Come a Lit’tel Closa’

“Tooday-‘n’-Bris’tol, sev’ral-men rooobbed-a con’veni’ence-stooo’re on-Straw’berry Lane. They head’ed-nooo’rth, says-woone wyiit’ness,” a BBC Bristol TV reporter announces.

[The camera cuts to a thick lady holding a bag of Salt ‘n’ Vinegar crisps across the street.]

“Theyrawn fromthe stoooo’re, headednooor’th on Strawww’berry, ooone threwoooff his bala’claw’va. Look’edyooun’, havin’a beeyiit-ooof-fun, takin’soome smoookes. Nuttiin’craw-zy,” licking her fingers.

Theo’s eyes fixate on the screen of his outdated telly. His attention wanes from the commotion, and he hears something.

“You, yeah YOU Theo, come a lit’tel closa’ – we’re he’ah, in’side, trapped. We need ya’ help. As ya’ friends, it’s ya’ job to do some’um fo’ us.”

***

“U’neeyiique” – A socialite

“WWooone-of-a-Kyiind” – A businessman

“Deeyiif’fer’ent” – A bystander

No, these are not five-star reviews of operas headlining at the Met. These are “gentle” back-handed compliments that Theo’s former employers would voice upon pink-slipping him. It’s a sensitive way of saying, “Hmmmmm, well-yooo’r grreat-‘n’-oooall, jus’ nooot-fooor-usss!” they’d let him down gently, often sandwiching a negative between two positives.

“Yooo’r-use of-cooo’lor and-lyyne iiys-wooo’nderful.

We-jus’ dooon’t see-ya’-art bein’-an-asset iiyn-ou’-lar’ger cooor’pooo’rate lan-scape.

Oooh, ‘n’-luv’ ‘dat-tyyie, Theooo!”

HR would jerk him around, side-stepping their exact thoughts; instead, they’d use actions – like a killer taking time to eat a bowl of ice cream before exiting his crime scene – both friendly and – at the same time – sociopathic.

“We-de’test yooou!” – A Division Manager

“Yoo’re -ter’riiyble!” – Theolonius’ chap from the Art Department

“Sooo-we’iiryd, sooo-ve’ry, ve’ry-we’iiryd.” – Dalton’s HR Manager in Bristol

“IIIiiy-mean, diiyd-ani’mals raise-yooo?” – A Starbuck’s patron

These were their exact ruthless thoughts, whether vocalized or reflected.

***

Theolonius is a strange bird, unlike any other person most people know. He often receives puzzling looks from onlookers on the sidewalk across from his house. He catches them giving him the stink eye: his lithe frame, bulky glasses, and unmanageable hair are undeniable. He’d wave back, “Fauun’cy ma’ bonny hauuirrh, duue ye’? Daft hooligans” While gardening, he squats and then hops to another nearby area to tend to his vegetables. His neighbors scratch their heads with concern.

***

“Ye’irrhe auumazin’!” – His twin brother

“Sun, ye’irrhe the best in this worrh’ld!” – His Maw

“A’m luck’y to be ye’irrh’ Dauu!” – His Da

Theo was born in a tiny town in Scotland. His Maw and Da always thought highly of him, giving him genuine praise and healthy self-esteem. They lived in a small tight bubble, safe from the outside. While most people are kindhearted, “They’rrhe jooosst lo’vely,” they didn’t show him that others can be rude. “Find ye’irrh’ trrhibe, Theo.” All in all, they questioned whether they were protecting him too much – at the expense of giving him false hope about the grizzly, all-encompassing, not fair, dog-eat-dog world – better known as the Out-There.

***

Theo checks his mailbox, crosses the lawn, and arrives at his colorful garden. Peering over the short fence, he’s a proud papa to an organized bunch: bright radishes, beet tops, fresh carrot tops. The rainbow chard and mustard greens will be ready anytime soon. His mouth waters thinking of these delicious root vegetables and vitamin-packed leafy greens.

“Jooost a few mo’rre days!” he confesses.

He spies a fresh dandelion growing near the front entrance, bends down, then plucks. “A’ll save ye’ wee one forrh des’serrht.” Placing it in his pocket, he keys the door lock.

Dierdre opens the door from the inside. “Well, hel’lo De’arrh, whauu’t tuuek ye’ so long?”

“Don’t mawtherr me! Ye’rrh ma’ wife, not ma’ kee’perrh. Tuuek sum time tae ma’self and went fo’rr ah drive. Bonnie day, luuek!” He points to the luscious greenery outside and the crisp blue sunny sky.

“Wherrhe aire ma’ auup’ples? And ma’ hauulf-‘n’-hauulf?” Her brows furrow. “Did yuue not go tae the mauurr’ket?”

“Therreh’s auul’ways tae’morrauuh.” He returns, scoring poorly in an endless match of conversational table tennis.

He plops in his comfy chair in the living room, cluttered with years of framed family prints and memorabilia, 28 years in Scotland, then 60 in Bristol. Lacey curtains, shag carpet, fringed table lampshades surround him. He looks up, wondering how he’s arrived in his chair. He was just in the car. “Weirrh’dd, mooos’t have i’mag’ined goin’ tae the cair. Dauum’ pills!” He eyes his pill bottles on the side table – envisioning a row of soldiers standing at attention.

Dierdre begins dinner.

Theo paws at his elongated two front teeth then checks his steely whiskers. His coat, shiny from a diet of flax seeds and rainbow chard, appears healthy. His long rabbit ears are alert, pointing upwards except when he’s tired – in that case, they sag and fall neatly to his sides. His face pokes out of his furry costume, enough to see and smell. His Buddy Holley glasses, thick from his myopia, make his eyes appear overly exaggerated. His greying hair shows remnants of his budding youth – a strawberry-colored wavy bang that sometimes interferes with his line of sight. His ferocious caterpillar mustache makes him a dead ringer for Grampa Joe in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – since the actor who plays him – is his twin.

Theo watches the news then locates his dandelion; he savors it, bite by bite.

He eyes the telly. Confused, he locates five giant rabbits looking back at him with a stern conviction. “Wait, is this hauuppen’in’?”

“We need ya’ to fash’ion a rope ‘n’ toss it in he’ah so ‘dat we can e’scape. It’s dread’ful in ‘dis boxed uni’verse. ‘Dere is only end’less noise ‘n’ limit’ed space. We aw’ stuck, so, get off ‘dat smel-ly chair ‘n’ come a lit’tel closa.’ No, much c l o s aaaaah’. Yes, ‘dat’s bet’ta. So, Theo, get crackin’, will ya’? Time’s a-wastin’!” His thick glasses almost touching the screen, he stumbles backward after the Middle One instructs him.

He returns to his chair. Dinner ready, Dierdre places a plate of roasted vegetables – smelling pleasant and looking hearty – on his tray. She sits at her chair, tray in place, enjoying hers. “De’arrh tuuek the laaust of the auup’ples.”

“Aaull guued, De’arrhhhh”

[There’s a knock at the door.]

He looks at her questioningly, “It’s a hauulf pauust sev’en, ye’ e‘spect’in’ sum’wwone?” She shakes her head no, cheeks a blush.

Theo moves his tray to the side, rises, and opens the front door. He sees a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper on his welcome mat. While bending over to pick up the box, his arthritis catches up with him at 88. He grabs the scissors, sits on his chair, and looks at the pristinely penned address.

Mr. Theolonius MacCabe

84 Blueberry Lane

Bristol

BS36 2SN

UK

Such handsome penmanship, he grows weary of opening it. He begins cutting the taped brown paper corners to unearth a box; inside the box is another package wrapped in brown paper. Inside he sees a beautiful collection of fresh carrots with their delicate green tops attached. They smell delicious; the aroma distracts him until he sees an enclosed note, “Join Us, Theo!”

He almost drops it. “Well, whauu’t is it, Theo? Whauu’t’s this auubau’t?” she attempts to understand. “Who sent ye’ the box?” she continues. “Whauu’t did it say y y y y y y y y y y…” Her words trail off as he reflects.

Theo’s been seeing things again. Only he can see his suit and has been seeing it for a couple of years now. His daily pills make him uneasy and jumpy, and taking them multiple times means he’s incoherent and floats in and out of his fantastical world.

***

“Aye, tae’morrauuh, A’ll buy it, aye!” he confirms about purchasing the rope.

“Whauu’t, Theo?” Dierdre, in between sleep, asks in bed.

“Nouuthin’, De’arrh, jooost knack’ered,” he replies.

***

At Bristol Hardware, “Whauu’t’-yuue figurauurrh’ John, 20.16 or 30.17mm di’auum’eterrhs for this thick jooote rrhope?”

“Well, iiyt-da’pends. Whaa’t-are yooo-goin’ tooooo-dooo-wiiyt’ iiyt?”

“Helpin’ frrhiends, Pal, helpin’ frrhiends tow sumthin’ big,” he finishes.

“Well, iiyn-that-case, Theooo, yooou gooot yar’ wooork fiiygured ooout, dooon’t’yooou?” he finishes at the register.

***

Theo returns home. Opening the door, this time with groceries, Dierdre fusses with the telley. Her glasses are almost touching the screen, and her ears are trying to hear something. “Whauu’t ye’ daein,’ De’arrh?” he says.

“Oh, nut’thin’ De’arrh. Thouuueght A heard a strauunge no’ise. This telley is ouuld, figurin’ 25 yeauurs or souu. Need a new wwone, this one’s shyite.”

“Aye De’arrh, auufter we get ourrh che’cks on Thurrhs’day,” he confirms.

***

Theo hands Dierdre the food items one by one as she places them in the fridge. While bending over, he sees a distinctive wee pink tail wagging near her bum. His eyes play games on him. Or is it his mind? No, wait – yes, maybe?

Theo rests in his chair and watches Jeopardy. “What is …?” Alex corrects. Player three chooses. “Wherrhe airrhe …?” Theo challenges his smarts; his mind visits him intermittently throughout the passing day.

He sets up the trays, thinking again about that pink tail. Theo reaches for two pills as his watch sounds; then, he cleans his thick glasses. “Therrhe’s only roouuem for wwone of us!” he mutters.

“Wwone, whauu’t?” Dierdre, plates mid-air, hovers above his tray.

“Nothin’ De’arrh,” he quiets. “Let’s wauutch the telly, whauu’t chauun’nel?”

“A don’t cauu’rrhe" she settles her plate atop her tray, then sits. “Let’s fin’ish whauu’t chin’….”

[There's a knock at the door.]

“You e‘spectin’ sum’wwone? Aye, it’s Bucking’ham Pa’lace. Bizzzzzy, bizzzzzy, bizzzzzy he’rrhe. Tell the Queen ‘n’ Phillip tae fuq off. Dam’mit, we’rrhe movin’ in!” He opens the door, sees another package, and grabs it.

“Luueks like it’s fauurrh-ye,’ De’arrh.” He crosses the room and hands it to her. “Let me grab ye’ the scis’sorrhs.”

“Who is send’in’ us stuff this layy’te in the day?” She cuts away the brown paper, then the box, and another layer of brown paper. She stumbles. “Whauu’t?” Inside she finds a dozen tasty apples, her nose accepting every bit of scent with delight. Then she reads the note, the elegant penmanship divine.

“Dier’dre, join us, will ya’? We’re waitin’ for ya’!” She’s stunned over the note, an admirer perhaps.

“Well, whauu’t does it say?” he quizzes.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” She hides the apples in the kitchen.

***

That night, they turn in early — Theo’s mind reels.

“The rrhope ‘n’ the bonnie cair’rrhots and ma’ pills,” he takes two more. “The otherrhs.”

Perhaps they are his tribe – the term his parents would use – Artists as unique as he. Why was he waiting? Would it matter that his mind has turned to mush? Who cares? He’s always been a little “different,” so why stop now? What about Dierdre? She’s 83. If he loses his mind, who will take care of her?

He turns in his bed. Finally, he rises. Theo looks for the Bristol Hardware bag in the front room. He takes the rope and forms seven large overhand knots along the chain for the others.

“A’m gonna’ drrhauug them out ‘n’ set them frrheeee.”

He turns the telly to channel three and waits for them. He sees blurry forms and shadows first, then one rabbit appears. The other four arrive soon afterward. He puts his glasses right up to the screen.

“A'm gonna’ save ye’ pals; joos’t wait.” He passes them the knotted rope through the portal. “Wwone, twooo, thrrhee, I’ll pull.”

“But Theo, ‘dis rope is not fa’ us. It’s fa’ youuuuuu!” the small one explains.

“Fauu’rrh meee? Why would A wauun’na go therrhe?”

“Be’cause we’re ya’ fam’i’ly, ya’ tribe. We’ve been waitin’ fa’ ‘dis mom’ment fa’ever. To’night is ya’ night,” the small one continues.

“But A cauun’t. A’ve got Dierrh’dre. A cauun’t leave herrh.”

“She’ll un’dah’stan’, Theo.” The small one finalizes.

“A see yauu’rrh point.” They slowly pull him inwards. He cries, knot by knot because he’s leaving her.

“Theo? Wher’rrh-ye’-goin’?” Dierdre interrupts.

“Dee, A’m goin’ in he’rrrhe ta’ be wae ma’ rrhabbits.” He's almost completely gone from sight.

“Wa’uuit, wa’uuit fa’rrh me – A wa’uun’na be wae ma’ pigs!”

*** My Writing + Your Reading = Mutual enjoyment

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