Titanium Spork-Continued

This is a continuation of the story about Bert and Ernie first entered into the "blog" in October of 2014.

Titanium Spork

(Bert sitting quietly on the sofa. The sun is coming through the sliding glass door on the other side of the room. Ernie is typing at his computer which is on the old, metal, office-style desk next to the door. There is an orange shag carpet wall to wall. Also on the desk is a lava-rock lamp. It is carved in the shape of a Tiki head, out of gray, porous, soft stone. If you touch the lamp it feels like emery board or rough sandpaper. It is the only light in the room besides the sunlight, it casts a cone of yellowish light over the computer and Ernie’s face as he types. The whole room looks like it was decorated in 1965 and has had no updates since, because that is the truth. The only changes to the room were the removal of twenty, plastic Revel model airplanes that once hung down from the ceiling from nylon fishing line and thumbtacks. When Bert’s son went to college, they took the airplanes down but never touched up the pock mark holes in the ceiling.  Bert’s wife wanted to redecorate-take up the carpet and refinish the terrazzo floors hiding underneath, and exchange the bed for a nice sofa. Don’t even mention chucking the monstrous desk. Oh, and that hideous lamp…Bert wouldn’t hear of it.)

Bert: What are you doing?

Ernie: Just writing a story. (he doesn’t look up from the keyboard even when he stops typing)

Bert: What is the story about?

Ernie: It’s about the Spork. You remember. (it is a statement not a question) I’ve been working on it for a long time…

Bert: A very long time.

(His face is placid and vacant. He is staring into the sunlight but he rarely blinks. The rest of his body is unmoving as well)

Bert: What’s a “Spork”? (He turns slightly towards Ernie. )

 (stops typing. He turns around to look at Bert. Contemplates)

Ernie: A Spork is both a fork and a spoon. You owned one once. It’s for camping, so you only have to carry the Spork and you don’t need to carry both a spoon and a fork.

(Ernie delivers his explanation matter-of-factly, as though he’s repeated it a number of times before. He has. He’s told Bert about the Spork at least twice today and at least a couple of times a day for a year.)

Ernie: I’m going to take a break. Want something to eat? It’s almost 1:00 o’clock.

Bert: Oh! Yeah!

(he shows the first bit of enthusiasm in two hours.)

Bert: Could I have peanut butter? And jelly with banana slices? And milk. Definitely milk.

(Ernie went to the kitchen. Bert was close behind. The Formica cabinets and sheet-vinyl flooring dated the kitchen, placing it squarely in the same time period as the den. The table top was Formica with a glossy white background and a design pattern that was hundreds, if not thousands, of red, blue, and green boomerangs randomly splashed all over the white, a substantial aluminum molding /edging, and chrome bent pipe legs. Ernie sliced bananas over the counter top next to the sink. He wondered for a moment at how quickly he’d become accustomed to living in Bert house. It had been a year since they’d sold his and he’d moved in here. The transition had been not without its bumps but was basically easy. Sharing a home was not too difficult. The aide they’d hired to help out was surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive. Ernie depended on her for help with Bert when he got a little confused of angry, but that was not often. Moving next door, he’d not had to learn new street names or where to go shopping for groceries. All the acquaintances he’d cultivated over a lifetime were still there for him. The challenge-the only real challenge-was getting used to being with Bert almost all the time.

Ernie’s wife, bless her soul, had died 8 or 9 years ago and Ernie took a little while to figure out how to live on his own, but he was mostly fine with that. Bert, his best friend living next door, was always there. Close. Until he started forgetting.   when he faced moving in with Bert.

It was kind of quick. Just after Bert’s wife died, or, who knows? Maybe it had been coming on for a long time and Ernie had just not seen it. It got bad and living on his own became impossible. Ernie lay awake worried about Bert. For a long time he worried that he’d walk away from his house and get lost. Or, take the wrong medicine. Or…Then, like almost over one weekend a year ago their whole world twisted around like a pretzel and he and Bert and Bert’s son and Ernie’s children, came to the grand idea of the two of them moving in together. Bert was tickled. He was still somewhat “with it” a year ago. He just needed some help. Ernie, a less excited at the prospect, but relieved that there was going to be a solution to Bert’s forgetfulness. Ernie was not happy that the plan meant selling his house. Bert’s house had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Ernie’s only had two bedrooms and if they were going to have a full-time attendant/cook/caretaker they’d need that extra bedroom. Ernie’s lament lasted a while as his things were packed away or sold or discarded if they didn’t fit easily into Berts house. They emptied tons of Bert’s stuff out as well, into the trash or off to Goodwill, but there were a few things that Ernie could not keep and he felt the loss deeply. His tools were mostly given away. Some of his art supplies were disposed of or packed in crates that made them difficult to get to. There was no real workbench over at Bert’s. Ernie had to do his crazy little art projects on a card table in the garage. It wasn’t steady enough to handle some of the sculptures or mosaics that Ernie still sometimes got around to doing. Still, he found energy enough, and will-power to do a project from time to time.)

Ernie: Oh my God! Looky here.

(Ernie is doing the dishes. He could let the aid do it. It was her job, but sometimes Ernie needed something to keep his hands busy. Watching TV and taking walks out in the humidity and heat didn’t make Ernie feel as good as a sink full of dinner dishes cleaned and draining in the rack.)

(Ernie is reaching into the drawer next to the sink. Out of the drawer he pulls the afore mentioned “Spork”.  He holds it up into the light of the ceiling mounted florescent lighting fixture. It is a dull, matt finish utensil but it glows a tiny bit as it is turned in the light)

Bert and Ernie together: “Lighter than Aluminum-Stronger than Steel”     

Their laughter fills the room, but it is short lived. Bert looks around the room like he’s just been dropped there from outer space and he’s trying to figure out where, exactly, he is.       

Ernie: Hey, Burt, you remember camping with the boy scout troop? You remember that rainy night when I thought I saw little people dancing around the fire pit in the middle of the night and how hard it rained.

(Bert focuses in on Ernie’s voice and tries to recall what he’s talking about.)

Ernie: I woke up in the tent and you were sound asleep. Jamie had gone out to take a pee and he just did it on top of the tent. Too lazy to go out to the tree line, or maybe scared that one of those wild hogs would come up and eat him up. Do you remember?

(Bert looks considerate but his mind wanders off quickly. Ernie looks off into space and keeps on telling the story. He’s told it a hundred times before but once he starts he can’t stop even though Bert has heard it before and he’s lost interest anyway.)

Ernie: Boy, that tent stunk from Jamie’s pee and I couldn’t sleep and at some point I lifted the ten flap to get some air in there. Out in the moonlight, I saw, around the fire ring, little people. Dancing.

(Bert comes back into focus listening to the story. Ernie continues)

Ernie: Little people dressed like, I don’t know, elves or little people from the circus.

Bert: Circus?

Ernie: Shoot! I don’t know. All I know is they were little and they were dancing around and around the campfire, which was dead out because it was pouring rain. And, all of a sudden one of them stops dancing and he’s looking straight back at me, peeking out of the tent flap. He’s looking at me and hooking his little finger at me like he’s calling me out to dance with them at the fire pit.

Bert: Wow! Did you go?

(Bert’s heard this story so many times he could recite it word for word but tonight he is listening like it is the first time he’s ever heard it.)

Ernie: Heck No! I was scared to death. I was rubbing my eyes and hoping it was not really happening and he would just disappear, but the little guy just stayed there, wiggling his finger like, “come on out here boy, and let’s dance.”  Finally I closed the flap determined to put up with the smell and get back to sleep, but I had a worse shock waiting for me inside the tent. I looked down in the dark and there, right next to me, was a rat.

Bert: Woah! A rat?

Ernie: yep! A big ol’ beady-eyed rat staring straight at me.

Bert: What did you do??

Ernie: Slowly, very slowly, I reached into the pile of clothes on the floor of the tent, next to me and pulled out a boot. I  Kept my eyes on that rat and I stared that rat down until it was perfectly still and went to wack it with the heel of the boot but at the last second as I swung to clobber it it made a run for the door. At least that’s what I thought.

Bert: You didn’t mash it?

Ernie: Nope, and a good thing too!

Bert: Why Ernie?

Ernie: because that “rat” turned out to be the luminous dial of Jamie’s boy scout wrist watch. I’d been looking at the watch and thinking it was a rat’s face but it was the glowing numbers and sweep second hand of his watch all the time. If I’da hit it I know I woulda busted Jamie’s hand for sure!

Ernie: I guess you don’t remember me tellin’ that story at the campfire after that?

Bert: Nope, Ernie. I don’t.

Ernie: No? Oh, man, I’ve told that story at just about every camping site we ever went to after that. Good story, Huh?

Bert: Yeah, good story.

Ernie: Yeah, everybody goes for that story.  Yeah. And what about the one about the “spork” Bert? Everybody loved that one too. Remember? And how they chanted “Lighter than Aluminum, and stronger than steel!” The boys loved it when you told them about the spork. How they called you “Sporkman” and chanted…right?

(across the room Bert had lain down. He was almost asleep. His breathing deepened and he snorted a couple of times, lightly, and then he was deeply asleep.)

Ernie: We should go camping again sometime soon. It’s been a long time, ya know?

(Ernie watched his friend for a few moments and then quietly left the room and closed the door. He wanted to cry. He wanted his old friend back again. He could get peeks of his old friend-just for a moment or two-infrequently, but he knew he was almost gone. Used up was the way he thought of it sometimes. Or kind of like how you can see little people dancing through the tent flap or a tiny animal’s face in the glow of a watch face but when you focus on it, you know it’ll disappear. He is glad his friend is safe. He is happy that he could make this last little bit of his life happy-or at least happier than if he’d been living in a home with no one he knew close by.

Ernie: Good night ol’ friend.

And then he went to the room he now called his own and crawled into his bed and thought about camping in the rain until he woke up the next day.