In the Presence of Presents

There is a lizard and he is my meal ticket out of this crazy world of mine. It is naughty of me to rely so heavily on creatures, especially disloyal ones, I know, yet there he is and I will take advantage of this and finally be free. Ebony stands next to me, listing my flaws alphabetically and munching on tortilla chips and bean dip. I can smell the bean dip. It makes me sick. But the lizard, ah yes, the lizard, shall change my destiny, my fate, and leave all her judgmental and telepathic idioms in the past.

But first, I must capture this lizard, and I can’t be obvious about it. As Ebony continues her list, she’s on letter M, I rattle off a greeting card response and hop from the bench. She lifts an eyebrow and I pretend to stretch. Touch my toes, touch the sky, touch my toes, touch the sky.

The lizard is so close, so close, I can actually smell its reptile skin, hear its racing heart, and feel its terror. I long to tell it to not fear me, we will assist each other to freedom, but I can’t speak or Ebony will see the lizard and all hope will be lost. She will stop her endless prattling and inject herself into the scene forcefully and the lizard will flee, just like the others before it. No, I must maintain my composure, must focus on the task at hand. Ebony has reached the letter V.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Vapid,”

“No. I mean, before that. Letter O. What was that? I stopped listening at N.” I say, using anything in my small bag of tricks to distract her.

“I’ll just start again,” she sighs and does, with A, and I smile. It is better than I could hope for. I focus on the lizard again.

I feel great justice in her endless list and my cleverness, but I do not have time to gloat. A child to the left of me flies a kite and the whispering of the wind against it is startling the little lizard. I must act quickly, if I am to act at all. I reach out toward the lizard, the landscape around me blurring to a mash-up of colors, fading away, my vision solely on the little green reptile.

My fingers are so very near to the little thing and I feel much like a plumber on a quest to save a ring from a drain. Just a little further and it will be mine. Just a little further, and we’ll both be free.

“You like petunias?” Ebony asks suddenly and I freeze. I am very near to the petunias.

“Yes,”

“Hmmm,” she says. “I didn’t realize. Where was I?”

“J,” I reply, truthfully unaware of what letter she is on, but choosing a safe one to prolong my time to reach the lizard.

“J…Juvenile,”

I feel like a child who has pneumonia and is just trying to sleep, just trying to rest, but is kept awake by the sickness in its body. This is me. Sick in the body, sick in the mind, yet freedom lingers a mere breath from my fingers, if the lizard remains as it is and Ebony remains as she is and I just press past the small space and wrap my fingers around that frail body. The space, though mere inches, feels as wide as the Mississippi. I falter, but I do not give up. I will reach the lizard. I will be free.

I feel like I am standing in the vestibule of a great house and the maid will not let me in. “Let me in!” I growl.

“What was that?”

“I am not opaque,”

“Hmmm…well, offensive, then. Do you like that better?” Ebony snaps.

“Yes, I think I do,” I lie. Closer lizard! Closer to me and set us free!

The oatmeal with sweet potato I had for breakfast is churning in my stomach and I wheeze louder with every breath a draw in, but I will not let this chance at freedom escape me. Drool runs from the corner of my mouth and down my chin. Nearly there. Nearly there. Nearly there.

I feel the reptilian flesh beneath my fingertips. I lunge and close my hand gently around the little beast and draw it to my chest. I let out a small chuckle of triumph, as spittle falls lightly on my hand.

“I’ve got it,” I whisper.

“What have you got?”

“This!” I shout, as I stand and turn and shove the little lizard directly under her pert little nose. “This is what I’ve got!”

She screams and vaporizes from the bench, her little-heeled shoes clicking on the paved path. “Get it away from me!”

“Never!” I cry, madly. “Never!” The laugh is insane, I know, and my eyes are crazed, I know this too, but I remember the craft store, when Ebony called me fat in front of Craig Wilson and I know, I just know, that the lizard and I will never be tormented by Ebony again.

“I don’t even know why I bother talking to you!” she screeches and I laugh just as madly as before, though with a little more control and a little less spit. “You can stay in this old park for hours, playing with your foolish lizard for all I care!” she turns and speeds off down the path and I slowly calm myself, watching her leave, as I lightly hold the lizard in my hands. The lizard doesn’t move at all, doesn’t squirm. I surmise that it doesn’t like Ebony, either.

“Thank you for your help, little friend,” I say, as I sit on the bench and hold the lizard to my chest. “If I had to pick an O name for Ebony, it would be octopus, because she is so good at spitting ink.” And I laugh softly as I sit with the lizard in the setting sun of Central Park.