, a bear walked up to us, dressed in a very loose-fitting man costume. The mask was crepe paper and full-color. The gown was some shiny tie-on material. An ordinary man-style costume. A middle-class father with some paperwork to do and a general look of malaise.

And it was with some boredom that the bear walked by and said, loudly, "We've all got jobs to do. We all fit in somewhere."

Fleur and I both laughed because he said it like it was some kind of desparate joke. He kept walking and we kept walking. We had seen several other bears in the woods. Those bears had plenty of paperwork as well. But many of them were asleep or drunk with honeypots in their hands. And they fit in just fine.

We stopped for a bit to take a sip from a drinking fountain. The fountain was still attached to a staircase, which was laid out horizontally, a very long and winding staircase, parallel to the ground, still attached to the supercomputer. Remnants of the old control tower. You had to lie prone to get a drink. But it was good, pure water. Fleur took a stab at running up the stairs. Earlier, we had seen a bear in a blue shirt bounding up several flights with a clipboard. He kept falling on the dirt, too.

Soon, we found ourselves walking toward the first bear again, the one dressed as a typical man. We were walking the same way and he was walking in his original way. This time, he comes right up to us and says, "You know, I found a spot for you guys. Do you want it?"

Fleur says, "We're looking for a..." She sort of moved her hands.

"Just treat me like I'm one of you," said the bear. "Tell me, relate to me."

"We're looking for a young woman," said Fleur. "Brown hair and glasses. Very petite. But she's gotten bigger, hasn't she?"

"Age: forty-six. Five five. I mean she's small," I said, "Yes, and brown hair."

"Well," said the Bear, as man, "it sounds like you two would be perfect for an opening I have at the lake. It's a volunteer position and you get to talk to one British guy and there are possible blogging opportunities. Events happen there which are often bloggable, suitable for the public daily archivist inside you. There's a zipline and a trading shack."

Fleur outright busted up at that and, since I'm a blogger, I was just a bit befuddled, but Fleur thinks the word is crap, so she really gave it a mocking laugh. "No, no this is bloggable enough," she said. "No, no, thankyou, but no. We have a staircase. Show him, Pal. We have a staircase, right? Absurd, I love this. I am losing my mind. I love this!"

And the bear took off his man mask, as best he could, and looked at us with very sorrowful bear eyes, and he said, "There is a little boy drowning in that lake right now."

We were very concerned and ran down the trails behind the bear, though we had a hard time getting through some very dense electromagnetic waves, invisible but textured like thick foliage. We came around the lake and many bears were off in canoes, enjoying the day, but we clearly saw some catastrophic splashing just off the dock's end. Fleur kept her feet bolted to that last plank as she reached down to the wavering, colorless image of the boy underwater. His fingers now gently wrestled against the surface of the welling, burgeoning lake and she latched upon them and heaved the man out. For as he came out of the water, his body grew in scope and deployed new sizes of ribcages. This was the promised British man, sputtering lung and swatting us away, insisting that he was Brim.

Comments:
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