I took my time machine back to May 16th, 1785, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and the office of the president of the Supreme Executive Council of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Benjamin Franklin.
We got to talking. After about a half hour, Franklin commented that he noticed I have a hard time looking people in the eye. I agreed. He asked me why it’s so difficult for me. I said I didn’t know.
Franklin sat in reflective thought for a moment. Then he revealed that he was terrified of ducks. He said he purposely never visited the local park because they have a pond that is said to be heavily populated with ducks.
“What?!? Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just I’m so tense. I fret about hawks eating me for lunch. Or some damn bird getting the worm before me. Or is my plumage up to snuff. You’d think my being able to fly would usurp any petty thought or feeling. But that’s not my life. To be honest, I wish I were an elephant. They’re built like a tank, everyone gets out of their way, and they have those cool trunks. Sure, they probably worry about being caught and forced to work for the circus. But I’d give up the bulk of my freedoms to fly through flaming hoops, as the audience applauds, and my handler feeds me a small amount of bird seed. If you happen to work for the circus, and are currently auditioning, come find me. I’m on tree number 92, in the Blark Forest.”
Last night I slept walked into my time machine and unconsciously pushed the dials to August 22nd, 1848, and St. Louis, Missouri. I woke up to the sounds of donkeys braying. I was standing in the middle of a dirt roadway. The donkeys were attached to a stilled buggy that was carrying a just married bride and bridegroom. The groom said, “What ya doin’ in the middle of the road, sonny?” I got my wits about me and said that I was crossing the street and got tired and was resting. The bride looked at my lower half and I realized I was just wearing my skimpy red nighttime briefs that had the letters “zzzzzz” on the rear.
The bridegroom said, “How much longer are ya gonna be in repose?” I patted one of the donkey’s head and said that it shouldn’t be much longer. It was then I realized I was speaking to pre-U.S.President Ulysses S. Grant. He was with his new bride, the once Julia Dent. I’m a big fan of U.S. President’s wives and know all their names. When I was a kid I collected all their action figures, except for Helen Louise Herron “Nellie” Taft, the wife of President William Taft’s wife. For some reason they were always sold out of her at the Toys R’ Us.
I sat on the mountain top. An eagle landed next to me.
The eagle said, “Do you have any nuts or seeds?” I said no. The eagle said, “How about a recently dead mouse?” I said I did not. I said I had a Mars bar. The eagle said, “I’ve never had one. I’d like to try it.” The eagle ate half the Mars bar and said, “Thanks, I don’t want anymore.”
The eagle said, “Would you rub the back of my neck, underneath my feathers?” I said yes and did so. The eagle began to hum as it moved its head and neck in a circular rhythm. I stopped when my fingers got tired.
The eagle and I sat quietly.
The eagle said, “Do you want to learn how to fly?” I said I did. The eagle said, “Stand up and spread your arms.” I did. The Eagle said, “Now flap your arms in a quick up and down motion.” I did. The Eagle said, “Now, still flapping, lean forward and let yourself fall.” I did. I fell fast. I felt like what lead would feel like if it was falling.
But than the falling slowed until I wasn’t falling anymore. I hadn’t hit the ground. I was hovering in place, like a hummingbird. Oh, I was still flapping my arms, but they were getting tired. I remembered how hummingbirds have a sweet tooth. The sugar gives them the juice to navigate the air. I leaned my face into my jacket pocket and ate the other half of the Mars bar. I felt the spark and flew upwards until I caught the wind. I rode the wind over the face of the mountain.
I flew for a couple of hours until I’d had enough. I landed next to my car and drove home. I went in and sat down on my couch. I like to sit on my couch. It feels like a giant hand is holding me up from the vagaries of the world.
For the past week I’ve been camping on the Moon. I have a small pup tent that I sleep in at night, next to my rocket. I’ve been spending my days going for long walks and pondering why I have lately not been able to say the word, “and.” I stopped saying it in conversations about two months ago.
I didn’t realize that particular words absence until my friend Max mentioned it to me. He said, “You just left out the word ‘and.'” I asked what he meant. Max said, “You just said, ‘I bought a can of tuna, bread, mayonnaise.'” I said that he heard wrong. Max asked me to repeat what I’d said. I said, “I bought a can of tuna, bread, mayonnaise.” I gasped. I tried again with the same result. I moaned. Max said, “Just say the word ‘and’ by itself.” I tried but nothing came out. I was distraught.
I consciously tried including, “and” in sentences over the next few months but to no avail. I would lose my temper and storm out mid conversation, leaving whomever I was speaking with baffled. I became so depressed over the situation that I left for the Moon where I could be alone and reflect.
Though in the past week I’ve tried but haven’t been able to say the word, I found that can write it. And and and. I’m thinking the solution is to write, “And” on a note card and hold it up when needed in a conversation.
