Mostly Anecdotal

There are some things you need to know before I begin. Like Stavros the Wonder Chicken, “sometimes entire paragraphs just appear in my brain right before I fall asleep.” It also happens to me sometimes upon awakening. I’m going to start writing them down, and sometimes I’ll share them. So here it is the beginning of a story I’ll never write.

When he walked into the room, he had an erection. Fanny Assingham had been standing just outside the door with her friends, and she had smiled at him. But, it was the sight of his Mother, and of his Father, as well as his brothers and sisters that took care of his rising star, and not in a good way.

Imagine there are nine inches of snow on the ground—the temperature is 27 degrees Fahrenheit and suddenly, with no warning, it’s the middle of the summer, well that’s how it was.

There is an ant in my house, and there is a bookcase attached to the wall above and behind the desk my computer sits on. Most days I see the ant walking along the lower edge of the bookshelf, he walks at least 30 minutes every day. I figure he is on some sort of fitness regimen.

I know there are some of you, who, if you saw an ant walking across the edge of the bookcase in front of you would reach out and pinch him between your forefinger and your thumb, or maybe between your middle finger and thumb, and then you’d squeeze him gently. It wouldn’t take much, and then you’d flick him toward the wastebasket. Not me, I like having an ant in the house.

The edge is perpendicular to the ground so I’m not sure how he manages not to fall, sticky feet I’m guessing. He always walks from my right to my left and around the corner of the bookcase and out of sight. Then somehow he walks behind the bookcase and later reappears again walking right to left and around the corner. I don’t remember seeing him appear until he is at least a third of the way along the edge, I’m thinking he must have an invisibility cloak like that young Potter fellow.

Where is he when he’s not circling above me? Why he’s on the wall near where the cat sleeps. The cat and he like to play, though not as much now as they once did. One day I saw the cat trying to catch the ant, usually the cat just sits and stares at him tilting his head to one side and then to the other. One day the cat was successful. He had the ant in his paw, and then he started hopping around and shaking his paw. I laughed. I’m not sure if I should have. Was the ant just tickling his foot or was he biting? “Play nice,” I said. This continued for a time, and then either the ant got tired of the game and jumped to the floor or the cat shook him loose.

I was worried about the ant, I didn’t see him land; he may have had a hard landing. I didn’t see the ant for the rest of the day, but the next morning there he was doing his wall walking right in front of me. I said, “hi ant, how you doing.” He ignored me.

I purchased two Snickers® and immediately regretted my choice, not the choice of a Snickers®, I love Snickers®, but my choice of a candy bar, two candy bars. This is no way to lose weight, I thought. The extra pounds, my extra pounds had forced my trousers to strain at every seam, seams barely holding, seams on their last threads.

The seams held but the wrapper containing the first Snickers® did not. A Snickers® is a Snickers® I thought as it, to my delight, broke out of its wrapper. I began to eat, it was delicious, full of nuts, and of caramel, and of chocolate. The bar stretched as I bit off a piece forming a narrow sliver of chocolate with a nut perched on the end, a chocolate serpent enticing me to continue. I did, and no sooner did I finish it than my thoughts returned to my extra pounds and bursting seams. I was alone, with nothing but guilt, and remorse, and a second Snickers® bar in my pocket to keep me company.

I continued on my way, perhaps an earthquake would interrupt my journey and I’d be crushed beneath a mountain of brick, the extra pounds no longer a load I’d have to carry. And in my pocket for the first person who discovered me was a Snickers® candy bar.

A transient materialized on the sidewalk in front of me. I instinctively reached into my pocket for some spare change, but instead found the second Snickers®.

“Would you like a Snickers® bar?” I asked. “I had two but I’ve already eaten one. You’re welcome to this one.”

He hesitated.

“If you don’t want it just say so,” I said.

“No it’s not that,” he said, “Thanks.”

He took the bar. I wondered if his would stretch like mine did when he bit into it, I wondered if he’d eat it now or wait until later. I wondered if his would look like a serpent to him.

I was about to leave when he smiled and said, “but next time could you make it a Milky Way®.

“A Milky Way®?” I said.

“Yes, a Milky Way®,” he replied.

“Is this the missing sentence department?” I said.

“Wait your turn” she said.

I smiled, embarrassed by my lack of manners, but I was anxious to find my missing sentence. The fellow in front of me in line didn’t seem to mind. They continued.

“Have you seen my sentence?” he asks her.

“What sentence? What did it look like?”

“Um… it was kind of short, couple of verbs. It ended with a preposition, and though I know I’m not supposed to do that, it should make it easier to find.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

“Are you sure?”

1.

“Yes, I’d remember a sentence ending in a preposition.”

He turned to leave, his lip drooping just a bit. He blinked, were those tears beginning to form in his bright brown eyes. I felt compelled to offer consolation.

“Sorry,” I said. “The pain, I’ve lost a sentence or two in my time. That’s why I’m here one of mine has recently gone missing.”

“Sir, can you identify your sentence” she said.

“Well, I can tell you a bit about it, but the devil is in the details and if I had those I’d just rewrite it.”

“Enough of that sir, I’m not here for your abuse. Now would you like to tell me about this missing sentence.”

“The sentence was about a bell, the tolling of a bell”

“That sounds like a Hemingway sentence, sparse, precise, beautiful. Are you sure the sentence you’re looking for really belongs to you.”

“Yes of course, I distinctly remember writing it.”

“And you weren’t reading a Hemingway story just before you took pencil to paper.”

“Absolutely not.”

“All right sir but I’ll need more information, what else can you tell me.”

“Well it may be a run-on sentence, I’ve written many of those in my life, and this just may be one of them, if you know what I mean, does that help?”

“I’m sorry many of the sentences we have are run-on sentences, but you’re the first person I recall ever coming to look for one.”

“I was going to fix it. It had a nice ring to it. It flowed. I would really like to find it.”

“Run-ons are all in that box in the corner. You’re welcome to look, but I don’t want you running off with a sentence that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I searched for over an hour without success. I was surprised when I left to find the same fellow that had been in line in front of me standing just outside the entrance.

“I’ll write yours if you’ll write mine,” he said.

“How does that work? You know nothing about my sentence.”

“Doesn’t matter, you tell me a little about what you were trying to say and I’ll write a sentence for you, and then you do the same for me.”

“Uh, Uh”

“I’ll write yours if you’ll write mine or we could just share a glass of Mexican wine.”

“Hey, that was really a nice sentence. Do you mind if I use it? I already know where it goes.”

“Sure, just don’t lose it.”

1. Steve Himmer Suspended Sentence