I preferred how the characters in the original served their purpose and didn’t reappear, much less intermingle as archetypes, but despite these and other changes, how can I disparage Ishiguro’s reliable eloquence:
I wonder, Mr. Wakeling, if I may now turn to matters you may consider more personal. I have no wish to belittle our playground, but I put it to you that it was, all the same, a small thing. And that it will, before long, go the way of most small things. It may fall into disrepair, or be superseded by some grander scheme. To speak plainly, we cannot assume to have erected a lasting monument. Should there come days when it becomes no longer clear to you to what end you are directing your daily efforts, when the sheer grind of it all threatens to reduce you to the kind of state in which I so long existed, I urge you then to recall our little playground and the modest satisfaction that became our due upon its completion.
Morrison has a nice interview where he discusses his time with fellow non-binary Ezra Miller and says—
They came over here to Scotland and hung out, and we wrote this thing. I really liked it. Warner Bros. only gave us two weeks! It was cruelty, you know. It was hardcore. We had to be like the Flash to get this thing done, and they were looking for something quite different.
See—and forgive me if this is but the most superficial of feedback on a subject long-since settled without my knowledge, as I can’t be arsed to make a proper investigation into it—the thing that annoys me about usage in this manner is the loss of pleasure I’d once derive from constructing sentences around pronouns based on their plurality and gender-based identification. Take for example this piece which might have been just too ugly for me to compose if I were to try and describe a fluid couple, their escapades interaction and my thoughts after witnessing them. (Had to change that word to remove any uncertainty about it.)
Son has been tasked with creative writing prompts these past couple of weeks, the first about a spaceship landing in his backyard, for which he went with my suggestion to make its passenger his future self with a warning not to become an astronaut, and he ignores it in the end, though I didn’t read his 9/10 submission whether he included the touching reunion with his parents, or an idea about the cataclysm he wants to avoid. My other one figured anything arriving without all that attention from neighbors would have to be small, and the aliens inside bring technology that can control their size, critical for
intergalactic travel
; this they’d grant the narrator, who’d go on to capturing and training animals by shrinking them into little containers he’d keep in his pocket… his name, of course, “
A. K.“
Second required three elements: a hitchhiker, allergy and map error. Couldn’t come up with a cohesive premise immediately but did overnight that wasn’t a complete rehash of the Twilight Zone episode—now that I think of it, weren’t the tiny invaders in one, too? Didn’t want to tank his grade with the obvious product of a dilettante who’s watched too much TV (but at least isn’t contributing to its decline), but I couldn’t just let it fade into our fleeting moments together.
[I went to sleep happy with the name Seth, until I realized in the morning that I missed an H and couldn’t make his last name “Amuck”, so Heath Smuck it is?]
It feels like all I’ve done today is drive, and I can’t even remember taking the mid-term in the morning, much less what was on it, or packing my things for the trip. There just haven’t been many noteworthy sights along the way, and everything in between has looked the same, mostly barren stretches of land. Sometimes it would go up into a hill, and if we had the high ground, the sky would take over most of our view out the windows.
“I’d like to get some sleep now, too, Mr. Chew,” I said. “Do you mind taking over for the next fifty miles or so?”
Of course he didn’t answer, much less stir from his bored slumber; as a cat, he was neither capable, nor eligible for a license (though I haven’t confirmed—I’m pretty certain I’ve seen people behind the wheel who couldn’t possibly be any more qualified than him). Even if he could reply, it’d probably go something like, “Please stop with that terrible joke, you’ve been repeating it before you finish each fifty miles.”
He did raise his head when the rain started and the wipers dragged noisily into action. It was growing dark, but off in this flat distance I saw an unfamiliar sight, not one of those signs by which you could calculate how many more times I’d ask Mr. Chew about driving, but a solitary figure, standing by the side of the freeway. I swear I was going fast enough that I shouldn’t have been able to notice his extended thumb or recall that meant he was hoping for a lift, or realize how pitiful it was to be caught in his situation, but I managed to slow down and stop not too far past that I didn’t have to back up for him to show up at the passenger window.
“Hello!” the man said warmly, his face battered by raindrops.
“Hi,” I replied as quickly as I could, sensing his agony, “Do you need a ride?”
“I could sure use one, as far as you’ll go.” Looking down at Mr. Chew’s cage on the seat and letting his wet long hair swing forward, “But I see you already have a partner. I don’t mind sitting in the back, if that’s alright.”
“Sure,” I welcomed, pushing my bag behind me to make space for him. I only got a quick glance directly at him before returning to the road and resuming our conversation through the rear-view mirror, but he did not seem as shabbily dressed as I might have expected in the city, and had with him a small backpack and walking stick, the kind I’ve seen used by hikers.
“I really appreciate this,” he started. “Not too many passing today, and no one as kind as you to pick me up. Name’s Seth, by the way.”
That took me by surprise. “But that’s my name, too! What a coinci—”
I was cut off by Mr. Chew, who had leaped up beside the head rest and started hissing viciously at our guest. This was remarkably uncommon behavior for him, as he’s been friendly with most everyone we meet, with exception of his veterinarian, of course, and that one guy who applied to be our roommate and brought over his pet groundhog.
Seth seemed to take it in stride, but didn’t dare offering his hand in friendship, instead using it to cover his mouth when he began sneezing.
“I’m afraid your other half has me at a disadvantage,” he barely made it through, “I’m terribly allergic.”
“No problem,” I told him. “Come on, Mr. Chew, we don’t want to be a bad host,” and with that I took him with my free arm and shut down his protest behind his cage door.
So against the sound of futile scratching against those little metal bars, we enjoyed a delightful conversation: he didn’t reveal much about himself, but I was happy to keep awake by telling him about school, my friends, the tournament starting tomorrow, and time must have passed like those reflective highway markers. In fact, they disappeared altogether, with the lights; it was pitch dark and the only thing visible was an approaching gas station. Behind it was an on-ramp for a route that crossed ours but I could only see the side that went in one direction.
“Strange,” I said, deftly swapping between apps on my phone. “I’ve still got a good signal but there’s no sign of this exit on any of the maps. Maybe we should stop and stretch our legs. Mr. Chew could use some time of the box. He hates it in there.”
The place was brightly-lit but mine was the lone car, and I couldn’t make out whether or not anyone was inside the attached shop as I parked. I politely asked Seth if I could get him something, he politely refused, and I freed Mr. Chew and let him on the ground, though grumpy as he still was, I trusted him not to flee in these unfamiliar surroundings.
Suddenly the sliding doors opened and some people stepped out. There were three of them, two taller than me and one shorter, almost a toddler’s height; their hair all different colors but natural; they wore collegiate gear and I think I caught the tail end of their fight song. The one who wasn’t smoking and coughing pointed at me and announced quite aggressively:
“Hey, that kid’s got what we need! Let’s get him!”
I backed up and bent down to reach for Mr. Chew, but he surprisingly sprung into a defensive position himself, somehow recognizing the threat and snarling with such ferocity his fur stood on edge. As if by instinct, I joined him and was prepared to protect what I thought they were after, the car. And its passenger, whose safety was now our responsibility.
“Come on, there’s no one around, he’ll be no match for us,” they continued. “Who’s that in there with him?” They peered around me and their faces fell. Seth was smiling at us through the window, the sight of which I didn’t think would cause that reaction, however odd it was looking as dry as he did; then again, I may have rambled for hours. Surely my aggressors had no way of knowing that, but I turned to find they were gone, a barely perceptible layer of dust they presumably displaced in their flight.
Mr. Chew stared where they had been, which I understood to mean he didn’t, then hopped into my arms with his usual agility, but I might have received him loudly like Mom does when I return home that it masked the sound of the car door opening and closing, for behind us stood Seth. He was so tall I’m not certain how he got in the back to begin with, his walking stick had become a full-length staff, and he was dry, bone dry! He read the plain expression on my face and spoke:
“You must have plenty of questions.”
“I sure do,” I almost didn’t wait for him to finish. “Do you know who those three were, and why were they so frightened of you?”
“Some minor ghouls, trying to steal your Mr. Chew. He’s very precious, you know.”
“Wait, what does that mean and how do you know? Just who are you, is your name even Seth?”
“It’s one of the many names I’ve been known by, yes.”
“But—”
“My young friend,” he interrupted, “I had intended to bring you here because of your reckless drive, your careless disregard for the need to rest before facing life’s challenges, but now that I have gotten to know you better, I see that you are deserving of another chance. Mr. Chew’s got many, I’m sure he won’t mind sparing you one so the two of you can spend more time together.”
With that, Mr. Chew made a noise unlike the usual screech at Seth, but more of a definite me-ow, then quieted down.
“I’ll get off here, thank you so much for the ride. Take care of each other, and good luck at the competition!”
My curiosity could’ve have kept me going, but I felt my feet taking me back to the driver’s seat, where I sat Mr. Chew next to me and left the other Seth in the mirror. I thought I saw his staff swivel and the reflection of a large blade come into view, but the light from the stop faded almost immediately as the freeway became lit with poles and signs.
One of them was for an upcoming rest area, where I got off and decided to nap; after all, sign-in wasn’t until noon. “What an adventure.” Mr. Chew was already asleep. “As far as driving companions go, I choose you, Mr. Chew.”
Not sure about that third one–in fact, I’m sure it’s wrong–because the second took me so long to get right, by the time I got to it I forgot the last of the three words. At the top of the stairs, led by a bikini-clad comely lass with such soft tanned skin, were two arrays of hoses wrapped in plastic, and each was labelled with names like “Strawberry.” Was my job to mate the matching ends and ensure the flow of liquid between them. The “Transhibiscus” connection (itself a corruption from something even more fictitious) kept leaking and required several tries to fasten securely, causing my memory failure afterward.
I had another dream about walking under large trees occupied by a giant bear or crocodile, most likely influenced by that much smaller one we pass on the way back from Ralphs taken up by bees, but my mind was still on that soft, soft skin…
Been a while since this dream, and work’s killed any desire to write, even about True Detective, but the word was explained to me by a comely teacher to mean drooping on one side of a face (which I take it is an actual symptom of Bell’s palsy), illustrated by an image of affected Psyduck.
I suppose in a few years’ time (if that), the word will lose all its meaning and be replaced by another, maybe even more colorful—or peace will arrive to mankind’s hearts and we’ll no longer have use for terms of disaffection. Such is the dream.
The sister-in-law and her latest guy return home from a party last night (after she destroyed the corn soup my wife proudly cooked with chopped ham we got on a family trip to the supermarket and the pot it was in, I might add), couldn’t care less that the driveway’s meant for two vehicles, and while years of training managed to get it to the other side of the one leaving the garage first thing in the morning, they still didn’t make it easy. If she didn’t want to exit the passenger side onto the grass, then at least he could have let her out before straightening the car? And look at where he parked his own, in the middle of the
neighbor’s. So what if they’re rarely home and were kind enough to okay it a boyfriend ago, who would take her word for it and not look for a spot on the street. It was raining? Getting a little wet didn’t seem to bother him while he was walking the separation-anxious poodle he brings over to a house with a sleeping baby and leaves barking.
Been a whole day now, but here’s what I remember: 老婆 watched me wake up laughing to a Colbert Report skit which introduced another of his aliases: Cullbucks, or Cullbux, owner of the network. (Must’ve mistaken the definition of the word, which happens a lot.) He and Will Ferrell confronted him in a scene where he played both roles like Shatner’s body double for comedic effect. Cullbucks identified his arch-nemesis as “Brain Gap”; Ferrell’s face was painted with black and white stripes like a one of those Star Trek aliens, and Colbert revealed, turning his head so the other side became visible, that the lines had run to half his face, though in a perpendicular direction. The audience ate it up.
