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.
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