SWEET MELLISA
Cows, however sweet in nature can periodically find themselves foraging in the same pastures, and enjoying the same grasses of gossip that are usually left to the appetites of the less refined species, for example…goats. Although I’m sure they would disagree… Goats believe they are as noble as royalty, yet never come to terms with their own offensive aroma. However these assertions and similarities are achieved, they are the property of goats, and as such cannot, and will not be spoken of outside of the Capra circle. The Cosa Nostra of the animal kingdom it would seem. With their apparent disregard for the privacy of others, goats it would appear are extremely secretive and consequently suspicious of others. The bells that adorn the necks of goats are not so much in place to provide a beacon of audible positioning regarding their locality, as they are an attempt to disguise their conversations, and more likely than not, the topical gossip being discussed at any given time. A misconception the humans always get wrong. As well as most everything else the humans get wrong.
The topic at hand amongst both the bovine class and the ewes on this particular day was the return of two of the more adventurous creatures abiding, at different times of the year, on the farm of one Juan Middlelarge.
Ian and Mellisa had returned from their travels, and Farmer Juan went jogging.
It was during Farmer Juan’s elongated runs, due to an extremely arduous, and exhausting training schedule he had undertaken, that a gala soiree of epic proportions would be planned. The ducks would get drunk, the geese would display disgust at the ducks getting drunk, the chickens would stay up all night knitting bibs for the ducks…(which they wouldn’t wear)…the dogs would bark joyously, the pigs would break wind, the goats would smell audacious without breaking wind, the pigeons cooed, the cattle mooed, the cats chased rats, the rats wore hats, and the mice ran away the spoon.
All the while some of the older mares on the farm would feign indifference, in a vain attempt to disguise their jealousy with regards to the revelry concerning the travels of the waylaid fun seekers. The younger more easily elated of the remaining horses would stomp their feet with anticipation, awaiting the retelling of all the adventures and romantic locales that Mellisa would most certainly be affording them. Where had she gone? What had she seen? These were the things that could turn a run of the mill, just another day at the farm, bucket full to the brim with boredom, ordinary day watching cows eat grass, into a full blown, run around the coral, whinny at the stars, kick up ones hooves, and jump clear over the fence and head for the hills, celebratory event. But the elation was short lived.
Mellisa was a beautiful equine whose pedigree was, at first glance, not of high lineage. However, the result of the pairing of her parents, had created a wonderful, mix of kindness, beauty and fortitude, that even when being discussed by the other, somewhat jealous, and at times catty horses in the coral of farmer Juan’s modest, but very hospitable farm, had to concur that Mellisa was in fact an extremely lovely and spirited creature. She was born of plough horse stock, but had truly become an outstanding thoroughbred, both in stature and internal tenacity. The latter attribute could at different instances result in a considerable amount of grief for Ian. He was always at a loss when it came to understanding her completely. These are the way things should be he thought. Better to misunderstand her nature and fumble along through the darkness relying solely on previous experiences, than to just listen to her and comply with her wishes. So fumble he did. Ian could be such a fool for someone who, by his own estimation of course, was so above the fray.
Mellisa's life choices had always been her own and she lived by the consequences of those decisions. She was in all fact, a wanderer from birth. The other side of the fence had always appealed to Mellisa’s, gypsy at heart nature. It wasn’t because she believed that the grass was always greener on the other side, naiveté was not her strong suit. It was simply a genuine need to find out.
Because of her obvious physical glowing attributes, Melissa was often the topic of discussion at the late night poker games the “cigar smoking ducks” frequently carried on till all hours of the night. Ducks could be so vulgar and pedestrian at times she thought…As if they had a snowballs chance at Mellisa’s notice... It was not that she disliked ducks, per se, but they had a peculiar habit of getting underfoot in the barnyard, and had at times almost caused a mishap with some of the four legged creatures in the barnyard. Herself included. It was always assumed, by the humans, that ducks waddled the way they do due as a result of their rather inappropriate choice of footwear, clearly ill-suited when not paddling about in the pond. But as all the animals on the farm knew, it was more likely than not, a result of some extremely, debaucherous late nights in the comfort of the barn, that had produced the somewhat precarious sauntering.
My how the geese in the adjacent pen detested these foul fowl. Geese have such dignity in comparison Ian thought, and would often comment on how gracefully they carried themselves in light of their obvious similarities. Gladys, the most capable and dignified of the gaggle, would always attempt to correct him whenever he would point out the more than apparent regularities, or as she would say, irregularities in their physical appearance, and capabilities. As far as Gladys was concerned the ability to float and fly did not a lineage link make.
As a matter of fact, Gladys would always maintain, if it were not for the geese, and some of the other animals on the farm, it was her estimation that the ducks would not even have the wherewithal to find the pond, let alone fly without the example geese provided for them. Hobbling the verbiage of geese is risky business at best, and usually the exercise of fools given their more than quick to enter the fray, tenacious nature. Gladys’s contempt for ducks knew no master Ian thought, however deserving.
Ian was an ass. He was born an ass and quite probably would die one, failing some miraculous breakthrough in genetic engineering. And even if by some remote possibility that a revelation in the field of bio-engineering were to take place, it was almost certainly to become the sole proprietary domain of the designing, elitist humans. If only I could somehow persuade them of the importance of my quest, to become more like the beauty that had stolen my heart and had caused me to behave as irrationally as a newborn lamb he thought. Ian wasn’t unhappy about being an ass per se, as he was always proud of the contributions his kin had made to the advancement of all things worthwhile. Burros and donkeys have always stepped up to the plate whenever asked, Ian believed, and he was not prepared to entertain any of the preconceived past reputations perpetrated by the automotive industry to push his kind back into the stone age. The unwarranted attacks, with regards to his ancestries reported, or in his estimation, misreported stubbornness, were at best, unsubstantiated allegations that were not formative of anything even remotely resembling fact or truth, and at worst an obvious attempt at genocide. Extreme rational I know, Ian would say to anyone drunk enough to listen…mostly ducks… and the odd pigeon, who it seemed were not really interested, they just generally didn't have anywhere else to go. Ian could at times enter into the field of the conspiratorial macabre.
It all started out innocently enough for the most part, but upon reflection Ian knew he had made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t so much a desire on his part to cause anyone any pain, or even discomfort, but the harder he tried to gain the adoration of Mellisa, the farther she withdrew. How desperately Ian wanted to assure Mellisa that his ill behavior did not come from a place of nefarious, or diabolical motivation, but rather one of confusion, and an underlying inability to adapt as readily to a new place after being away for as long as he had been. She had stolen his heart and along with it, his mind had somehow ended up on the missing list as well.
I always do this, Ian said to himself. I always underestimate the cultural differences from the farm in this county, to the faraway one where Farmer Juan would send him every year in order to appease Ian’s distaste for cold climates. Ian’s love affair with the county of Latina, had been going on for almost two/thirds of his life, and had, most certainly by this time, engrained its effect upon Ian’s life to an almost non-refundable position. Even if I could, I should not, Ian realized. An unfortunate by-product of a functioning mind, is that we simply cannot unlearn the learned.
Ian wanted so much to be more important to the lovely Mellisa that he, at times, forgot his own rules, pertaining to proper decorum, with regards to the wishes of Mellisa, or anyone for that matter, and let his foolish heart dictate the essence, or lack thereof, of his behavior.
Ian had, on one occasion, heard the hens in the chicken coop regale a story once of a program they had seen on farmer Juan’s television box, which they frequently viewed through the window, from the rail of the back porch. It was here they would go to get out from the mid-day sun, on hazy summer days. They were mostly enamored with the dark skinned giggly woman who would appear just as the sun became its most relentless. Sometimes two or three of the ducks, who were obviously a little too ill from the previous nights escapades, and far too lazy to advance themselves to the cooling relief of the pond, would stumble up the steps and demand that the hens command the television to show a program they had heard of, whose sole participants were rather large, sun-glassed men playing cards, and smoking cigars. They believed the name of the program was called “Hold- Em” and took place in a fabulous place called Texas. When the hens would giggle and cluck about, and attempt yet again to tell these misfits of nature, that they had absolutely no control over the small box inside the house, pertaining to its ability to go from one image to the other, the ducks would have none of it. “Nonsense” they would quack in unison, as close to harmony as ducks can aspire to. Ducks wholeheartedly believed that chickens, because of their obvious design flaw…I.E. wings that would not get them airborne… must have been gifted in another fashion. And by what passes for logic in the world of duckery, that gift must surely be clairvoyance over inanimate objects. If you wish it, it will come. As with most other times on the back porch, the ducks became tired of the teasing of chickens and soon took their leave grumbling obscenities, as only ducks can, and waddled back to the barn for cocktails, rice wine, and snicky snacks.
And so it was only after this rude and crass encounter had diffused itself, that the hens could resume their sojourn on the porch. Ah yes, the giggly woman Ophelia had returned. She had on this particular day, a guest of some apparent renown. A balding man of very tall stature, who was playing an instrument, and singing with a very soothing baritone voice. Rather pleasant for a human Ian thought, having just arrived to see what all the hollering was about. “Ducks” was all the hens would say. It was in fact, all the explanation required. As the chickens bobbed up and down to the beat, Ian began listening to the words. His grasp of the human’s speech had improved over the years and if he were correct, it would seem that the gist of the song was, more or less, about how humans were the only living things on the planet that had the inherent ability to get lost. Not lost as in a geographical sense, like ducks could get lost, but rather spiritually, and emotionally.
Another vain, human misconception Ian thought, as he had just recently become lost in that venue himself, and although he realized how selfish, and childish, and in the grand scheme of things, petty, and undeserving of consideration, this feeling of uncertainty was, for him it was real.
Ian, remembering his time with Mellisa, and the long walks they took, the adventures in the back roads of an immense and at times dangerous landscape that surrounded them, only had warm recollections of how they had supported each other, and had respected each other, and considered each others opinions with regards to their, at times unsure positioning. The danger did not deter them, and Ian was always in admiration of Mellisa’s non-reluctant attitude with accepting risk. In life there should be risk, Ian thought. How else do we know were alive. Life had become too homogenized for his tastes, with the incessant piling on of rules and regulatory processes that seemed to serve only to withdraw the life marrow out of existing, and to reduce us all too robotic manifestations of someone elses idea of what we should all be. Individuality must be eradicated at all costs, would appear to be the only clear sense of direction this mantra has embraced. But make no mistake, Ian had, over the years learned to adapt. Instead of fighting against the wheels of madness, he had in fact, learned to fly under the radar and actually benefit from the cacophony of paper pushing Pollitt bureaus. The trick was to keep a very low profile, and not become middle class. A viable alternative from poverty for most people, a death sentence for Ian. He was glad they existed however, knowing full well that it was they who got things done and paid for. He respected their choice, and from a real place understood their position, having been raised in that environment since childhood. But since childhood he was also instructed, by a mother with an adventurous spirit, that to turn your back on yourself, and your true personality, is also going against a natural law of nature. “To Thine own self be true”.
It was the length of adaptation that was always underestimated by Ian, and consequently would lead him to a less than admirable form of behavior. He didn’t excuse this reprehension, or dismiss it, he only wished to assure Mellisa of its source. Yes it’s true I can be childish at times when things don’t work the way I had hoped, and yes I was at times asking for more than I could receive in return, Ian had told Mellisa, but the truth was he had not taken her seriously enough and honestly believed he could help her though a difficult time, by being a larger part of her life. He was wrong, and he wishes she could forgive him. The friendship they shared and the way she could make Ian laugh, will always hold a warm spot in his heart, no matter the outcome. There is not now, nor was there ever, any diabolical or sinister motive involved in Ian’s at times clumsy advances, nor would he ever apologize for having deep feelings, and romantic ideas with regards to Mellisa, or feel shame in wanting to be with her.
His frustration got the better of him, and his own life situation with the imminent passing of his father can make for a state of uncertainty, and with that, a reaching out to a person he had grown to depend on. Clearly Mellisa had her own situation to deal with, and as such the added pressure was more than she needed. I was being unfair and unreasonable, Ian after long deliberation had come to realize. But these were not insurmountable obstacles to overcome Ian reasoned, and in reality only adjustments that he had to deal with, not she. It is an assignment Ian would accept as his responsibility, and make every attempt to compensate.
If only I could make her understand how important she is to me and how I would love to be a continuing part of her life, and how hard a time I have been having at thinking that my good friend should think poorly of me Ian thought. He also understood what Mellisa meant when she told him that she was losing something too. In reality Ian believed that at this time in their lives that they were old enough to let go of some pride, (mostly his own) and understand that they didn’t have to lose anything. He only had to listen better. But ultimately this would have to be Mellisa’s choice, Ian knew. He only hoped that with a little time she could see the goodness in him, and forgive his indiscretions.
In the grand scheme of things Ian understood that whatever the outcome life would go on, it has no choice. It is us who make choices. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but choices none the less. Birds will sing, fish will swim, dolphins will play, ducks will drink martinis, geese will judge martini drinking ducks, chickens will watch daytime television, and Juan Middlelarge will continue to run, for no apparent reason other to get away from his livestock and their squabbling.
Would the world perish if Ian and Mellisa can’t seem to resolve their differences…
No, but I believe it would be less delightful
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