The Life Story of a Chilean Sea Blob
and Other Matters of Importance
Theodore Carter
The Life Story of a Chilean Sea Blob
and Other Matters of Importance
Theodore Carter
Queen’s Ferry
Press
8240 Preston Road
Suite 125-151
Plano, TX
75024
http://www.queensferrypress.com
The
characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to
real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not
intended by the author.
Copyright © 2012
by Theodore Carter
All rights
reserved, except for brief quotations in critical articles or
reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without
prior permission from the publisher: Queen’s Ferry Press – 8240
Preston Road, Suite 125-151, Plano, TX 75024
Published 2012 by
Queen’s Ferry Press
Smashwords Edition
Cover art by Alice
Carter
First edition
February 2012
ISBN 978-0-9839071-3-8
Smashwords
Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Advance Praise for Theodore Carter:
“Theodore Carter
is a silly leaping gnome who dates zombies, practices voodoo, and
walks on water, at least when not giggling while making you
left-handed, or burning your eyebrows off. Think Roald Dahl as
rewired by T.C. Boyle. This first collection of stories is a
genre-bending mutant’s bible of gross-out jokes and yucks. You will
love it.”
—Richard Peabody, editor, Gargoyle Magazine
“Expect the
unexpected—and to laugh out loud—when reading Theodore Carter’s
delightful and original collection of stories, The Life Story of a
Chilean Sea Blob and Other Matters of Importance. Not that it’s all
laughs; despite their quirkiness, his characters are entirely
human, facing their fears around coming of age, settling down,
spending life alone, being unloved, or just plain growing old—in
short, matters of importance to us all.”
—Susi Wyss, author of The Civilized World
“We need the
fantasies that imaginative fiction gives us to counter the cold
truisms that often pass for factual reality. We need modern-day
dinosaur sightings, sea monsters, zombies, voodoo dolls, and the
occasional upchucked panther for disbelieving therapists. We need
these things, this collection suggests, and Carter delivers them to
us.”
—A capella Zoo
“Theodore Carter
writes like a (seemingly impossible) mix of Christopher Moore and
Raymond Carver. Like a crazy love affair that, in the end, becomes
something real and lasting, these stories are both wildly original
and gently human. With a keen eye and a razor-sharp sense of humor,
Carter tells tall tales about sea blobs and boys who walk on water
and ‘other matters of importance’ in a way that somehow shines a
light on the small moments that make us human.”
—Dave Housley, author of Ryan Seacrest is Famous
“Carter's
imagination gives us a holy mess of plots that defy the logic of
disbelievers. Something grandiose happens in each story, grandiose
and peculiar.”
—Zachary Benavidez, editor, Potomac Review
For Elizabeth
1. Jesus
Lizard
2. Eight
3. The
Life Story of a Chilean Sea Blob
4. I
Used to Love Her
5. The
Who Doin’ Doll
6. Lurking
7. The
Canary in the Coal Mine
8. Max’s
Colossus Proboscis
9. Burning
Bush: A Christmas Miracle
10. The
Unwrapping Party
11. Little
Miss Strange
12. Sonya’s
Insatiable Hunger
Jesus Lizard:
The first messengers dispersed from the Lakeview Junior High bike racks promptly at three o’clock and carried the tale of Ralph Buckley’s exploits to every corner of the city. A fleet of bicycles powered by strong, sinewy, twelve-year-old legs zoomed along the wide, suburban streets of Lakeview, California, and spread the news in a pattern of concentric rings pedaling outward from the epicenter. Calf muscles relaxed when the children arrived at their respective homes by the hundreds, dropped their bikes on well-manicured front lawns, ran inside, and relayed the story of Ralph Buckley between gasps of air to unsuspecting parents like prepubescent apostles. Becky Shumacher arrived home at three-fifteen. “MOM! MOM! Ralph Buckley walked on water!” she said.
By three-thirty, most every Lakeview Junior High parent had heard the news, and seeing how the event had so visibly shaken their children, felt the need for action. The overarching belief was that this incident was either the result of the Buckleys’ inadequate parenting or an act of negligence by Lakeview’s principal. In either case, this business about the Buckley kid needed to be addressed quickly. Samuel Dubin, PTA president, penciled it in as an agenda item.
Wanting more immediate action, and fearing the bureaucracy of the PTA, Mrs. Shumacher, Becky’s mom, called Pastor Smith at Lakeview Presbyterian. He urged her to remain calm. If Ralph could actually repeat this feat, if his abilities could be proven, then, said Pastor Smith, he would be able to make a more informed decision about what to do next. Mrs. Shumacher recognized this plan right away for what it was: a stalling tactic.
That very night, Samuel Dubin wrote a scathing editorial questioning the moral fiber of the Lakeview public school system. It was the first editorial he’d written since attacking the teaching of evolution in science class. “What has happened to the moral fiber of our community when children are allowed to mock Christian values and walk on water whenever they please?” wrote Mr. Dubin.
Across town Mrs. Hoskings-Hutchings, known throughout Lakeview as a hippie-liberal troublemaker, wrote her own editorial: “What has happened to the separation of church and state? Lakeview Junior High should not allow this kind of behavior.”
The Lakeview Telescope ran both letters Friday morning but did not attempt to describe in an actual news article what had happened Thursday afternoon. Lakeview Mayor Malcom Brown read about the event and decided it would be appropriate to make a brief statement from behind the pressroom lectern.
“While my office is taking this matter very seriously, we have not yet decided what action will be taken as a result of the events that transpired yesterday at Lakeview Junior High School,” Brown said.
That wasn’t good enough for the Lakeview Telescope reporter. He wanted a quote with substance. “To what events are you referring, Mayor Brown?” he asked.
“I cannot comment on that at this time.”
For each of the past fifteen school years, Ms. Krasner had asked her seventh-graders to prepare an oral report on their favorite animal during the first month of school. It was a time-tested assignment that allowed them to review their research skills, assert their individuality, and get to know their classmates. She’d smile to herself each year as she watched stuttering twelve-year-olds enthusiastically, but nervously, describe black bears, ponies, elephants, snakes, lizards, and the occasional small rodent. She’d written the assignment last August in this year’s doormat-sized planner. “Now, I’ll give you a few minutes to brainstorm and think of what animal you would like to study,” she told the class.
Ms. Krasner was a pro. She wasn’t surprised when her classroom became enveloped with chatter. In fact, she thought it encouraging to see such enthusiasm in her students. This year’s class was perhaps a bit gregarious, but it could be beneficial. She’d focus on group assignments, team-building, and class discussions. Of course a few of them were off-task already. Ms. Krasner pretended not to notice as Becky and Laura began discussing the chewing gum stuck to the ceiling, dangling dangerously over the teacher’s desk. On the other side of the room, Bobby, recognizing an opportune time to make spitballs, began tearing up strips of paper. Becky and Laura would right themselves soon and Ms. Krasner decided not to reprimand Bobby yet. She’d wait to see if he had the gumption to use his artillery. She noticed Ralph Buckley, the quiet, large-footed boy, walking swiftly toward the bookshelf as though fearing a mad rush for the encyclopedias. He grabbed the B volume. Bobby launched two spitballs in Ralph’s direction, forcing Ms. Krasner to take Bobby into the hallway for what would be the first of many stern talks.
Ralph felt Bobby’s spitball bounce against the back of his head, but decided the incident was inconsequential and brushed his hair with his hand. Ralph had anticipated this assignment and had secretly chosen a topic over the summer. He eagerly flipped through the B volume until he found his entry:
Basilisk Lizard. Found mostly in the jungle climate of Central America, the Basilisk lizard is one of nature’s most intriguing reptiles. It is often called the “Jesus lizard” because of its ability to run upright on hind legs across the surface of the water.
He held the encyclopedia close to his chest and felt the titillating nervousness that comes with hoarding a wonderful secret. Beside the text was a picture of the Basilisk lizard caught on high-speed film as it ran across a small pond. Splashes of water had been frozen on film, the lizard’s head tilted toward the sky, its thin, sleek body leaned forward, and its arms and legs splayed in opposite directions. There was no other animal like this. This was the Jesus lizard. Ralph prayed it would be his personal savior from seventh grade academic stagnation.
Everyone, including Ralph, knew he often took school assignments too far. When asked to draw a picture of his favorite animal in third grade, Ralph had spent three weeks painting a giraffe in the pointillism style of Seurat. In fifth grade he was asked to write an essay on a famous scientist. Ralph had started a pen-pal relationship with a Nobel Prize-winning physicist at the University of Michigan.
Ralph’s overzealous academic achievement unfailingly spawned resentment from his classmates. Months after Ralph’s walk on water, while lining up for recess, Bobby said to Laura, “Ralph, that fucking pansy. Why can’t that little shit just do the assignments the way everyone else does?” Expressing his exultation at the new freedoms of junior high, Bobby was perfecting his use of expletives.
“Yeah,” Laura agreed.
Ralph’s scholastic enthusiasm would have been more easily tolerated if he’d allowed others to write him off as a bookworm, but he didn’t really fit the description. Although shy, four-foot-eleven, and years away from puberty, Ralph was a bit of a looker on the seventh grade scene. His tanned skin was a striking contrast to his pale blue eyes. Becky was especially fond of Ralph. “He looks like a young Paul Newman,” Becky said to Laura once in English class. Becky didn’t know who Paul Newman was aside from his salad-dressing picture, but it was a compliment she’d heard her mother bestow upon good-looking men.
Anyone other than Becky would begin a description of Ralph with his feet. While Ralph stood less than five feet, he wore a robust size-seventeen sneaker. This could have been a cause for constant teasing, but Mrs. Buckley made it a point to buy Ralph the coolest new Nike Air basketball shoes. Instead of Ralph, “the kid with big feet,” he was Ralph, “the kid with the cool shoes who also has big feet.” Ralph did endure the occasional taunting, but name-calling often digressed into admiration of his tremendous footwear.
Between his handsome appearance and cool shoes, it was difficult for Ralph’s classmates to label him as a junior high nerd. Also, no matter how hard they tried to believe otherwise, it was obvious Ralph wasn’t trying to show off with his scholarly achievements. He just liked school. This duality within Ralph was his central dilemma. He was a tortured academic who knew that with each new discovery he was removing himself further from his peers. Just as the church placed Galileo under house arrest, Ralph was forced to the fringe of the junior high social scene because of his pursuit of knowledge. Still, he pushed onward and exceeded expectations for every assignment. If Becky Shumacher were to borrow more language from her mom in describing Ralph, she might have mentioned Ralph’s James Dean-like allure, a reference to the tortured psychological paradox brewing within Ralph. He was a man of intrigue, of sexy vulnerabilities.
Unwittingly, Ms. Krasner had set Ralph on a course for another academic mania. The day after receiving Ms. Krasner’s assignment, Ralph checked out every library book he could locate on the obscure reptile. His real find was a National Geographic video he wore thin by continuously rewinding to the slow-motion sequence of the Jesus lizard running effortlessly over the water.
Standing in his living room, Ralph would imitate the slow-motion video. His mother often walked by on her way to the kitchen and would glimpse Ralph, trapped in a painfully slow cycle of motion, lifting his legs and feet high into the air and placing them carefully down again.
Concerned about her son’s self-induced ostracism, Mrs. Buckley tried one day to politely interrupt his research. “Ralph, would you like a snack?”
“Mom, I’m doing my homework.”
Mrs. Buckley lingered a moment and watched her son slowly lift his legs, his large Nikes moving toward his chest, and wondered how she had raised a son so out of touch with boys his own age. Perhaps she should consult a child psychologist, or maybe Ralph simply needed more quality time with his workaholic father. If neither remedy worked, she would sign him up for Pop Warner football or Little League next year whether he liked it or not. She had to save him somehow.
Ralph’s favorite part of the video came when the narrator, in a deep, authoritative voice, said, “In order for a human to duplicate this feat, he would have to lift his knees to his chin forty times a second. Not to mention the need for webbed feet with a large surface area.” Ralph viewed this statement as informative encouragement, not as a proclamation of impossibility. Two weeks into his research, Ralph’s report on the Basilisk lizard evolved into a study of physiology and rigorous athletic training. After analyzing various muscle groups and movements, Ralph designed an exercise routine: jump rope and boxing drills for quickness, and yoga for flexibility.
Of course physical training only began after Ralph knew for sure that his body was capable of mimicking the movements of the Basilisk lizard. An exchange of letters with the Nobel Prize-winning scientist from Michigan told Ralph he was at his physical peak for such an unlikely undertaking. Skinny, prepubescent, and almost sixty-five percent legs, Ralph’s body was perfect. His fast-twitch muscles were primed, and his joints had not yet grown rigid. Never again would his speed and strength be in such perfect proportion with his minute mass. “Ralph, this is tricky business you are about to embark upon, but this scientist is behind you. Good luck,” wrote his pen pal.
His ludicrously large feet would also prove beneficial. How many times had he heard people refer to his feet as water skis? The put-down now reverberated in Ralph’s head as a declaration of his physical assets. His built-in pontoons were a Darwinian advantage far surpassing the Basilisk lizard’s mere webbed toes. Yes, his feet were large, yes, they were buoyant, and, yes, Ralph believed that he could run on water. The evidence was overwhelmingly in his favor.
He would have liked to have made a practice run, but the public pools had closed at summer’s end, and Ralph feared the private swim clubs would not look kindly upon his unique use of their facilities. The due date snuck up on him, and on October 22nd, Ralph knew that even if he wanted to change his mind, it was too late. The notecards had been written out, and his speech prepared. His research and athletic training had pushed him toward one single culminating event. There was also the matter of having begged Ms. Krasner for permission to deliver his oral report poolside. Sometime long ago, without even noticing, Ralph had passed the point of no return. Still, somewhere deep beyond the reaches of his consciousness, Ralph had known all along that his research was leading him toward certain humiliation. It was only through practiced ignorance that Ralph could allow himself to bring his discoveries to others and ignore the likely ramifications. He was committing social suicide for the sake of science.
The Santa Ana winds whipped through Lakeview that day. Gusts rattled the chain-link fence surrounding the pool and churned up small whitecaps in the water. Ralph had to shout so his classmates could hear him. He started with, “The Basilisk lizard grows to an average length of four to six inches. It lives in Central America and eats bugs.” He fumbled with his notecards, careful not to let them blow away. Nerves caused his voice to waver, and he stammered through his presentation. “Some people call it the Jesus lizard because it can…it can…” he turned to his next card, “…use its webbed feet to run across the surface of water.” The hard eyes of his twelve-year-old peers began to pierce his fragile ego. In the back of his mind he kept repeating to himself habitat, home, diet, and description; habitat, home, diet, and description. He wanted to be sure he didn’t leave anything out. It would be tragic to squander weeks of preparation with a bad presentation.
In front of the mass of students stood Becky Shumacher. Her furrowed brow had the dual affect of comforting Ralph, and also exacerbating his apprehension. Ralph couldn’t help but think of the note she had passed to him through Laura two days before, “Do you like me? Yes, or no.” Becky’s beauty was unnerving. Her wide blue eyes watched Ralph in a way he would only begin to comprehend months later. Wisps of blonde hair escaped her ponytail and moved in the heavy wind like rays of sunlight. Ralph stared back at her and continued his presentation, but his brain was elsewhere.
Another accidental shift of his gaze brought Ralph’s attention to Bobby, who stared at him with a look conveying both confusion and annoyance, emotions Ralph was certain Bobby would later express with violence. He noticed Ms. Krasner watching him with eyes that seemed to say, Why the heck do we have to be outside for this, Ralph?
Then, suddenly, Ralph found himself reading the tail end of his last notecard. Like a drunk scared into sobriety, Ralph recited his final planned sentence: “Now I would like to demonstrate to the class how the Basilisk lizard can run on top of the water.” After pausing briefly in an effort to comprehend the seriousness of his own words, Ralph kicked off his enormous size-seventeen shoes, took off his shirt, and removed his Lakeview PE sweatpants to reveal a tiny red Speedo.
His classmates giggled. Even Becky Shumacher was laughing a bit. “What a fag!” he heard Bobby say. Ms. Krasner yelled out, “Ralph! What are you doing?”
Ralph tried to ignore them. He tried to ignore the cold, the wind, and his shrinking genitalia as he stretched his legs by the side of the pool. But he could tell his audience was restless, especially Ms. Krasner, so he cut his preparations short. Ralph knew such performances were mental anyway. His prior training would allow him to overcome the physical constraints. It came down to pure concentration.
Ralph stood about ten feet from the water’s edge and focused on the fall leaves floating calmly on the pool’s surface. He blocked out the jeers of his classmates and checked the string of his Speedo. He sprinted toward the water with his knees pumping high under his chin. Cycles, not force, thought Ralph as he increased his legs’ speed, and after just a few stylized steps on hard ground, Ralph’s enormous left foot smacked the surface of the water. Then his right foot hit, and he was on his way, plunging and pushing, his success wholly reliant upon one professor’s calculations of water density. He pumped his knees high, sending great splashes into the air until he reached the opposite end of the pool and was separated from his wide-eyed classmates by twenty-five meters of sloshing, chlorinated water.
“Coool!” exclaimed love-struck Becky.
“Oh my God, what a nerd,” Laura whispered, still unable to believe Ralph had worn a Speedo to school. She hadn’t yet comprehended the significance of Ralph’s stunt. Ms. Krasner, who many would later say should have been cognizant of the fact that she was leading by example, stood dumbfounded and stared across the choppy waters at Ralph. She uttered her careless reaction quietly, but audibly enough to reverberate through the thirsty minds of her disciples. “Lord, help me. That boy can walk on water.” Although Ms. Krasner’s words didn’t really fit what the class had seen Ralph do, the students nevertheless adopted her “walk-on-water” rhetoric. They’d been trained since kindergarten to follow their teacher with blind faith. Besides, Ms. Krasner’s words sounded important, and all the students knew they’d just seen something important.
Many would later blame Ms. Krasner for starting the whole holy mess. She privately agreed that her initial reaction had fueled the hysteria surrounding Ralph’s performance. During her years of teaching, Ms. Krasner had learned to become a master of benevolent deception. She had artfully avoided student questions related to religion, sex, and politics on an almost daily basis for fifteen years. She was a master of skillfully incomplete answers and intentionally vague statements. She should have been able to handle Ralph’s report: “Thank you, Ralph. Who’s next?” or, “Most impressive. Now let’s return to the classroom.” Almost anything else would have been fine. The only possible rationale Ms. Krasner could devise to defend her outburst was her Catholic school education and her college English professors who’d always taught her to search for symbolic meaning.
This time Ralph’s academic achievement did more than simply create resentment among his peers; it created unrest throughout the whole town. If Ms. Krasner had sown the seeds of controversy, then certainly Samuel Dubin, Mrs. Shumacher, Mrs. Hoskings-Hutchings, Pastor Smith, and Mayor Brown helped provide the manure and daily watering. Suddenly, everyone had to decide what exactly it meant when a twelve-year-old boy ran across water. Initial confusion allowed for some ambiguity regarding one’s position on the subject, but with the passage of time each member of the Lakeview community was forced to define his or her own stance on the issue. Some willingly accepted Ralph Buckley as a twenty-first-century god. Others blamed physics. Most, however, tried hard to remain somewhere in the middle. They spoke well of Ralph just in case he was part of something larger, but they did not openly embrace his deification.
Pockets of true believers called the radio talk shows to tout their preteen messiah and waited outside Ralph’s house to catch a glimpse of him riding his bike to school. Of course there were also those who were opposed to Ralph in every way. They wanted him in juvenile hall and accused him of atrocities ranging from drug use to devil worship. Both of these factions were small in number, but they did a lot to make tentative onlookers uneasy about their relationship with Ralph.
Despite the heavy impact of Ralph’s report in the community, it was Ralph’s life that really changed, especially at school. Ms. Krasner was far from being a believer in Ralph’s sanctity. She’d seen Ralph wipe his runny nose on his sweatshirt and trip over his enormous sneakers too many times. Still, she could not get over the memory of watching him run across the school swimming pool. She was afraid to discount the possibility altogether. Her position was further complicated by the fact that between the hours of 8 a.m. and 3 p.m., she was expected to treat Ralph in a manner acceptable to all of Lakeview’s residents. Her job had become a political land mine. As a result, Ms. Krasner made an effort to ignore Ralph as often as possible. This meant a number of changes in classroom procedure.
After October 22nd, Ralph no longer had to take spelling tests. While the rest of the class chewed their No. 2 pencils nervously and tried to remember the saying about where to place their I’s and E’s, Ralph leisurely perused the encyclopedias. The same was true during math tests. What would happen if Ms. Krasner were to give Ralph a question he couldn’t answer? Would the whole town think Ms. Krasner a heathen? Would the dictionary have to be rewritten according to Ralph’s incorrect spelling? These were the questions, ridiculous or not, that Ms. Krasner sought to avoid.
Mrs. Shumacher made things worse when she stood up at a PTA meeting and said, “Who is Ms. Krasner to be instilling values in Ralph Buckley, the boy who can walk on water?” Ms. Krasner then adjusted her entire classroom instruction so that lessons consisted only of math, spelling, and grammar. Rules were safe, but ideas, thoughts, and dialogue were too risky.
The community’s reaction to Ralph’s report on the Basilisk lizard made him even more of a loner. He did enjoy brief star status among his peers for getting into the newspaper, and they generally admired the way he sent their parents into hysterics, but his popularity faded quickly. Many of his classmates were told by their parents to stay away from Ralph. Those who hadn’t been explicitly instructed to avoid Ralph did so de facto because their friends had been ordered to ignore him. The logic was whether god or heathen, Ralph was a troublemaker.