Cool, Calm & Contentious - Merrill Markoe [73]
“Calm down,” Hedda snapped at me as Ginger jumped off the bed, kicking a trail of torn index-card-sized pieces of paper into the air behind her. “No reason to get hysterical. Ginger’s a little slow.”
“Oh, but you’re the big genius,” said Puppyboy. “Miss Barks-at-Anyone-Who-Comes-in-the-Door-Wearing-a-Hat.”
“I just want to make sure that the rest of you understand what she is saying,” said Hedda, staring at me. “That we all have to work together for the good of the group. A group, as I understand it, of which she is the self-appointed leader. Which also means that she needs to get us some breakfast right now since the group is in total agreement that everyone needs to eat.”
“Fine,” I groaned, heaving a big sigh as I came to terms with the fact that my plans for additional sleeping had been hijacked. My newspaper was destroyed. My bed was covered with filthy tennis balls and torn shreds of paper. “I thought I might try to sleep a little longer, but to hell with me.” I hoisted myself out of bed and put on a sweater. Then I headed into the kitchen, gathering dog bowls from the floor as I walked, the way a movie theater janitor gathers empty popcorn boxes.
“Obviously, if I want to save the world, I will have to do it alone,” I heard myself muttering out loud as I opened the first can of dog food. “The four of you have proven that you are all too self-absorbed. There’s nothing I can depend on you to do, ever—”
“Except to hang around you, wherever you happen to be,” Ginger interrupted, staring hard at the can of food.
“And always act thrilled to see you,” said Jimmy, drooling.
“Whether we feel like it or not,” Hedda added, thumping her tail lazily as a way of asking me to hurry up. “Whether you look good or bad. Or have done anything worthwhile.”
“Who else would sit waiting, staring, ecstatic whenever you come in the door?” said Puppyboy. “Even when you’ve done nothing that I can see to deserve it?”
“And despite the fact that the mere sight of you reminds us of food,” said Hedda.
“So you’re not really even happy to see me,” I said, hurt. “It’s just an act because you associate me with food?”
“Well, yes,” said Ginger. “But there’s more to it than that.”
“Even in an environmental catastrophe or a financial meltdown, we will still act glad to see you,” said Hedda. “This house could be coated in oil and toxic solvent. We will act like you’re totally great.”
“Name someone, anyone else, who guarantees that kind of service,” challenged Jimmy.
“Not occasionally, but twenty-four hours a day,” said Hedda.
“Even after we have thrown up on every surface we could,” said Ginger. “We may have ruined your wood floors and your rugs. We may have pissed on your comforter. Even then, we will seem so happy to see you it will be like it all never happened. Or I will, at least.”
“Don’t pretend it’s just you,” Hedda chimed in. “I do the same thing but much better.”
“Neither of you is half as good at it as me,” Jimmy interrupted.
“That all counts for something, doesn’t it?” said Puppyboy, who was hard to understand because his mouth was entirely filled with a deflated basketball.
“I guess it does,” I said, nodding silently to myself as I portioned some food into each of their bowls.
Medusa’s Sister
I COULDN’T WAIT TO GRADUATE FROM HIGH SCHOOL AND LEAVE home for the comforts of an institution of higher learning that would let me make art day and night. My parents were fine with the leaving home part but didn’t like the idea of being saddled with the crushing tuition payments of an art school. Back then, the University of California was an amazing bargain for state residents, so I was under strict instructions to pick the UC campus to which I wanted to apply.
Since those were the rules, there was one and only one campus for me: Berkeley.
In those days, “Berkeley” was synonymous with “lunacy.” There were riots for every occasion. There were rallies for organizations that I never would have thought could have sufficient funding to make the Xerox