Authors: Chris Bachelder
Back at cruising speed, it’s family time: Mr. Norman calls home to retrieve phone messages while Mrs. Norman does a little back-to-school shopping for the boys on the Internet while Matthew plays Bear Killer and the other boy (the younger one) listens to headphones and plays Deep Sea Gore III and does some e-shopping for his main squeeze back home.
Matthew says, “Hey what’s a Guardian knot?”
Mrs. Norman says, “I think you mean a Gordon knot.”
Curtis, talking too loud because of his headphones, says, “I always thought it was Accordion knot.”
Bear Killer says, “I vanquish thee.”
Matthew says, “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Curtis says, “Well neither does Guardian knot, butt lick.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Curtis, don’t call Gordon a butt lick.”
Matthew says, “It’s Matthew.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Each of your errors makes quite a bit of sense, each in their own special way.”
Deep Sea Gore III says, “My femur is shattered, Hank.”
Curtis says, “The Accordion knot was essentially a knot to tie up Phrygian bears, but the bears cut the knots with their pipin’ swords.”
The first day’s drive is nearly complete.
Matthew says, “So how does Accordion knot, which is wrong, make sense and not Guardian knot?”
She (the answering machine) says, “You have fourteen new messages.” Her voice is husky but demure. Wow.
Mr. Norman feels exhausted, but also something else.
Curtis, loudly, says, “In Cub Scouts we learned the carrick bend, the Blackwall hitch, and the slipknot.”
Nauseated, yes, and dizzy. Bloated on sodium, goes without saying. Disoriented, numb.
Mrs. Norman says, “You won’t get to tie up bears until Boy Scouts.”
She (the answering machine) says, “Press one to review first message.” So selfless, staying home to take messages while the family goes abroad.
But something else, too. There’s something else in him besides the beat and burn of his heart.
Matthew says, “You could hold a bear with a damn granny knot.”
The answering machine says, “Touch two to save message.” That voice is something else. It’s difficult to tell how sexually experienced she is.
He (Mr. Norman) feels restless, maybe that’s it. No, not restless, exactly.
Curtis says, “Yeah, that’s what the Phrygians thought, and then they got a little taste of bear steel.”
She says, “Ooh, touch two
again
.”
Lonesome.
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The Normans locate their hotel off of the interstate. It’s a Plugged Inn, a quaint new American-style chain that offers, in its upscale rooms, two Televisions, Internet access, and scores of virtual amenities, as well as a real swimming pool.
The idea is that you can
stay connected in style
. It’s like you can work and play just like you were at home, except youre not at home, youre in a hotel room somewhere. The idea is that you never I mean
never
have to miss a cop show or a video conference or a sexy chat-room discussion. It just doesnt matter how far you are from home. It’s really
just like
being at home, except much smaller and more expensive.
Mr. Norman, heck, what a long drive, says, “What?”
Mrs. Norman reboots.
While Curtis programs his General Topics of Personal Interest, Matthew programs his General Topics of Personal Interest.
Mr. Norman says, “How about a swim?”
Mr. Norman’s family stares at Mr. Norman, six eyes on the guy who said
swim
. Mrs. Norman actually does a double take, sitcom style.
Nails it
. Then, realizing what she’s done, she does it again a second double take, thats four takes in all but this second double take is stilted, mechanical, self-conscious, and she knows it.
She (Mrs. Norman) says, “Shoot.”
Curtis’s GTPI: Martial Arts, Extreme Stocks & Bonds, Australian Rules Football, Art with Blood, Window Treatments, the Dutch.
Mr. Norman says, “Come on, honey, let’s take a dip.” He looks at her, well, funny. He winks and twitches. He says, “There’s nobody in the pool right now.”
Mrs. Norman says, “What?”
Mr. Norman says, “No lifeguard on duty.”
Mrs. Norman says, “But I want to check the Internet to see where we’ve gone today.” She logs on at the bedside port.
Matthew watches a show that shows a blindfolded contestant touching a series of objects and guessing which one is her husband.
Outside the real window the sun sets in pretty chemical hues.
Curtis’s picture: Edgy handheld footage of inexpensive homemade curtains.
Picture in picture: Edgy faux low-budget handheld footage of a dike.
A woman on Matthew’s Television says, “Now
this
is Paul, I just know it.
Mr. Norman mutilates his swimming trunks with a pair of scissors built into his watch.
Dent Trilling, the Game Show Host on Matthew’s Television, says, “Oooh, sorry, Mrs. Tanner, that’s not your spouse. Would you believe it’s a
chinchilla
?
Mrs. Norman stares into the bedside monitor, reviewing the day’s journey, nodding. She says, “No wonder it was so fun.”
Mr. Norman studies his twitching and winking in the mirror. He says softly to his wife, “I’m going down to the pool. I’ll see you in a few minutes, you hot thing.”
Mrs. Norman’s double take lacks that certain something.
Curtis’s Television says, “The blue chips are pipin’.”
Matthew’s Television says, “See you next week on . . . [audience yells along] . . .
THAT’S . . . NOT . . . YOUR . . . SPOUSE!”
Offstage Paul Tanner says to crying wife, “Mind telling me how the
fuck
you mistake me for a small South American rodent raised for its silvery gray fur?
A Television Personality says, OK, we just have about thirty seconds left. Tell us about your new self-published book.
The new self-published book author says, My main point, Carol, is that our culture’s information practices have just about done away with the concept of a non sequitur. In other words, we now fully expect things not to follow from other things, such that when things do not follow from other things, they seem to follow quite naturally from other things.
The Television Personality says, Well, you lost me, I’m afraid.
The new self-published book author says, The real non sequitur has perhaps become the sequitur, so to speak.
The Television Personality says, Whoa, the sequitur, huh?
The Television Show Director says, Five seconds.
The Television Show Producer says, Remind me never to have another author on the show.
Roland Barthes (author of
Mythologies
) says, In fact, nothing can be safe from myth.
The new self-published book author says, When a point follows another point it seems not to follow at all because we expect it not to follow and when it doesn’t it seems as if it does because we expected it not to.
That’s a wrap.
The Television Commercial says, If you have lung cancer, would you rather go to some general practitioner or to a lung cancer specialist? At Green Paint, we don’t just dabble in greens like other paint companies. Green is what we do. So whether you need a lime or a forest, a pea or a hunter, a sage or a kelly, come to Green Paint, where green has been a specialty for over twenty years. And remember: We do lawns.
In the dark, heavily chlorinated pool of the Plugged Inn, Mr. Norman twitches and rubs himself against the shivering Mrs. Norman.
Through chattering teeth Mrs. Norman says, “Fresh minty taste.”
Things are going pretty well.
The poolside Television says, “Nobody wants to be constipated as a result of their diarrhea medicine.”
Mr. Norman takes Mrs. Norman’s hand and places it on his, well, penis, which is protruding into the chlorine through a hole he has cut in the crotch of his swimming trunks. In the water, his erection looks bent and wavy. It appears to squiggle and pulse. Desire refracted.
Mrs. Norman gasps.
Mr. Norman twitches sexily. He winks at her with an eye all red from driving and pool chemicals. His wet hair sticks up funny.
Mrs. Norman says, “Larry.”
Mr. Norman says, “I saw it on the Television.”
Mrs. Norman says, “I saw it, too. Interesting program on prison sex.”
Mr. Norman says, “Prisoners are still people.”
He kisses Mrs. Norman on the neck. He licks her, tastes the urine and chlorine. Who would win in a fight between Dirty and Clean?
A dead cricket floats past.
Mrs. Norman says, “Larry, I bought those swimming trunks at Griffith’s. They’re durable, yet sporty. They’re safe to one hundred meters. They dry quickly and they’ve got a special patented Antichafe Flap.”
Mr. Norman gazes down into the dark water at his patented trunks, his shimmering flagellum.
Mrs. Norman says, “You cut the flap, Larry.”
Mr. Norman says, “We’ll just get another pair.” He gropes Mrs. Norman underwater.
A sign outside the pool says, “The management requests that you relax, enjoy your stay with us, and don’t pee in the pool.”
Mrs. Norman says, “We can’t get another pair. I got them at a going-out-of-business sale. Sixty percent off.”
Mr. Norman stops groping and twitching. He pushes the wavy thingy back into his trunks. It pops out again.
He says, “Sixty percent off everything or just specially marked items?”
A third-floor balcony Television says, “Plenty of head rheum.”
The Normans bob and tread, locked and awkward.
Mrs. Norman says, “Ouch.”
Mr. Norman says, “This is not exactly what I want. It’s sort of close, though.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Not here.”
Mr. Norman says, “I mean, don’t you just worry about the children?”
Mrs. Norman says, “Every day of my life.”