New stuffed animals are here, one is a Smurf named Bruce, the other a monster from Where the Wild Things Are named Harry. I don’t like either name and might change them. Bruce was an alternative to Bernie, which I took a pass on since Bernie was the name of a creepy dude who called Apology one time threatening to kill the person who owned and operated it. Harry is a not-so-clever variant on Hairy, which is what this beast is.
Strange thing today, though. Something about waking up the way I did, with a crystal clear image of my mother that I could not shake from my mind, had me feeling sour, and like bad things were going on with Harry and Rhoda. Rhoda is the one who thinks she can fly but she cannot. None of us make fun of her for that. Instead we go along with the canard, with me flapping her wings for her so she feels like she’s flying.
So I woke up today and Rhoda was on the other side of the bed, as per not her usual spot among the others. I asked what she was doing over there. She said Harry had been harassing her and making fun of her inability to fly. The strange thing was that I took Rhoda and this little situation very, very seriously. It felt like something unkind and even evil had made its way into my little fantasy family of Rhoda, Wookie, the Clydes, etc. I’ve had that feeling of death a few times these past week, I guess on account of rummaging through papers and pictures from as far back as grade school. This, I think, is what encouraged my mother to show up in that dream in such technicolor clarity. It does not explain why I took Rhoda’s accusation so seriously. I fill in these opportunities to be a father figure by substituting the stuffed animals in place of living humans. These are gratuitous flourishes which last exactly as long as I want them to. Until today. I woke up dead serious in my assurances to Rhoda that I would talk to Harry and figure out what his problems are.
I do not 100% like Harry as a stuffed animal product. I find his feet strange, his toenails in particular outsized in their attempt at detail. Everything else about him is cool, though. Besides his overly accentuated toenails he is a handsomely apportioned and proportioned beast. Except that he’s been messing with Rhoda. Even this late in the day, hours and hours later, I am finding it hard to snap out of my puzzlement and confusion about how to handle this situation.
