by Jim Meirose.
Mister Moon was told to go down the hall of the emergency room and wait in the waiting room—last door to the right. Would Lon be all right? Would Lon be—all right pleaded over and again, but, but, at last—he’d been told not to worry. Just to go wait. Entering the waiting room, he took a seat. The cushion pressed up him. Round the room, look ‘round. The room blank’s all ‘round him, and, it’s—roughly rectangular in shape. The room. Waiting. Room. Waiting room. Comes to a head, they said, comes so, to everything. And now, yes, certaintendtley hiss hess hes’s, s’ his Lon’s. Come to a head. Lon’s health. Is it gone? He’s. He’s. Is he even—yes oh look down, touch self—yes he’s even here. Moshotembular, ick? Who’d they be calling, ‘ver, and ‘er—when he would know—how’s Lon? Yes. Him; him-mister Buck Moon. Plop. Th’ waiting. The waiting. Rheum. Rheoom. Rhoom-room in this waiting room settle, spin, whirl-settle, slower, spin, whirl, slow, sl’, slo’-slow, ‘w. My God! What the hell has happened today? Here, here today, what has happened, sucks a’da ‘acuum out my head, in my head, from my head. Down.
Watch? Watch.
Look, ehh. It’s three-thirty three a.m., ‘n sleep’s stolen, so—quiet. Quiet. Quiet down into why the hell’s Lon so sick, the way he’s sick tonight, and; yes, his therapy’s changing him but hooo-whom what ‘n ‘at am I doing? What have I done? What’s next for us, us being me-Moon, plus h’arpre, what is what, is, and—now, here in this hospital? For Christ’s sake.This flareup said; the hospital. At last the hospital, and then; but. Are they saying the truth at me, or, is. ‘s this some kind of test? If it is, I am in no mood. Have not studied for such a critical test. Wait, make way, out ‘ff this hazy; dear God! No! It starts in just—three minutes, and, in the rush of the crazy whirl’d downybout my unavoidable Lon, the three brand-new number two pencils with good erasers which the rule book said to bring’ve, been ‘orgotte’ ‘nne, and—to make the night even more ‘tmarelike—I’ve no clothes on. No! No! No I am not joking, look down! No clothes! What the hell, Moon? You forgot to put clothes on, Moon? For Christ’ sake, Moon, ya’ for Christ’s. Who forgets to put clothes on? So you’re one of two of those kind, eh? Guk. Got to go in the testing room, but got to find something to cover up with first. There’s twenty-five seconds left, and so, what’s around, aww, crap, cripe—no time ‘r no niceties—late arrivals will not be admitted—what’s there in that—and will forfeit their registration fee—no exceptions. No exceptions. Dear God-nyuk-nyuk, right there lies, for no good reason, an unassembled airplane model—dump’d off da cold war—worthless, even in the original box, as it is, get it, aha—fifteen seconds left—duct tape too, yes—praise God, rip it out, snap it off, tape the airplane model box ‘cross ‘fore ‘bout yer privates, and hiss, sizzle, ‘n go—five four three seconds, go. What are we waiting for? Go go go, go into the vast room stocked with students in tuxedos each leaning hard into he’s or she’s test stations, all nude, nude, nude, whutz up, head? C’mon, just do it. Grab a sit-seat, set down, and hope for the best, but; what about those pencils? I got no sharp pencils, how the hel’ ‘ow, but. Here comes a—proctor—knows I don’t fit. Knows I can’t cut it like me, see, come fast ‘ss a bullet arrow-straight this way, but we’re also—hard to say, but—quite very nude, oh ah no, we are nude, here he is. It is time. We are about to be stood up and made an example of. We are about to be stood up and made an example of, but. He says, closely leaned in and over—got pencils, son?
No, no. I. I forgot.
Well, really. Forgot? I’m s’posed to buy that line?
Uh, yes.
Come on, but—okay. Here you go, he moaned low, flicking a wink, pushing out not just two, but three sharp number twos, with erasers. Ah’ne the proctor leans in yet closer, whispering hot, Hey. I see you’re nude atop ‘f being unprepared, but I’ll let that one pass. We’ve all had this nightmare. We’ve all. It’s no joke. And we all get through it, too. You have suffered enough, so—look up ‘n around, now. You, now you. Heh. Look. Look.
Obey; up, look up. And, for the first time, since shame never allows looking up, but, force it. Force it! You’ve been ordered to look up by the God of the test process, so, do so, and see—everyone else is also, nude. All the room, all ‘ck ‘cross, shining naked back, after shining naked back, each leaning bonily into their flattened-open test. Yup, their test, which is much more important than looking ‘round to see who comes in next, judge how they seem, and, so. Fitting in, now fitting. In. I’ ‘n ‘n-n-n-n-n-fitting in, and, but, hiss, see what the pencils given him by the proctor are ‘ll abou’; oh, wait, no. Though being the proper yellow, they are not manufactured by any known maker, ‘cause down the pencilshaft, where the maker’s name gets stamped, the names are all alien ‘n not seen before. Not being for example like one all have seen such as, what’s it, what’s it—it’s on the tip let it come yah yo, sassy—Tik-cenderooga’s one such firm, there you go. And there’s others could we dredge up but the point’s now firmly made. But, nah, these from the proctor ‘r each stamped different than their respective two others, and, we never heard tell of such pencil making firms before, these three being, Yon-derbluntnose, KittieSkittles, and Noomerrimac—brands never before seen, eh, yak, buzz buzz up, whup’, Whossare? ‘kay, come in—‘n see ‘ize up my poeninsulation collection. The world’s largest if I have a say ‘bout it. Yes, I even got gahhh, got gahhhhhh, the only known Submereenianne classic numero three, unsharpened, never used or touched, and, but, no, what, how—the big test is already fifteen minutes gone, slid slick back the hind of itself; Moon woke to find he’d not blacked in one single tiny vertical oval, which chilled him with the fact that before the five and a half hour test is done, there will have had to be several thousand vertical ovals blacked in for him to be judged and receive his score. So, he better yet, better you bet get a mov-v-v-ve on, and so, but, by yat horse bit o’ down deep Venezuela, Moon halfslapp’ly loucked t’off his side, and, seeing that he looked down and found himself thrust up in a sudden crappily crisped vertically stiffened dark blue-black n’ more blue actually sudden monstrosity of a brand new tightfitting tuxedo, nah nah nah, and—the proctor-hand clapped to his left sho’ blade at the very same instant he’s mortified at not having remembered to leave his clothing home. The confusion of the proctor says, Rise rise r-r-r-r-rise! Overdressed! You were cheating! I saw you—no no no—you looked on yon neighboring nearly full-downmarked answer sheet! Underdressed! Yes yes yes yes; and you did so because, when you sized up the pupil whose sheet it was, she was not only nude, but close-cropped back, all intelligently glasses’d, and since many of the vertical ovals of hers were marked in, you thought—within your deep devilment—oh, yes, you did—you thought her answers, if copied to yours, would ensure your success—new fresh? Ha ha ha! Bet me! No, no-no, n-n-n o-o-o. do not shake yourself all no—it is bad enough, that you wander in clothed, when all else’s nude—and believe you are nude, when all else’s clothed—but, as well, you cheat—but; I have you, now, you have been caught, you can never practice your deep arts now, I’ve had my eye on you since inwardly you nearly back-spewed all down back ‘f yourself, and, seeing that that was the last straw for me, myself, I, and all those there colleagues o’ mine, any car, any color, lined up-top that li’l grassy mound you would have seen by the entrance, if you had not been so snottily enthralled by yourselves—come on. Come on with me, you are in deep trouble today, son. First time for you? Oh, then. You are really going to enjoy the upcoming experience you’ve earned to be awarded with. Here, in here, in this room here, my God. my God, I—cannot seem to think, but that is to be expected, after booming out that mega-cone of trauma back there, let me think. Good God—if only I had my notes, I could scribbly-shaft down to at least some grain of understanding of why, why—why Lon had tonight’s latest and possibly final attack. What had I missed? Should I have known sooner? Should I—
Mister Moon?
Look up, throw ‘t down, shut up the hi’ ‘la shattering, shattered—Yes?
Come on, you can see your friend now.
Lon Carpre?
If that’s his name, yes.
Leave this room, praises, all praises—which way?
This way, follow me. Follow. Me.
Me follow.
It’s all been somewhere far. Very, very far, but now.
Me followed.