The boys and I were out on the town, looking for some action. And I don’t mean “action” like some mob of hormonal teenage brigands. Nah, I mean like something edifying. Something you’d feel in your DNA, not just some T and A. That Paul Atreides kinda ride, moreso than the Alex DeLarge trip. You dig?
See, we’d been sucking down hard cider like it was water. It was October or the eschaton or somewhere thereabouts. The bar we’d found ourselves in was full of college kids, enamored with their own newfound independence. Dressing themselves with a purpose and trying to impress everyone they spoke to. Bad scene. No action here. The boys and I were looking for much more than somebody’s Junior-year book report on the Great Gatsby, you dig?
I suppose I should introduce the boys, since I keep mentioning them.
- My right-hand man, Buckler Precious, a retired fisherman. About ten years my senior, with a glass eye that changes colors with barometric pressure. He says he lost the eye in “a fight” and won’t tell any more. A short but stout man, with a wiry black beard descending to almost his waist. Wears wool sweaters and khakis.
- The social butterfly, Tim-Tim Acrimundo. A flirtatious and roguish young man, and a survivor of the horrendous American foster-kid system. He is tall, lithe, and has curly hair and a bad teenage mustache. He is a talented musician. The violin is his favorite instrument.
- Cabbage, the Talking Parrot. He’s a 26 year old talking African Grey. Mostly stays silent but when he does speak, it’s usually a trenchant insight or a very funny joke. I actually had a single-shoulder pauldron made with a little stand for him (at great cost) so hanging with him would be easier. Dude’s a legend.
- The newest fella in the group, Spring Touloosey. He grew up in New Orleans, so his speech has that sort of royal drawl that those people have. He grew up in a mostly empty manse that was overgrown with ivy, and he swears it was always cold enough to see your breath inside, even when the southern summers were blazing hot outside. We kind of haze him by punching him and making him buy cider for us.
The boys and I were out on the town, looking for some action. Cabbage said “This is like an all-boy kennel! No bitches!” Which was somewhat misogynistic and reductive but also keep in mind he is a talking parrot. “I agree,” Buckler said, burping. “I heard there’s a really great place just a couple of blocks away. Thing is, though, and you’re not gonna believe this…”
He paused.
I rolled my eyes and slapped my hand on the table. “I hate that shit. When people do that thing where they prompt someone to ask them more about the thing they were just talking about. Why do you need that? You’re being stupid.”
Buckler looked at me for a couple seconds “I wasn’t doing that. I was about to say it. You seem kind of agitated. If I-“
I interrupted “Yeah, okay. Sure. I was an asshole. I’m sorry. Can we drop it?! I’m drunk. I’m sorry.”
Buckler said, “Yeah. No problem man. The bar is just a couple of blocks away, but we have to use our imaginations to get there.” There was a resounding silence in the bar, as the jukebox just ended Toby Keith’s “Shoulda Been a Cowboy” and took up Daniel Bedingfield “Gotta Get Thru This”
“‘Use our imaginations, what the heck are you talking about!?'” asked Tim-Tim. “He’s trying to open the conversation to gay stuff,” suggested Spring.
“No! Not at all!” exclaimed Buckler. “In fact, I will show you,” he said, standing up and pushing his bar chair across the deathdry plankboards with a squeak. “Just come outside with me. Just trust me this time,” So then we were outside, I had a cigarette in my mouth. The boys and I were about to embark on a journey to a bar that could only be accessed by imagination.
And wouldn’t you know it? We all surrendered our suspicion, our attachment to The Way Things Are and we ended up in a different reality. Despite the honking of many speeding cars, the jaywalking with a mind set on imagination led us to an entirely new place. The waking world gave way to a different reality. I do feel slightly guilty about all those cars that crashed when they swerved avoiding us and they all died crashing into light poles and buildings and burning to death and stuff but the new place we walked into was just so magical.
The boys and I were out on the town, looking for some action. We found it in the Woodland Critters Cafe. It was a building in the shape of a boot, which is the most whimsical of cartoon building shapes. I walked in, and the air was that warm, orange musty smell of a familiar and safe place in the long winter nights. Cabbage gave a long bird cry and swooped across the room. Tim-Tim locked eyes with a girl and I think she may have been a gingerbread cookie or something but he disappeared for the rest of the night. And the stale beer and human heat of the room felt inviting as opposed to the crisp cutting cold of fall outside. I saddled up to the barstool closest to me and watched the bartender wipe down a mug. He was a bear. A grizzly bear wearing an apron.
Bear Bartender: What can I get you, son?
Mark: Well, uh. I’m not sure. We’re in Imagination, right?
Bear: Yeah. Yep. (he’s refilling the ice resevoir)
Mark: Well can I get like, a…some kind of imaginary drink? Like a Faerie Margarita?!
Bear: ….
Mark: …
(They both laugh)
Bear: You just asked for-
Mark: Yeah! Yeah I know man! Okay. Okay.
Bear: A rum and coke?
Mark: That sounds great.
(Bear prepares the drink)
Bear: So, you’re not from Imagination, right?
Mark: Nah, I’m from Wisconsin. Which is seems kind of like this place.
Bear: Nah. It’s not like this. (He’s making some other patron’s drink by now)
Mark: It’s always cold and empty.
Bear: Yeah, and Imagination is the opposite of that. It’s warm and full. Y’know?
Mark: I guess I mean like it’s just a construct that we feel socially. It’s topography and shit is cool, but it seems arbitrary. Minnesota is the same thing but the politics are different there.
Bear: I don’t care. I’m a bear. Would you like to drink another round in a magical enchanted boot or go back to the real world?
Mark: Yes, barkeep. I will surely have another.
Bear: Yeah. They never want to go back.
The boys and I woke up and went back to work. The experience had to get muted into the routine in order to function. The action was found. It was disappointing. I like the bear though.
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