The Adventures of Abernathy Franklin

I was tootling along at a goodish pace across the countryside in Bernie’s zippy blue Dodge Challenger, enjoying the scenery and with a merry tra-la on my lips as it were. It being a lovely summer day and the landscape in a particularly lush and happy mood, I found my journey highly agreeable. My high spirits, I confess, were mainly due to the simple pleasure I always get from a solo drive-about and not the prospect of what awaited me at journey’s end. Not that I was enroute to my own hanging or anything grisly as that, certainly not. Merely a slight disinclination to the company I would shortly find myself in.

You see, after my stop over at Bernie’s lake house, I did in fact follow Franki to the reptilian run cafe on Venus. Franki was quite correct, the crocodile faced bi-pedial entities who operated the cafe were exceedingly amiable. I was especially entertained by our server, a 7 foot tall green skinned chap with large bright purple eyes. He began every bit of his side of dialogue with a hearty and love filled YES!

Our entry conversation upon arrival went something as follows:

Franki: Hey there Treb! Good to see you again!

Treb: YES!! And wonderful to interact once again with you in this now miss Franki! And most excited we are that you have brought another human friend to experience our establishment! Many happy welcomes to you Miss Abby!

Self, in reply to Treb: Oh, well thank you, its my first time here, how did you know my name?

Franki to Treb: She’s still a bit new to all this.

Franki to me: Don’t worry so much about the details, New Kid.

Treb to me: YES! Being new is very exciting, we will be delighted to answer any questions you have at your leisure if it pleases you in your now. Will you be having beverages to start your experience?

Self to Treb: Do you have coke here?

My question, evidently a naive one, elicited a giggle snort from Franki.

Treb to me: YES! I am very regretful if it causes any disappointment, but we do not have what you experience on Earth as coke or pepsi or soda or pop as some humans might call it. However, we do have a variety of similarly textured liquids that you might find to be suitable substitutions.

Treb’s answer in the negative still beginning that booming YES! And his very unique way of organizing english words had me in a baffled silence - so Franki came to the rescue and ordered for both of us, and Treb brought us some very fizzy electric blue drinks that glowed ever so slightly. Well, fizzy is the best I can describe it, but Treb was perhaps closer to the truth when he called it a fluid with texture.

Anyway, as I don’t quite yet have sufficient human terminology to accurately articulate what precisely it was we ate at this little cafe, I won’t bore you with those details just now. Suffice to say that Franki was absolutely correct in every respect when she said that these cafe reptilian entities were “totally chill”. Honestly, if all other alien species were half so friendly as Treb and his cafe cohorts, then I have to say humanity’s fear of extra terrestrials is utterly misplaced.

After lunch, Franki declared her intention to “pop on home for a bit” as she put it, so that she could catch a quick nap. I suppose all that endless eating had to catch up with her sometime and cause a Thanksgiving dinner like fatigue.

I, on the other hand, was still feeling rather guilty about poor Bernie and the added stress Franki and I must have caused by dropping in unexpectedly during her Pennywagon insurance guy visit. It was laden with this guilt that I elected to return to Bernie’s to see if I could attempt once again to offer a proper apology. This, it would transpire, would be a mistake of the highest order, and one that I vow I shall not make again.

Arriving back to Bernie’s, minus ever hungry Franki, I rang the bell and waited. Bernie answered with a phone to her ear, looked at first perturbed by my presence, but almost immediately her expression changed to one of inspired genius.

“You know what Laura, count me in. I’ll be there with bells on.” She said into the phone. “Uhuh, see you then. Bye.”

Her phone conversation completed, I took this opportunity to start my apology. “Hello again! I really don’t mean to be a menace, but I did feel badly about the Pennywagon incident, and I wanted to apologize…” but my best bedside manner tones were promptly interrupted.

“How about you do me a favor and we’ll call it even.” Bernie said, now with a bit of a naughty glimmer in her eye. I had the creeping sensation of harsh punishment on the brink of being delivered.

Having been trained in my dimension, as so many humans are, to be a people pleaser for the sake the status quo remaining undisturbed, I responded. “Oh. Well. Sure, name it.” If only I knew then what I was signing myself up for.

Bernie went to a desk in her entry way and began writing something on a notepad. “You remember our cousin Laura, right?” She asked as she scribbled.

“Ah, yes! That was the Laura on the phone. Cheery but aloof relative, never our particular favorite, but pleasant enough for certain company.”

Bernie tore the top note off the pad she had been writing on, came back to the door and handed it to me.

“Here’s her address, you know how she’s always hounding us to come around for brunch. You can go for me, tomorrow at 11. I have a deadline to meet with my publisher and I could use some writing time without distractions.”

“OH, ah” I said, taking the note and the hint that I was perhaps still not fully welcome here. “Sorry,” I said letting my logical brain pull some weight. “ but, I’ll have to visit her in this dimension presumably in order to be acting on your behalf, so I may need to pop back here to make sure I”m in the right dimension.” If I had to endure quality time with extended family, I may as well see if I could enjoy a bit of luxury while I was at it, and Bernie, while not desirous of my company, must certainly have a comfortable ride at her disposal to aid me in this favor doing. “Do you have a vehicle I could use to get to dear old Laura’s from here?”

Bernie rolled her eyes and pulled a face. She looked like a detective being chivied to schill out another 20 dollar bill or two to an informant in order to get the goods. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll leave the keys in the Hellcat, it’ll be in the driveway in the morning by 9. If you leave here by 9:30 you should make it.”

“Hellcat? Does your dimension have magical creatures themed cars?” I asked, not being well versed in automotive anything.

“It’s a Dodge. Challenger. You know, muscle car?” Bernie seemed to positively regard me as a troglodyte for not instantly recognizing this Hellcat as a beefy well oiled machine. But all the same I presumed it would be in pristine working order if Bernie deemed it worthy of her possession, so I replied with hearty “Well, that’s splendid then! I’ll put myself on this spot around 9:15 then.”

“Good enough. Bye then.” And she closed the door in my face. Perhaps a touch rude, but again, given her recent run ins with alternate selves, I opted to forgive her and popped myself back home.

At the appointed hour, I portaled myself back to Bernie’s, and sure enough, a shining blue steed of a vehicle sat in the driveway with keys at the ready. I remember thinking to myself, well I do enjoy a nice drive and taking in the scenery. This little favor might not be so bad, I told myself. How wrong I was.

And so, chai latte in tow and some light tunes on the radio, I started out. Cousin Laura, her husband David, and their singular offspring, lived in a wee little town next to a wee little lake full of wee little boats of local fishermen. I readily admit, the idea of an after brunch lounge by the shoreline enticed me a good deal: taking in the fresh air and idly watching here and there a lake trout being done a bit of no good by Bobby the dairy farmer and Harley the real estate broker. A leisurely people watching session outdoors is most decidedly my cup of tea and the prospect of such a session by a wee lake added all the more happy flavor. I have long harbored an affinity for the water, owing no doubt to some ancestor or another of mine having been a mermaid or selkie or some other sprite or fairy of the watery nature. And so, carried onward in the Hellcat with pleasing day dreams of the lovely after brunch time I expected myself to have, it was at about eleven in the bright A.M. that I found myself parking in Laura’s driveway and ringing the bell.

“Abby! Come in, come in!” Laura fluttered, welcoming me heartily as was her custom. Evidently, Bernie only went by Bernie to her other selves and not to family. Fine by me of course, less confusing, if you see what I mean. “Nice drive in that little number, I bet.” Laura gawked at the Hellcat as she closed the door behind us.

“Exceptionally nice, yes. What a beautiful day! The lake is full of hunters on the prowl for a good catch I see,” I replied nodding backwards toward the lake as I paused dumbly on the welcome mat. I never know quite how to behave in other people’s homes, do I remove my shoes, is there a place for my jacket? So I lingered near the door awaiting instructive answers to these internal queries.

“Oh yeah! Nice day like this, they’re all out on the lake. David was too actually, caught us some nice fresh ones for brunch.” She said cheerily as she made her way into the house, perfectly oblivious to my shoes and jacket predicament.

“Splendid!” I replied. “Nothing like the fresh catch, I’m sure. I look forward to tasting the culinary masterpiece you’ve created with it,” Always one to be civil in the company of family, I decided against asking where or whether to place my belongings. No sense starting the proceedings with awkwardness, so I kept my shoes and jacket on my person.

“I’m finishing up and we’ll be eating in about a half an hour. Why don’t you go say hello to Laney, she’s in the sun room.” Laura led me past the kitchen to the aforementioned sun room and sang out in a motherly tone at the door, “Laney, look who’s here. It’s cousin Abby! Come say hello.”

And here we come to the reason for my lack of excitement regarding the company I was to have for the midday meal. It may be a trifle taboo to say, a gal of my age and upbringing being expected by society to cherish every babe and toddler, but I confess I am not one with a great love for children. Nor am I disposed to enjoy spending hours with the proud mother and father, who, especially bucked due to this Laney being their first and currently only child, devoted most of their conversation to the comings and goings of this tiny Napoleon that dictated their day to day.

Having introduced me thusly to her little cherubim, or is cherub the word I want? In any case, the introduction accomplished, Laura biffed off to the kitchen to tend to her cooking, leaving me uncomfortably alone with the apple of her eye.

“Well, hello there, Laney!” I said, putting on my brightest, albeit feigned, enthusiasm. “Having tea before lunch I see.”

The golden headed girl was seated at a table befitting her stature, messing about with a miniature china tea set and apparently entertaining guests of her own. The entire diminutive troup was comprised of blue princess dressed Laney (complete with crown), a stuffed rainbow colored bunny, a pink mini skirt clad Barbie doll, and what appeared to be a hand sewn, long limbed frog or amphibian of some description; the last no doubt a gift from my crafty aunt Flo.

Miss Barbie appeared to be engaged in some feminist flavored protest, being entirely and unabashedly topless at the tea table, sat betwixt Rainbow Bunny and Green Frog Thing. I would have liked to make a cheeky comment, something in support of freeing feminine nipples, men can show theirs, why can’t we? And all that. But of course that brand of humor would be hopelessly lost on present company, so gave the joke a miss.

David seemed to be stealthily haunting other rooms house I knew not where, and as Laura was busying herself with meal preparation, I saw no other option but to settle myself into an armchair next to the large windows and go on viewing the tea party in progress. A pretty good set up the kid had, too, I thought; complete with actual tea, milk, sugar even and a tiny chocolate cake, slices of which she was now distributing amongst her subjects.

Still, as I say, children not being my fondest form of diversion, I found my gaze drawn to the great outdoors beyond the window. Wishing that this specific vantage point overlooked the lake rather than the back garden, I nonetheless occupied myself cheerily by following the playful chase of a couple of squirrels. Presently, I was shaken from my reverie by the child Laney, tiny hand shoving my knee and reaching up, clearing wishing to shift her games from tea party to merry mall santa lap sitting.

Again, one must be civil with family, so I obliged by scooping her up and settling her at the edge of my knee and entered upon playing my part as an interested audience. “Well, hello to you then. And how goes the tea party?” I affected a tone one might adopt when meeting a friendly acquaintance at some public spot unexpectedly. I personally am not one to engage in baby talk with tiny humans, but reserve that sort of obsequious babble for babes of the four legged and furry persuasion.

“Eat it,” the child stated promptly. And she aggressively attempted to shove what appeared to be one of her small chocolate cake slices in the direction of my mouth. I backed my head away sharply, “No, thank you,” I replied with not a little disgust. The child charged in again with the food object, “Eat it!”

“No! No, no. ”

“Eat it!”

I immediately found this exchange a trying one. I mean to say, Bernie may well have had to deal with Mr. Pennywagon and shop for a new truck, but I’d much prefer to have been in her shoes in that moment than in mine.. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to having dessert before a meal as a general rule, but in this instance, said dessert was exceptionally unappealing. And I’ll tell you why.

Apart from my presumption that the cake in question was of the Easy Bake Oven variety and thus unlikely to be prize worthy, it’s method of service being this kid Laney’s chubby fist put me off to a degree I can scarcely express. I don’t know if you have had occasion to notice, but, in my limited experience, these ye high saplings are nearly always sporting unwashed hands that are somehow visibly sticky. I felt certain that consuming any food stuffs from out of those bacteria ridden hands would cause me to contract some form of foul disease. And at that thought, I was deeply regretting having followed my guilt back to Bernie’s and into this family favor quagmire.

“Eat it!” the child persisted, again making her chubby fist like a torpedo aimed for my gullet, so I gently caught and stayed her filthy cake filled hand by the wrist. And mark my astonishment when I perceived that what her chubby, grubby little fist held was indeed not lightbulb baked chocolate cake from the tea party as I had previously supposed. Upon closer inspection, I realized this was a broken bit of a bar of chocolate, and a stale looking one at that. For one thing, held in the hot petrie dish clutches of any child, a newly procured bit of chocolate ought to by now be melting into said child’s ten contagion addled digits. This chocolate, however, remained in solid state, and unless memory fails me, also had a collection of dust and bits of fuzz.

It was at this juncture that my sleuthing mind kicked in and a thought occurred to me. I made a visual search about the room, the tea party table contents and guests, the various surfaces, nooks and crannies, and whatever else I could see from the armchair in which I sat. All while staving off this devil in tiny human form, who seemed hellbent on force feeding me this unwanted snack. Upon concluding my scan of the room, my suspicions were confirmed. Nowhere on the premises could I spot a larger bar of chocolate from whence this smaller chunk could have sprung. Not a treat to be seen, save the tiny sliced chocolate cake. Not so much as an empty wrapper.

I turned my attention back to the child, who was continuing her demands of “Eat it!” with considerable vigor. “Where did you get that?” I asked and braced myself for the answer.

“In da chair,” she replied lightly and matter of factly, as if she were not setting off an atomic bomb in my increasingly anxious mind.

I scooped the kid up once more and hastily placed her back down on the floor, where she toddled off to resume her post as hostess to Ms. Barbie, Ms. Bunny and Sir Stretch Armed Frog. Turning to the seat that I had just left, I now spotted the merest glimmer of foil wrapper. Against my better judgment, I reached for the object and dislodged it from his hiding place. A sorry picture of what was a chocolate bar emerged, full to bursting with dust and debris it had gathered from between the chair arm and cushion. I put a hand to my throat by way of holding down the bile threatening to burst forth.

It was at this moment that Laura bustled back into the room. “Lunch is ready. What’s that?” She motioned to the formerly edible object in my hand, blissfully ignorant of my churning stomach. “Oh! Looks gram gram got a sneaky treat to baby angel.” Laura cooed in the kid’s direction. “We don’t usually give her sugar, but mom always has to bring candy for the grand baby when she visits. I wondered where Laney hid that last time mom was here. Where did you find that?”

My reply was not necessary, as the kid responded on my behalf, “In da chair.”

“Oh, goodness!” Laura laughed amusedly. “Mystery solved!” And she took the discarded confectionery from my hand, hoisted up the kid and made for the door.

“Come on Laney, time for lunch. Abby, I think you’ll really love quinoa salad, I got the recipe off Pinterest, its to die for.” And Laura floated back out of the room toward the luncheon table.

“Uh...sounds lovely,” I stammered, still in a state of shock and thinking I’d like to die about now.. “Be right with there, just...just need to go…. wash up.” And I made my way to the bathroom to scour my hands in steaming water and gather my strength for the coming meal. I didn’t think any salad, quinoa or otherwise, could possibly make this favor to Bernie worthwhile. I could only hope that my seat at the table was about 80 miles away from dear little Laney, lest she make another attempt to feed me. The prospect was a sore one, but I could hardly flee for the great open spaces with the feast uneaten and hosts un-thanked. After all, one must be civil with family.