True Story: Pt. 2

An hour later, his shift finally ended. Luckily, it had been a very boring hour- the most excitement came when a little boy slipped out of his tube-float and thrashed around. It lasted long enough to catch his attention, and just before he decided he had to jump in to assist, the boy had sunk down to the bottom of the pool- a very dangerous place to be if you didn't plan to be there. The little boy took in a breath to scream for help, did so, and then realized what he had just done and why he was able to do it: it was true that he had sunk to the bottom of the pool, but his head was still above the water. Embarrassed, the boy sulked over to the other corner of the shallow end and tried to disappear, the ear-splitting screech still echoing through his head.

He put up his equipment and went to the office to sign out and leave. He breathed a sigh of relief as he chose the option "Sign out: Day" on the computer. What didn't offer him any relief, though, was the drive home he would have to endure. After five straight hours of working, it had gotten dark outside. It would be an hour of back-road driving, and he never looked forward to it even after good days at work.

"Goodnight!" called out one of the janitors as she walked by. "Nnngh," he grunted in reply. It wasn't that he was a mean person, it was just that his brain was still reeling from earlier and he couldn't quite think well enough to carry on such an extended conversation.

The drive home was able to help clear his head, if only minimally. About twenty minutes and fifteen stop signs into his trip, he was able to think about what had happened earlier- about four hours into his shift. He recalled that they had definitely been girls at one point. That part was undeniable; why else would parents have complained about a pair of young girls' suits found in the pool? They had also definitely been cats at one point. That was the only way to explain his missing whistle, the cuts on his arms and legs and neck and back and stomach and chest, and the strange announcement he heard over the intercom. It said "Attention pool members: We strongly discourage you from shaving, cutting, ripping out, or puking up hair in the showers. It clogs up our drains and, frankly, it's disgusting. Thank you." So what happened to make one become the other?

"Hmmmm..." he thought. He was not the brightest person in the world, and most people noticed that very quickly after talking to him. He fished around for another thought on the matter. He searched for any ideas he might have. "...Hmmmmmmmm..." he thought. He found the pause to be more dramatic and decided that that, combined with the longer "mmm," made his second thought more profound than the first. After a couple more minutes of pondering he came to a conclusion: "I dunno." It suited him for now and he returned his focus to driving.

A certain car happened to catch his attention immediately. It caught his attention for many reasons. One was that it was an oddly colored car. It was clear that the car was ancient; the body of the car was a dull burgundy color with spots of rust, and the top of the trunk was a sickly yellow with slightly fewer rust spots. This car had many parts of its body replaced, and the owner apparently never cared enough to get them all painted the same color. It also caught his attention that it was the same model car as his grandparents, although they took much better care of their car. Also catching his attention was the fact that the car was in the same lane, ahead of him. But there was something else that caught his eye even more than all of the other things mentioned, something that really stood out to him. What grabbed his attention the most was that this car was coming towards him at about forty miles per hour.

He screamed and slammed on his breaks.

The other driver screamed and slammed on his gas.

Together, they screamed, each holding his respective pedal. They were getting closer and closer to each other, approaching a climatic crash inch by inch. They were about to collide, and both shut his eyes. In a moment, the air would suddenly be filled with the gut-wrenching sound of two tons of metal crunching together. And then, suddenly, nothing happened. The wreck was avoided.

It would be helpful to mention here the importance of perspective. The man in the other car wasn't doing anything wrong at all. In fact, he was being a good citizen and stopping at one of the many stop signs on these back-roads. So while our lifeguard saw the driver hurtling towards him at forty miles per hour, our driver saw the lifeguard hurtling towards him at forty miles per hour. Had the driver not slammed on his gas, both would have surely died in a fiery, blood-soaked wreck.

There was a pause as they both sat in their cars, thanking anything they could. "Whew, thank God," the driver thought.

"Thank God for brakes," thought the lifeguard.

"I would like to thank the makers of this road for not putting the stop sign any further back, for we surely would have crashed."

"Thank goodness for gas too. He wouldn't have been able to get out of the way."

"I'd also like to thank the rain and wind and any other erosive action that gave this road more friction and helped him stop more easily. If he had gone just three more inches..."

"Actually, thank God for cars. If he hadn't had one, he wouldn't have been able to get out of the way."

"...and how could I forget the slight cushion of air that must have been between our two cars, helping create a small, if very weak, barrier between us? It surely must have pushed me forward at least a little bit!"

It continued like this for almost a minute. Every possible thing to thank had been gratefully acknowledged and they both decided that they'd rather start driving again than speak to each other. The driver pulled away first, slowly and cautiously. Our lifeguard pulled away next, annoyed and trying to make up for lost time.

He tailgated the driver like no one had ever tailgated before. He was swaying side-to-side and flashing his lights, but the driver refused to respond. "Oh my God," he thought, "That guy is driving so slowly." He was progressively getting more and more frustrated. He honked. He slowed down briefly, and then sped up in an attempt to pressure the driver in front of him to go a little bit faster. "Come on!" he pleaded, but the driver still didn't change speed.

He felt thoughts beginning to rise in his head. Nasty, mean thoughts began to surface. Just what they were, he didn't know yet. But he would soon enough.

The driver shifted uncomfortably in his car. His forehead felt wet. He reached up to wipe it with his sleeve, but the dampness returned within seconds. Was he nervous about the crazed driver behind him? He didn't think so; he was a pretty tough man who could hold and had held his own in many fights. Still though, he was getting very damp.

"There's something really bugging me about this driver," thought our lifeguard. "What could it be?" He was searching for a way to express his thoughts to himself. This seemed vaguely familiar.

The driver coughed. An unattractive amount of liquid had built up in his mouth and was now spewed all over his steering wheel. He was disgusted and a little bit intrigued. How had he produced so much and not noticed it? He felt something roll down his face and wiped at it. It was wet. "Am I crying?" he asked himself, astonished. He nervously wiped his nose, which had quickly become runny.

Back in our lifeguard's car, the steering wheel was getting beaten. He was trying very hard to think of what it was he wanted to think and was running out of patience. "This guy is moving so slowly!" he thought again. He hoped it would lead him down the right path towards the answer. It did.

The driver looked down. He noticed puddles around his feet. "Wow, I am really worked up over that almost-wreck," he noted.

"This guy is moving so slowly...He is like-" began our lifeguard.

The driver's ear itched. He reached in with his index finger and scratched it. A tadpole flopped out and landed on the seat next to him. He was speechless. So was the driver.

It finally dawned on the lifeguard. His brain lit up as his synapses exploded with energy. "This guy is so slow, he's like pond water!" He paused a moment, adding, "Without any wind blowing on him!"

Ahead, the driver's car slowed to a halt, as they tend to do when there is no one there to press the gas or the brake. Nothing was pressing the gas or brake because tiny zooplankton, algae, and tadpoles tend to shy away from driving cars. The reason there was nothing pressing on anything in the car was that the exact moment our lifeguard thought "He's like pond water!" also happened to be the exact moment the driver turned into pond water, leaving his car filled with tiny zooplankton, algae, and a single, speechless tadpole. And as soon as he added, "Without any wind blowing on him!" the A/C unit shut off and the windows locked. No wind would ever blow on this pond water.

Our lifeguard waited a few seconds behind the stopped car before deciding to pass. As he drove by, he noticed some water dripping through the door. With his brain freshly fried again, he could only state the obvious before it short-circuited. "That's odd," he thought faintly, and his brain shut down. Luckily, he didn't need much brainpower for the rest of the drive home. It was otherwise a very boring trip.

As soon as he arrived at his house, he went straight to his bed. There was no teeth-brushing or face-washing. He was thankful for the weekend, because he was going to need a lot of rest to recover from today. He might even sleep the whole weekend and wake up Monday morning fresh and ready for school.

He didn't do that. He didn't even come close. He woke up Saturday morning, still dazed from the previous day. He lugged about until breakfast, then he trudged a little before lunch, which he followed up with some slinking around until dinner. He did, however, wake up fresh on Monday morning, which had been in his plan. He woke up ready to face the world and his school, but he did not wake up ready to face the front page of the news paper.

It read: Man Missing for Days. Car Found on Side of Road Filled with Pond Water.

He gawked at the news paper. He gaped at the headline. He goggled at the picture of the car. He groaned at his realization. He grunted when his mother asked if he was okay.

He recognized the car as the one he followed Friday night. He remembered saying he was like pond water. He realized he must have been connected somehow. He retched at the whole situation. He replied with a faint as his mother asked him for a second time if he was okay.

True Story: Pt. 1

"Oh my God, this is boring," he thought as he looked over the pool. Being a lifeguard was kind of a raw deal. It's the only job where everyone is happy if you described your day as 'boring,' unless you happened to actually be the lifeguard. But even then, you can't really be upset that your day at work wasn't that exciting. If you are, then being a hit-man is probably a better career choice for you.

He looked over the pool once more. No one seemed to be drowning- which was good, but boring. To entertain himself, he began to twirl his whistle around his finger. It wrapped around roughly five times before he had to swing the other way. Then it wrapped around about ten times, unwrapping for five and re-wrapping for five more. He added another finger for the whistle to wrap around as he twirled it back in the original direction. It made a full seven revolutions. Back the other way, however, it only made six. "That's odd," he thought listlessly and tried it again. He kept at it mindlessly, adding and subtracting fingers at random. Sometimes he would twirl it quickly, and sometimes he would see how slowly the whistle could go. This was his fourth straight hour of sitting up on the stand, watching over the pool. This was also the most fun he had had since those four hours started.

He twirled his whistle.

He twirled it some more.

He scanned the pool.

He twirled and scanned at the same time.

He was getting quite good at this.

In fact, he was getting so good at it that he suddenly found himself with an audience. Just as he was about to attempt what he would later call a "triple twist, half-inverted twirl-pike," he looked down and saw two young girls watching him. They seemed to be about eleven or twelve years old. They also seemed to be very interested in his whistle's acrobatics. Slightly embarrassed, he scrapped his attempt at the "Triple twist, Half-Inverted Twirl-Pike" and settled with regular twirling. The two girls' interest didn't wane in the slightest bit. They continued looking at the whistle eagerly. They were captivated by every cycle, delighted with every change in rotation.

"That's odd," he thought, again. Ideally, this is not a statement one wants to hear a lifeguard say. But under these circumstances, things were indeed quite odd.

There was something strange about these two girls, but he just couldn't figure out what. The long hours of watching the pool without a break had dulled his mind, and although he could feel that he was on the verge of grasping what it was, he had a hard time thinking. He continued scanning and twirling. The girls continued watching.

As his eyes made their way back to the girls again, he noticed a bit of dirt on one of their arms. He watched for a second, wondering if she knew. In that moment, the girl took a break from watching his whistle and looked down at her arm. She saw the dirt, decided to remove it, and licked herself clean. "That was very odd," he thought, blandly.

He could still feel that unrealized thought in the back of his mind. It was getting closer and closer to coming out. It had something to do with those two girls. They were still watching his whistle. It had to have been for at least five minutes now. It didn't really bother him, though; it felt like this was what they should be doing.

His gaze fell upon the girls again. As he looked at them this time, he noticed that the delight had left the girls' faces and been replaced by very intense concentration. He looked for another second. That second turned into five more seconds, which then grew up into a full fifteen seconds. They hadn't blinked once. Their eyes were too busy following the whistle. What really demanded his attention, though, was the fact that their pupils were now enormous. As they concentrated on the twirling whistle, their pupils grew larger. They looked to be about the size of dimes. "That's odd," he noted, only a little fazed. His mind was too numb to be properly fazed by this or the fact that the last time any lifeguard noticed three very odd things in one shift, the pool she worked for was shut down.

He continued scanning the pool and allowed his brain to continue to work out just what it was that made those girls so odd. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't put the words to it. It was so close that it was very frustrating. He twirled his whistle angrily.

His scanning pattern crossed the girls again. They hadn't moved an inch, but their ears perked up as his eyes landed directly on them. "What a weird thing for girl's ears to do," he registered.

"What is my brain trying to tell me?" he wondered. He could almost taste it now. It was itching terribly to come forward. Any second now and he would either consciously know or consciously explode. It was so close.

The whistle twirled faster; the girls became tenser.

"These girls are like-" he began. It was finally being revealed. The moment had arrived. "These girls are like-"
He interrupted himself again. "Wait, were these girls always this hairy?"

They were indeed hairy, but they hadn't always been. They now had a nice coat of hair covering most of their bodies. It was very odd.

It all came together right then. His mind surged; everything fell into place. "These girls are like cats!" he exclaimed internally.

The very instant he finally realized this, the girls finished their transformation into cats. They proceeded to pounce on the whistle in the very next instant, biting and scratching him badly while doing so. Two instants later, they had clawed the whistle out of his grasp and ran off with it.

The swimmers in the pool kept swimming. No one had seemed to notice. He continued scanning the pool. His skull was clouded with smoke. His brain had worked so hard to make the previous connection that it couldn't handle what had just happened. At least not now. All he could manage to do was create one final thought before his brain sizzled: "That was odd." His brain burned out, completely fried. Luckily, he didn't need much brainpower to guard effectively. It was a very boring shift.

Train of Thought

I have gone through this thought process many times the past couple weeks, just a little less symbolically. I don't actually hate the physical moon.

Why I hate the moon:

- It comes in the night.
- Which means that it follows behind the Sun
- Which means that it does a terrible job at lighting and warming the Earth in comparison
- Which is because it cannot make its own light
- It only reflects the Sun's light.
- Therefore, it automatically can't be as good as the thing that it's reflecting.
- Because it's not the real thing
- The moon is what's left behind after the Sun is gone.
- The moon is a ghost.
- The moon is a ghost that lingers in the sky.
- The moon is a ghost that lingers in the sky, mocking me.
- It mocks me.
- Reflecting the Sun's light
- Reminding me of a past I can no longer have

Conclusion:

I hate the moon because it is a ghost that lingers in the night sky, mocking me and reminding me of a past I can't have.

But wait...

Why I don't hate the moon:

- I don't hate what it represents.
- Because I don't hate the past
- If I want any connection to the Sun during the night, I need the moon.
- It is reflecting the Sun's light, after all.

Conclusion:

I don't hate the moon because it is my only link to the past in the night sky.


So let's put the two conclusions together...

I hate the moon because it is a ghost that lingers in the night sky, mocking me and reminding me of a past I can't have, but I don't hate the moon because it is my only link to the past in the night sky.


That's quite a mouthful. Let's boil that down a little bit...

I hate the moon because it's there, reminding me of the past, but I don't hate the moon because it's the only link to the past up there.


Okay, now let's separate the two again...


- I hate the moon because it's there, reminding me of the past.

- I don't hate the moon because it's there as my only link to the past.

And now combine and condense one more time...


I hate the moon because it's there, but I don't hate the moon because it's there.



Final Conclusion:


I am one confused little boy.

Ian's Poem

Ian wrote this poem to read for his class. I'm publishing this to further prove that my siblings are funnier than yours. Also because I wish that I could write poetry like this. I don't know if it has a title, and I added the punctuation.


Dear black, why do you make me sad?
You remind me of my childhood I once had.
You lock me up in a world when I go to sleep,
only to scare me and make me weep.
Those nights of bright light will disappear I fear.
You are everywhere, so far and so near.
You are a leaf, slowly falling upon the earth at night,
And you're a murderer who kills the content of light.
You're like a cat whose path I follow.
And you fill my heart when it is hollow.
You've taken a dear friend of mine, a friend now loss.
I will be there soon too, under the cross.
Black, you are the color of my bread.
My dead bread bred bread on my red bed.
You make me cry a sea,
because you make me feel as lonely as thee
who cannot see.
You keep me away from colors
such as yellow, blue, red
The colors that speak true happiness, to me, they are dead.
My cat is a black, fluffy young lad,
so I guess black isn't all that bad.
-Ian Hentenaar