Me and Abe

I met Abraham Lincoln when we were both six, at the rural school house in Spencer Country, Indiana. We sat next to each other. I used to copy off his test papers. Abe knew and didn’t mind. To make things even, I gave him a dead muskrat I’d found by the creek.

We would walk home together since our folks homes were both southwest. We would pick up small rocks and throw them at bigger rocks. Abe was really good at hitting the big rock with either his first or second rock he’d throw. I’d throw a handful of rocks at the big rock, figuring at least one would hit. But they would always. Abe was nice and tell me that I was good at throwing in general.

Abe used to share with his ambitions. He said that when he got older, he wanted to run for public office, for instance as a sheriff, or treasurer. I revealed that I didn’t know what I wanted to do later in life. Abe asked me what I liked doing now. I said that I liked laying down and looking at the sky or ceiling.

When I turned five, I began eating worms. I couldn’t get enough of them. I used to take my daddy’s shovel and dig holes in the backyard in the hopes of finding worms I could eat. Abe watched me dig and devour the worms, but he never partook. Not even once. I asked him why. He said they were dirty. I said he ate other things that came out of dirt, like potatoes, carrots, and turnips. He still said no.

Some things we’ve done

I like to think about things we’ve done.

Like the time we went to the Grand Canyon. I said I was hungry. You leapt from the cliff top and dove down into the canyon. You flew around like a hawk. You caught a dove in your mouth and flew back to the top. I took the dove and cooked it in our portable Coleman grill with some naturally growing tarragon. We sat on camp stools and ate the dove off paper plates. You said it was better than anything you’d eaten in a restaurant. This made me feel good because for years I’d had a lack of confidence about my cooking skills.

And then there was when we went to Paris and visited the Eiffel Tower. When we got to the top, the Tower began to tip over. But we were okay because as it was falling, you suggested we run as fast as we could down the stairs, which was becoming a mostly even direction. We did, and just before the Tower hit the ground, we stepped off gently onto the lawn. We went to have lunch at Le Jules Verne Restaurant. While we ate, we could hear sirens in the background. Someone at a nearby table asked what was happening. You said the Eiffel Tower had fallen over. They said that was preposterous. But we knew better.

The slog

I took a tour of the White House with my parents when I was five. My mom kept pestering me to stop dragging my feet. I lacked inspiration to move quickly back then. I was plagued with the thought of what’s the point? Everyone was bigger than me, they were always telling me what to do. Whenever I said what I wanted, it was met with a swift, “No.” So I did what I could, which was to be sluggish.

At one point President Nixon came out of a room. He stopped to talk with us. He seemed like he was trying to be friendly. He smelled like cologne. Men back then wore cologne. It was a way to display a musky odor. The smeller had no choice but to give up their attention to the wearer. We were nasely captivated to the Man. My eyes watered.

Nixon said, “What’s the matter, little boy?”

My Mom gave me a “you better not” glance.

I said that I had seasonal allergies.

Nixon got down on his knee to me and said, “When I was a young lad growing up in Yorba Linda, California, I was responsible for the grooming and feeding of our pet raccoons: Pouser, Malcom, Samuel, Mister Jurgsen, and Ricardo. I was horribly allergic to the pelt of the raccoon, and suffered with great bouts of sneezing and wheezing. A confluence of tears from each eye gathered in a swell that thrice nearly drowned me. I would appeal to my folks to allow me to take on any other chores at our farmhouse and its outbuildings, but was chided and forced to return to the preening.”

Nixon looked away and was silent. He sighed, reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to me.

I took the handkerchief. It reeked of cologne. My eyes stung. I thought I might go blind.

Things I look at

I like to look at the sky.

The sky has no words or other types of information. The sky has no face with eyes to look back at me.

I like to look at the sky because it doesn’t have those things.

I look at the sky for about a minute. Any more than that and my neck hurts.

When I’m done looking at the sky, I look at the ground.

I look at the ground to make sure it doesn’t feel alienated from all my sky attention. You don’t want the ground to be angry at you because it will kick your ass with a trip, a hole, or an earthquake.

When I’m done looking at the ground, I sit down.

I sit because if I stand too much my back hurts. My back is curved. It’s called scoliosis. It’s a result of when I got sick in the past and lost some weight. The spine got confused with less meat to hold it in place and began to wander around. When I got well and the meat back, the spine was frozen in its wanderings. So it sometimes hurts.

When I’m done sitting, I go inside my house and pet my dog Rexy’s head. Rexy likes her head pet. If I don’t pet her head often, she shits on the rug, or digs up my plants. I understand. I get the same way if I don’t get my head pet often enough.

Visiting a wayward friend

I went to the castle for a visit. I knocked and no one answered. I knocked again. The door opened up mysteriously, like it does in movies, with no one on the other side. I went in and called out, “Hello, is anyone home?” My voice echoed. No one answered.

I walked up the long and foreboding staircase. There was no rail, so I leaned on the stone wall to be safe. I picked up a great deal of spider webs on my back and shoulder. I remember, a spider riding on my arm saying to me, “Really?”

When I got to the top of the stairs, I knocked on the oblong door. The door opened and I was greeted by the Frankenstein Monster, or as I like to call him, Burt. He was listening to his cassette Walkman. Burt said, “Brooks, I’m sorry. I forgot you were coming over.”

I said, “It’s not a problem, Burt. Can I come in?” Burt opened the door wide, and motioned me in. I went in and sat down in a bean bag chair. It was in bad shape because Burt sat in it a lot. He is large and dense. So I mostly landed on concrete and it hurt my butt. I didn’t let Burt know, but I could tell he knew.

Burt sprawled on the floor. Burt said, “If you can’t sit, splay the space.”