Sunday, April 28, 2013

Lynn's Trip, part 4

Al decided that the best thing to do with me for the time being was to take me to his place. I got a little excited to see what a statue’s house might look like. My mind entertained itself with all kinds of possibilities, from Grecian-style temples to Pueblo-style kivas to medieval castles. When we approached a tall but humble-looking wooden hut, I was a bit disappointed. “This is where you live?” I asked him.
“Yep, this is it,” Al said, cracking a stony smile. “Cozy, isn’t it?”
“It looks like a human shack,” I said. “I’m surprised. I expected a lot more stone.”
“You’ll see the stone when you get inside,” he said, and pushed the door open with his hands—I couldn’t tell if this was because it was unlocked, or because he was strong enough to push through the lock. I would’ve asked, but I had a more pressing question: “Are you going to attempt to feed me stone food? Because if that’s all you have, don’t bother. I like my teeth too much.”
            “Statues don’t eat,” he said, “so I’m afraid I have nothing to feed you, not even stone food. Stone food would only add more stone to me, and I would lose my lovely shapely form and become a bulking slab of rock. How terrible that would be!” He strolled over to a wall mirror (made of glass, bordered with stone) and smiled at his reflection. He was one of those cocky bastards.
            I had a seat on the stone couch. “We humans have that issue too,” I said. “We call it ‘getting fat.’” I took a look around. Everything was made of stone except for the TV. Even the lamps were made of stone. I suppose it was only a pure technicality that the house wasn’t also made of stone.
            There was something else not made of stone that caught my eye: an Internet modem! “You have an Internet connection?!” I asked in total disbelief.
            “Doesn’t everybody?” he replied.
            I jumped up. “If you have an Internet connection, then that means I can try to contact my friends…my boyfriend…please let me use your computer!!”
            Al looked at me doubtfully. “I dunno, Lynn,” he said. “I dunno if the email here will reach wherever you’re from.”
“It’s worth a shot,” I said. “The Internet can do some pretty amazing things, after all.”
“Well,” Al said, “you’re welcome to try. The computer is in my room, down the hall and to the left.”
I followed his directions. Instead of seeing a giant bed like I’d expected to see, I saw another pedestal like the one he’d been standing on out by the farmhouses. Of course, I thought, a statue wouldn’t sleep in a bed. His computer was on a giant desk with a giant chair. I could climb up in the giant chair—it was a lot like climbing a tree—but I couldn’t manage to use the giant keyboard. I sighed, climbed back down, and headed back to the living room.
“That keyboard is far too big for me. Can I have a sheet of paper, or are your pens gigantic too?”
Al opened a drawer and produced a reasonably-sized sheet of paper and a pen that was big, but not too big for me to hold. “Thanks,” I said. First, I wrote Erma, Sunita, Dirk, and Mel’s email addresses at the top. Then, I wrote what I wanted to send:

I woke up this morning in this strange place. I’m stuck here and I have no clue how to get home, and nobody here knows where Turnersville is. I’m a bit freaked out. Please email me back as soon as you can. I don’t have my phone with me. I am NOT trolling!!!

I handed the paper to Al. “Please send this message to the email addresses I wrote at the top,” I told him. Al nodded. “Will do,” he said. He disappeared into his room, and I climbed back up on the stone couch to keep myself occupied by channel surfing. I wondered what kind of TV show a statue would watch. 

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