The Old World Remembering Itself

What was I thinking.

Guess now's as good a time as any.

Another dispatch from Scott Evers. Read for you by Geezer III.

I spent the day out here on the porch. Dogs were carrying on. I was reading an old copy of Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Forgive me if I misquote it but—

Hold on.

Where's the fuckin' button.

Ah.

There it is.

— hello darlin'. i'm setting the phone down a second.

Too much water in the pot.

— where are you.

— what are you doing up so late.

— i'm a vampire, darlin'.

— yes well we'll keep that between us.

— Fred wouldn't appreciate my influence. Not in regard to sleep patterns anyhow.

— come here, boy.

—

— how's it going.

Ah.

There it is.

— what.

— no no.

— i don't mean that.

— i mean that little doorway.

— into despair.

— now i'm kidding.

— you know your uncle.

— you're crying?

— no you're not.

—

— darlin' i've known you since you used to hide under the kitchen table when thunderstorms came through.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Roxy. Daughter of my brother Fred. Which makes her my favorite niece.

Don't tell.

Always had hair she was fighting with.

I'm on the porch tonight. Hot plate's going. Too hot inside. Who can afford air conditioning. What am I supposed to do. Sit in refrigerated luxury while the electric meter spins around out there like a casino wheel.

No thank you.

I like the desert anyway.

I like hearing things.

Ladies and gentlemen, here's a tip from me to you.

If you want to find your way back to the planet, turn off your air conditioner.

Try it.

One day.

Listen.

Hear that.

Nothing.

Marvelous thing.

People spend thousands of dollars trying to escape into silence when there's perfectly good silence sitting outside waiting for them.

Hold on.

That's not silence.

No wait.

Not silence.

Crickets.

Wind.

Something moving around in the dark pretending not to move around in the dark.

Same thing.

— you tell him.

—

— he doesn't know?

Ah.

Well now you've thrown me.

They already have a child together. Roxy and Carlo.

Beautiful little boy.

Name escapes me.

Embarrassing.

Starts with a B.

Bart.

Bret.

No.

Hell.

Anyway.

— but you think talking to your uncle before Carlo was the right order of operations.

— no darlin'.

— no.

— i think you start with Carlo.

—

— okay.

— slow down.

— tell me what you're thinking.

— no no. i understand.

—

— because the world's got teeth.

— yes.

— i know.

—

When I was younger I thought children arrived into the world like guests entering a house. Nice little place. Couple chairs. Roof overhead.

Now I think maybe it's closer to dropping somebody into a river and hoping they learn the current.

Not because the river got worse.

Because eventually you realize there was always a current.

— just reading.

— an old classic.

— what.

— no no.

— not Pedagogy of the Oppressed anymore.

—

Actually I put that down two hours ago.

Been pretending to read it ever since.

—

My indiscretion.

White lie.

Sometimes I hold books around just to keep intelligent company.

— I don't miss her.

...

— That's not true.

I'm watching the dogs again.

Dogs settled down.

Strange thing about dogs. They bark and bark and bark at absolutely nothing then suddenly become serious.

Like they remembered something.

I'm watching them now.

Got one laying upside down. Legs in the air. Absolute confidence in civilization.

Ladies and gentlemen, dogs have become aristocrats.

No offense.

I say that lovingly.

Air conditioning.

Special food.

Little sweaters.

Healthcare plans.

Meanwhile the coyotes are out there living exactly the way dogs used to live.

No bowls.

No fences.

No little chew toys shaped like hamburgers.

Just out there conducting coyote business.

Looking lean.

Looking suspicious.

Looking like they know something.

Sometimes I think the coyotes look at our dogs the way old revolutionaries look at us.

Like:

Look what happened to you.

—

— no no darlin'.

— i don't know.

Nobody's ever looked at a child and thought:

Ah yes. Everything's under control now.

—

— i mean think about it.

You spend years trying to protect some little person from sharp corners and bad dreams and schoolyard disappointments then one day the whole world starts arriving at the door.

Hold on.

Hear that.

I can hear the dogs moving now.

Ah.

There they are.

I heard them before the dogs did.

Way out there.

Coyotes.

Always talking to one another.

The dogs hear it a second later.

One lifts his head.

Then another.

Then suddenly everybody remembers something ancient.

Everybody joins in.

I close my eyes.

Listen.

There it is.

The old world remembering itself.

...

...

Ah.

Well hell.

— i'm laughing because I just realized I've had binoculars around my neck this entire time.

— been looking all over for them.

— i use them to keep track of the dogs when they wander.

—

— yes darlin'.

— if you want to stay up we can talk about it.

— high-tail it over here.

—

— whiskey. medicinal purposes.