“That’s what they want you to think,” Laverne lowered her voice. “Look around… what do you see?”
“Happy fat people.”
“All of them?”
“All the ones eating pizza,” I was able to confirm.
“What about him on his own over at the salad bar? What’s his story?”
“That’s a woman.”
“Okay, whatever, but ask yourself this: what type of person comes to Pizza Hut to load up on celery?”
“Maybe she’s the nurse.”
“Restaurants don’t have nurses.”
“This one should.”
“John, what am I always telling you?”
“It’s only a phase?”
“That was your mother.”
“Never make eye contact while eating a banana?”
“That was your cellmate.”
“If someone’s crying don’t ask them if it’s because of their haircut?”
“There are two types of people in this world: those who like pizza and -”
“- nurses?”
“Communists.”
“You’re why aliens don’t talk to us.”
“The Macarena is why aliens don’t talk to us,” Laverne sniffed. “Anyway, I need to talk to you about something else.”
“Shoot.”
“How can I get myself into The Bible?”
“Oh my God…”
“Is that what I should do? Should I pray?”
“That wasn’t praying.”
“Then you, my friend, have just blasphemed,” Laverne waved a menacing finger in my direction.
“Since when have you been religious?”
“Pam’s published an eBook.”
“And…”
“It’s a collection of poems which are just dreadful.”
“So…”
“I think one’s about me.”
“Because…”
“It tells the story of a beautiful Mesopotamian goddess.”
“You’re from Wisconsin.”
“Maybe it wasn’t always called that.”
“So, you’re thinking that if you’re a goddess you should be in the same book as God.”
“I should at least be on the sleeve,” Laverne reasoned.
“Right, here comes the waitress so would you please come out from under the table?”
“Are you ready to order?” the young woman asked.
“Have all of these animals on the menu been freshly killed?” Laverne enquired, emerging to take her seat.
“Please excuse my friend, she’s Mesopotamian,” I interjected.
“Uh huh…” our waitress needed more.
“She was just looking for somewhere to bury any leftovers.”
“You’re not really allowed to do that,” she advised us.
“Then I’ll just have the buffet special,” Laverne set down her menu.
“Anything to drink?”
“I’ve just topped up my gourd so that won’t be necessary, thank you.”
“I’ll have the Buffet Special and a Coke,” I jumped in again.
The waitress stared at her pad, unsure of what to write.
“Two Buffets Specials and one Coke.”
“Right,” she sighed with relief. “You confused me there for a minute.”
“I apologise,” Laverne continued, “it’s just that all of this takes me back.”
“All of what?” the waitress asked.
“These ancient murals. That one, for example, is it Babylonian?”
“That’s Cher at The Oscars.”
“So it’s not a mummy then?”
“I can check, if you’d like.”
“Would you?”
“I’ll be right back with your drink so please help yourself to the buffet,” the girl managed to get out, before backing into the table behind her on her way to the kitchen.
“Mesopotamia?” Laverne laughed.
“From a mud hut to Pizza Hut within the blink of an evil eye.”
“We’ve got her on the run,” Laverne smirked. “I love waitresses.”
“Excuse me, but did you find your earring?” a dashing maître d’ approached our table.
“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?” Laverne asked, delighted.
“It’s my job to notice everything. For example, I also noticed that you didn’t order a drink. May I get you one now?”
“A gin and tonic would be lovely,” came the order.
“When I return, I’ll help you look for your earring,” he promised, before dashing off.
“Dark and swarthy with an accent. Good thing he wasn’t selling sand because you’d have ordered it as a starter.”
“You know us Valley Girls,” Laverne sighed, “we just can’t resist a man in cuneiform.”
“It’s a dream catcher. It catches all your nightmares in its web. Then when morning comes, the sunlight destroys them and they disappear forever.”
Daniel Woodman thought a few hands would be raised at this but his students sat motionless, scared even to breathe in case any sudden movement would cause the eye of the dream catcher to fix upon them, thus marking its next nightmare victim. The Third Grade teacher knew that eight year olds were experts when it came to nightmares.
Shit. I’ve scared them. Okay class, time now for a damage limitation exercise. Let’s all say the Our Father and that will protect us from the bad Indian relic. One conjuring trick for another…
After an awkward silence, a tentative hand finally went up in the front row. The brave soul was Lucy Briggs. Small for her age, Lucy was bright, pretty and not afraid to stand up to the boys.
“Mr Woodman, could it catch a good dream by mistake? Like, say a good dream and a bad dream floated up from your bed at the same time and instead of the good dream passing through the hole in the middle and falling down the feathers and returning to me, it was grabbed by the bad ones after it got tangled up in the web and they killed it. I mean, could the bad dreams kill a good one if there was more of them or would the dream catcher know which was which and free the good dream?”
Daniel was pleased with the depth of the question and knew that Lucy spoke on behalf of her classmates, some of whom remained catatonic. He held the dream catcher higher for everyone to see.
“Native Canadians believe the dream catcher to be a good thing, so it only does good. It would never catch a good dream because it returns them back to us and they become part of our waking lives.”
“What would we do with a dream after we woke up?” Lucy again.
“Dreams become ideas, don’t they? Whether we dream at night or daydream during class, they’re all ideas of one sort or another. Look at the people who dreamed up cars, rocket ships and the internet. They dreamed about them, woke up, wrote it all down and then made it happen.”
“Mr Woodman,” Lucy’s cogs were still turning, “some people dream dreams that come true after, but they don’t invent things, like the psychics on Mindhunter. They’re good too. They help the police catch serial killers and find the bodies after.”
Who the hell is controlling the TV in her house?
“I’m now going to pass it around so you can all see it up close,” Daniel dodged that bullet.
He walked over to Lucy’s desk and held the dream catcher out to her. She cupped both hands as if receiving something fragile like a bird, while keeping it at a healthy distance in case it suddenly turned on her. Deciding it was safe, she let out an audible sigh of relief and started examining it forensically. The young girl plucked at the strings with her nail and caressed each feather thoughtfully, before frowning disapprovingly at Daniel who’d forgotten she had parakeet. She then held it up close, peering into every corner of the webbing as if expecting to find something.
She’s looking for residue from a nightmare left behind. Brave kid.
“Is this yours, Mr Woodman?” she enquired, her lips pursed with concern.
“Yes, it is,” Daniel replied. “I brought it from home.”
“Well, it’s a clean one!” she declared triumphantly. “Clean as a whistle.”
Daniel laughed at her seal of approval as he watched his students pass it along the rows. He’d always considered the dream catcher an attractive piece of native handicraft and was especially pleased with the specimen he’d brought in that day. The ring of hard leather contained a spider web design within its interior, with a small hole containing a polished stone at its centre, while the outer circumference was decorated with colourful beading and feathers, the longest of which hung down from the bottom. His grandparents had made him a new one every year for his birthday and he obediently hung them from his bedroom window.
I wonder what they do with the old ones they take away.
Trying not to laugh, he watched his students pass it among themselves almost reverently, whispering the necessary handling instructions. To them it was pure magic and he knew the power of imagination when it came to that subject. While they were now too old for Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, a little Indian hocus pocus had them hook, line and sinker. That afternoon an otherwise dull lesson on the fur trade had come to life, thanks to his grandparents. He was quietly proud of his heritage and the respect it now commanded among his students.
What would the penguins do if they knew a shaman was conducting a History lesson next door? They’d put the wagons in a circle and start shooting, that’s what they’d do, he smiled to himself.
His students knew of Daniel’s heritage and he enjoyed their curiosity in him because of this fact. To them, having a ‘real Indian’ for a History teacher elevated him to a level of infallibility as far as they were concerned. Early on in his career, he quickly realised he was regarded as the final authority on Canadian History by both students and colleagues, although he felt this greatly undeserved.
But for now, none of this mattered because it was the last class of the day and with only ten minutes until the final bell, Daniel was content to end the lesson with the dream catcher. His students were also watching the clock and knew the merits of passing the relic as slowly as possible; the rules of the game required the final student to examine every aspect of it in minute detail, following up with a prepared question in order to run down the clock.
Luckily, their teacher’s thoughts were elsewhere. Leaning back in his chair, Daniel clasped his hands behind his head and stared at nothing in particular on the ceiling. It was Friday afternoon and with less than two weeks until summer vacation his thoughts gelled into a warm soup of Indians, report cards, barbecues and friends. Leaning back still further, he let out a great yawn and slowly closed his eyes. Daniel Woodman began to relax completely.
Prince Harry chose to jet abroad And start his life anew Her Majesty had thought it odd He’d given not a clue. While chess has always been about The move that’s unforeseen No pawn has ever taken out A well-defended queen.
Mr Ormsby At Large 