Archive for the ‘Trent Walters’ Category
They Came a Lot to Camelot
Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
For Mark Ferrari
Barely teenagers on their first expedition to Avalon, the three of them–Gwen, Lance and Mark–sought adventure. They paddled for three hours over Lochness Lake when a sea monster raised their rowboat aloft and, lurchingly, transported them. They clung to the gunwales, trying not to upset the boat’s precarious balance. “Land ho!” the three cried gleefully as the monster lowered them into the bay of a deserted isle.
They thanked the monster, which bowed as though accepting their gratitude graciously. Then it pulled up some seaweed and chewed like a cow, eyeing the tiny upright monkeys with bored indifference as seawater dribbled down its jaw.
However, they weren’t in Avalon but Camelot. That wasn’t the worst of it. Not only was Camelot a deserted desert isle, but a Bedouin must also have erected a discount-camel emporium, decorating it with sagging party balloons and brightly colored if tattered banners that quipped “Camelot’s Camel Lot!” The Bedouin then, due no doubt to disappointing sales in the British Isles, abandoned the lot.
The gaunt camels–still bound by the neck to stakes–periodically bent, sniffed and nibbled the sand in search of nourishment. Gwen, Lance and Mark tugged up handfuls of seaweed from the lake bottom and fed the camels. They built a makeshift water distillery, filled it, and watered the camels, each of which slurped eagerly and sloppily.
The camels and the trio became fast friends, despite the camels’ reluctance to give the trio a tour of the island. After camping the night on the beach beside the camels, Gwen, Lance, and Mark took turns rowing the camels, one by one, ashore. When at last they’d completed their arduous task–the camels bestowing love-bites to show their appreciation–the trio decided it would be best to find the camels caring homes (Mark suggested bottom-dwelling sea scavengers–a suggestion more desired than acted upon).
After selling them as guard dogs, Mark, Gwen and Lance made a bundle, which afforded them Avalon expeditions out the wazoo. Despite forty years of trying, however, they never did find Avalon.
They’ve still got time.
Brothers of the Ravenous Regret
Thursday, July 17th, 2008
Four score and seven years ago, four and twenty black birds brought forth a cawing to our backyard’s Chinese elms. The birds supplanted the colored leaves that had fallen and left the trees barren. Some of the birds drooped by their legs, upside down like primates–almost as if the birds had been tied to the limbs with a bit of twine. They–both birds and trees–were so frightful in appearance that we remained indoors. No matter, the incessant caws pierced our house’s thin bay windows.
The twins, side by side on seats that Father had built for them, did not open their mouths to speak or eat for days. The living-room grandfather clock donged the hour, which they–as we later learned–did not count. The twins moved only to shift in their seats, sigh, or perform what looked like a secret handshake.
We worried over this and coffee around the kitchen table while Aunt Effie baked some of her famous monkey bread. But even this failed to entice them. We had to console her because Aunt Effie blamed herself–as we, more often than not, were all wont to do.
On the third day of fasting, we keyed up a doctor–the latest model, which included a built-in fMRI. While it examined the twins, we got out the shotgun and fired at the roosting black birds to get them to move on. The birds merely swirled into the sky and settled back down into the elms. A few merely swung back and forth, dangling by their legs.
When we returned, the doctor had left a fMRI-recording of our twins’ thoughts: “Our existence is little more than to devour, oxidize, drowse and defecate. Why bother?”
We tried to reason with our brothers, but they could not yet understand English.