The Hog

5:04 AM – ‘Gibbons’ the iPhone dances a rumba cross Romonda’s nightstand. She peeps a blurry eye at the screen; Gertrude, her sister breaking texting laws – again…

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G: They know Romonda.

R: It’s predawn Gert. Text me later. Using nouns and specifics. Bye.

G: Don’t be obstinate. It’s tiresome.

 R: Duel at OK Corral – 7 AM – pick your weapon.

G: Did you, or did you not, ride off on a motor bike yesterday with your legs gripped around a Cretan with chains draped around his neck?

Romonda sends back a series of crying-laughing emojis.

G: Stop that immediately, this is serious. The holidays are coming up, and I need peace and joy; and harkened angels singing. Got me?”

R: Gert, if you need emotional therapy or to spill gossip jellybeans, call me later. I can’t decode Volcan before coffee and two chocolate doughnuts. Got me?”

Gibbons, the trader begins to dance again immediately. Ro snatches him up and heads to the kitchen for K-Cup Espresso and chocolate. Hugging her patient angel tight; she taps brew; then taps answer.

“They know about the hog, Romonda,” Gertrude spit out; gasping with a voice like a cigarette smoker’s first drag.

Ro is alert now and almost caffeinated enough to query her exasperated sister.

“The what?”

 “The hog. The motorcycle. The quadruped you straddled while cleaving to that man like a dust bunny to a Swiffer pad.”

“Who, Slash, he offered to give me a lift to JoAnn’s. We had coupons for sequins.”

“He’s from Crete, Ro.”

“So is Carob.”

Gertrude’s voice lowered to a scowl. Romonda brews another K-Cup and licks chocolate off her fingers.

“Our Bonsai Instructor saw you. He told his master gardener, Mr. Wardo. Who told Master Lu; who told the entire class to be especially gentle and calm around you. I’ve heard you claim a certain amount of intelligence; show me now and follow this through for me…”

Romonda places her hand on chin to rouse thoughts while contemplating the glazed doughnut.

“So, the entire tiny tree clipping community believes I’ve lost my Zen and will hack up my potted plant and decide to burn rubber and rumble instead?”

“Essentially. Now the secondary follow-up from that scene – please.”

“Gert, do you remember the picture I have in my bathroom by the sink? The one with the cute Blue Bird of Happiness quoting ‘I don’t like mornings and I don’t like people/sisters.”

“You made that on your best friend the “Cricut” machine – now explain what that has to do with the situation, Romonda. Our class tuition is paid, and I don’t want to carry pepper spray in my purse for the Bonsai Buffs. Seriously, Ro, they send their bonsai scissors to a professional knife sharpener. Did you see the look Master Lu sent you when you cut a piece of duct tape with them to wrap around a finger cut? “

“It is a tried-and-true workaround band-aid, Gertrude. Now why don’t spill what’s really up with you. Slash has more friends if your yearning leans that way.”

Gertrude heaves a deep tolerant big sister sigh and gathers the many words to explain the consequential follow-up.

“Ro, pay attention now and connect the dots with me; Master Lu is in the bingo tournament with Uncle Brock next Saturday. Uncle Brock has horrible brain-to-mouth control. He also has a twitch that stimulates his not-so-funny bone, and he rejoices in making fun of people, even his friends. They are both invited to holiday dinner – the whole class is!!!”

If Gert could see through the phone -Romonda would be grinning her acknowledgement of Uncle Brock’s traits – she loved U. B…

“How’s the tree-nipping going ML, is his usual greeting. Master Lu stiffens and makes it hard for him to put down his little colored marker things.” Ro smiles.

“Gertrude, I know you have an ultimate end moral to this story for me to absorb – please, just zip me to it. I don’t have enough coffee in the house to know whatever double hockey sticks you’re getting at this time. Give me concrete instructions/behavior modification requests. I am all ears.”

“Alright, Romonda. Here it is plain. Aunt Miranda will find out down the line, and you will be in deep boomerang doo-doo. She’s on second date stage with Master Lu and is having a hard time learning the tea ritual – never mind walking in slinky silk dress with slits. She, in distress, will go up the line and share her torment with Mother; who will need a target back down the line for her suffering with Aunt Miranda. Are you with me so far?”

“So, you’re saying it could be like Thanksgiving 2007 all over again? Uncle B’s raising fists at Master Lu in frustration and misunderstanding; popping up the dish of cranberry sauce – pinging it off the ceiling fan? That did get a tad out of control. I got frequent buyer Home Depot points for ‘Bravo – Industrial Strength Rug Cleaner’; you got dinged for pricey tablecloth and those two didn’t speak for months.”

“Yes, Ro, – ‘The Cranberry Affair’. Do you want to be responsible for a repeat of that or worse? I don’t. No, hold on, I won’t.”

Ro’s face lights up with a brief sly Grinch-like smile. Oh, yes, she would like that – yet not the cleanup bill and scowls from MOM.

Gertrude envisions Ro’s amused face.

“Please Romonda.”

“Oh, stop clutching your pearls, Gert. With modest respect for the upcoming harmonious holiday, I’ll find amusement elsewhere. You can tell Mom, Gordon (Slash), is Master Lu’s head gardener’s nephew. He asks if I could show him around while he’s in town for the holiday. He’s not my new main squeeze and I did not purchase a set of leathers and chain accessories on Amazon. For good measure, tell her I have no odious intention towards tiny trees. Good enough?”

Gertrude considers this but sees a flaw.

“But Mr. Wardo is invited to Thanksgiving dinner, too. I told you, Mom invited the entire Bonsai class. Does that mean his brother is coming too?”

“Well, Gertio, you know polite stuff better than me – but I ask you; would it, or would it not, be rude NOT to include Slash?”

Deep frustrated moans come from Gibbon’s speaker.

“I am going to catch the flu. That is my plan. Since you think this is so amusing, Romonda, you can fill in for me and then make me turkey broth to sip.”

“We did that trick last year, and Mom has a memory elephants’ envy. Don’t be a scaredy cat, Gert. Buck up bucko. I have a plan.”

Deep frightened moans come through Gibbon’s speaker.

“While Slash and I perused the sales on beading crystals, he told me how he can wear chains around his neck yet charm the pants off the ladies and have men wanting to be like him.”

Gertrude releases a small sob.

“Go, on, Romonda.”

“He draws them like flies to honey with compliments, kindness, a super enticing white toothy smile – bearing gifts of acknowledgement.”

“Did you just use the word “acknowledgements” and Slash in the same thought bubble?”

“Gert, you can be a real jerk wad. What have I tried to impress on you how first visual impressions are often wrong about what’s inside. Geez, Louise.”

“Ro, just get to the hypothetical solution. I am not buying another 72″ Irish lace tablecloth in this lifetime – that set me back plenty. And do you want the days leading up to Christmas to be a string of lectures on proper ‘acknowledgement’ of family traditions and how cranberry sauce stains more than walls and linens; it colors relationships too? I sure don’t.”

“Never fear, my dear exasperated sister, The Zen route to holiday happiness flows like this: Gordan bought Aunt Miranda an illustrated guide to performing a formal Chinese Tea Service; Mom a new Irish linen apron stenciled with ‘Smooches Accepted in Exchange for Pumpkin Pie’; Master Lu gets a small sad Bonsai needing rescue; and Uncle Brock a 750ml bottle of Jim Bean Double Oak Bourbon Whiskey and two Chiba Red Dot Cigars. And no, Gert, haven’t a clue what I just said means. But Slash says his methods work like charms. I believe him.”

6:03 AM – Romonda hears soft girly snores from Gibbon’s speaker – job well done, Romonda. Get on with your day…you’re up now.

The End