Believe!

So every day at 2:12 I would wait for my mail, which would never come, this gang of African wild dogs would tree that incredibly wide Johnson kid. They would come barreling down Hill Street, hang a right onto Orchard Way, and just head right for him. And I mean right for him. They wouldn’t even get distracted by the squirrels. That’s dedication, and you know how I feel about dedication. But then again, I guess they really couldn’t avoid that Johnson kid. I mean, you have to see him. He is like three times as wide as a normal person. When he was being born his father was eager to see him and grabbed him by the arm and just yanked the shit out of him. Personally I didn’t know you could do that, but I hear they do it all the time in some Oriental place, Lord knows what they do over there, I think they even have some guy with a couple arms who rules the world.

But then again, who really does rule the world? We may never know. That’s what my friend Joseph said, and he is a chief of something. Either way he is more of a chief than I am. So the kid is like twice as wide as a normal person, and the Midwest mailman Captain said he had never seen anything like that. He said, “I have seen a lot of wide people, but never were they that wide.” That is exactly what he said; I had my professional transcriber do it while I sat there and asked him, “Captain, have you ever seen someone that wide? I mean, look at that kid! He is wide!”

But that was all before Thomas Jefferson killed Aaron Burr in that streetfight and Captain tried to intervene but Neptune used that trident, you know, I said I never liked him, to impale Captain and roast him on a spit so that Jefferson could indulge his bloodlust for human flesh and thus maintain a democracy. You know, that Jefferson, what an asshole. There, I said it. We were all thinking it. So now I can never go for a swim because Neptune just knows that I was intimately massaging Burr before the fight and giving him a motivational seminar on visualization, and I can’t live under this democracy, and I never get any mail anymore. Ouch, triple bogus! is what that wide kid said from his tree. I said I am going to get my string and spool, and then he said Oh aren’t you a big man. Instead of verbally retaliating, I am the bigger man—figuratively, I mean, that kid is wide!— I throw an Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle in no particular direction and it ends up hitting him in his tree.

That’s how it went: every day I sat on my porch waiting for my mail while the really wide Johnson kid played in his yard and then those African wild dogs launched their surprise (I know what you’re thinking, some surprise, you can hear them from a mile away!) attack, treed that wide bastard, who then taunted me, and then I throw an Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle away from him and it goes to him and hits him in the mid-section and then the package delivery guy, Mr. McFeely, a real asshole if there ever was one, delivers me a new Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle. But then I found Odin.

“You know, grab a hold of your life and make something of it!” He soothingly advised. “You can really be someone.”

“I can?”

“You can.”

“But how?” I said.

And then he launched into a medley of songs from “Monsters of Metal,” a greatest hits collection of the figurative monsters of metal. We were there for at least 4 days. That really got us nowhere, but then Odin finished and said, “That was just to show you how powerful I am; I know all the lyrics to every metal anthem from the late 70s to the early 90s.” And I cowered. I really, honestly, cowered, because he was air-riffing on his hammer and at one point things got really out of hand. Not even a little out of hand, but really out of hand, but then Thor came and said, “Odin, that’s my hammer,” and they bickered for so long.

When they finished, Odin said, “You know, grab a hold of your life and make something of it! You can really be someone.” And then I said, “I can?” and he said, “You can,” and then I realized—I know where this is going. Odin and I just stared at each for a really long time, all the while the dogs going “Get him Get him, today’s our day!” and that wide kid totally seeing it coming. We kept this up for awhile. I threw my Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle, the wide kid yelled “You asshole,” and then McFeely came, what a dick, and gave me my new one, and I could just see Odin waiting for me to say it. Let me tell you, if you ever find Odin, I suggest you just keep walking. That guy is p-e-r-s-i-s-t-e-n-t persistent! So I said, “Odin, tell me how without referencing “Monsters of Metal” and in one sentence.” He stood for awhile, Thor and I changed into jean cut-off shorts, took off our shirts, jumped, and high-fived, and then Odin said, “You must get your mail.”

Easier said than done. First of all, Neptune was totally hiding in the river. No way I could go by sea. Second of all, the land was covered by democracy, everywhere, and Jefferson was on that mountain just waiting for me to poke my head out from under my Spanish-tiled portico where the mail comes so he could throw a lightning bolt at me. Third of all, who even knows where mail comes from? Quite a conundrum, the dogs said, and then they ran away. I said you’re a conundrum, but all they did was run away in an elaborate and never-before-seen pattern of swirls and loops. I reflected, looked to Thor who just looked away like he didn’t hear Odin, and then asked Odin, “how?”

I won’t bore you with the details but you know what happened, only this time with power ballads.

While he was singing Poison, I reasoned that one, I better find out where the mail comes from and two, I better get there by air. I waited for him to finish so as to not be disrespectful, and then I excused myself, asked my transcriber for an erasable white-board and a marker, and said, “Everyone get their rain jackets on—a brainstorm’s coming on!” Thor laughed, I said, “Thor, this is no time to laugh,” and then he concentrated. I then called on the Minnesota North Stars to fill in. They did. And how! I shouted things, and they shouted back, and after about 4 throws of the Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle, we came to three possibilities:

1. The Yukon by Hot Air Balloon.

2. Where Words are Born by Hang Glider.

3. The Temple of Jefferson by Stilts.

I promptly thanked the Minnesota North Stars. They muttered something about the Bhagavad Gita, I said “What did you just say,” they said “Nothing,” and then I threw an Aerobie Pro Flying Angular Triangle at them but it just hit you know who. I then meditated.

After a while I came to the conclusion that one, I don’t have a hot air balloon, two, I don’t have a hang glider, and three, I can’t stilt. But I could learn, I yelled to that wide kid. He yelled back, “Screw you!” Once again I was the bigger man. I assembled a Motivational Squad, and we began to cheer “Yeah, stilt it up, stilt it up!” Everything was awesome, and I totally nailed stilting after seeing McFeely, you know what I think about him, only three times!

But still I now needed to find out where the Temple of Jefferson was. To tell you the truth, I had no idea, and I mean that when I say it. I gave Burr a dial, but then realized he was eaten alive. I asked Thor for suggestions, but he still was acting like he didn’t hear anything and just hit things with his hammer, and all Odin would do is every now and then say, “You can,” and then knowingly look at me while flashing hand-signals to his chamber orchestra. But what do I look like? A giver-up? That wide Johnson kid? That piece of crap McFeely? The good-for-nothing Minnesota North Stars? You know what……. I don’t. I don’t at all.

I said to my Argentine friend, “Any ideas?” but all he said was something about mirrors and encyclopedias. Like that got me anywhere. Another one just said something about witches and secret orders. Another friend just said something about swimming. I said, I have got to get me some new friends! Ha ha. But seriously. We shot some dice, had a cockfight, and then it came to me—what does Jefferson love? Democracy. What do I hate? Democracy. Where is Democracy? Everywhere, but more specifically, downtown. Of course! I got a phone book, looked up “Temple of,” didn’t find anything, went to “Jefferson,” and then scanned down the page. Right there: “Jefferson, Temple of.” Bingo. I called them, a particularly charming young woman answered, she identified herself as Jefferson’s assistant, she told me there was free parking at the 2^nd Street Garage or limited pay parking on East End Avenue. I said I don’t need to park, she said “Oh,” I asked her out, she said maybe, I giggled, she giggled, we giggled together, then we said, at the same time, “How about I call you?” I knew I must marry this woman.

A conflict of interest: I must claim my mail from my enemy Jefferson, and I must marry Jefferrson’s assistant. I figured I would leave that for later. First I had to get off this damned portico. The wild dogs just left, but I knew Jefferson was watching me, so I shined a mirror in the sunlight and blinded him. And then I stiltedly ran. A wicked witch puppeteer attacked me, but I confounded her with knowledge. Absolutely super move on my part, if I say so myself. I made it to the Temple of Jefferson in 12 minutes. It was 2:24 post-Meridian time—the favorite time of the swimmers. I shouted this and was promptly inducted into their ranks. And wouldn’t you just know, Jorge, Paulo, and John were right! Wow!

Anyway, the swimmers gave me two amulets: one to claim my mail, and one in the shape of a shark’s tooth that looks awesome. I still wear that one to this day. I entered the Temple of Jefferson, and she asked me if I had an appointment. I said I did… to sweep her off her feet! We hugged, I ripped off my jean cut-offs, we did it, and then I said, “You are now carrying my child.” She said, “No I am not.” I said, “We agree to disagree.” She said, “No, we just disagree.” There was a ficus in the office, so I asked how often do they water it.

Then she directed me to Jefferson’s assistant, and I threw the amulet at her. She sort of dodged it. I said, “I have come to claim my mail!” She said, “Oh you’re the guy,” as if Jefferson has been talking all sorts of shit about me and I totally knew he was. She shouted something incoherently, must have been some sort of code, and Jefferson appeared in a fiery blast of rage. Even though I am be-stilted, he is still much taller in person than you would think. I strained to make eye contact. He recognized me. The air was tense.

Then he said, “You know what, I gotta respect your pluck.” I said thank you. He gave me my mail. There was a lot of it. I put it in a box. Then I flipped him the bird, shouted “Burr rules!”, and stiltedly ran for it. Boy was he pissed.

Democracy rained down on me, but I made it. It came fast: free speech slashed my skin, the right to bear arms stung my eyes, but I kept persisting. It was like in that movie, “The Most Dangerous Game,” only it was more like “Running Man.” Eventually I made it. I really made it. When I reached my Spanish-tiled portico, Thor had left time-out and was hitting things again. I said, “No, Thor, you must stop.” Thor stared at me. I continued, “You must help me sort my mail.” He did. We sorted and sorted and sorted.