The Ultimate Lucidity of Little Mac

"Nothing," said Little Mac. "I'm not doing anything."

This was his basic reply. Some of the villagers, when they found him wandering through their yards, wanted him to say more. Lyle Jorgensen was one. Though they had no fence, he and his wife had expected their thicket of Japanese knotweed to guarantee their privacy. And so Little Mac had caught them with their pants down, quite literally, engaged in a sort of calisthenics on the picnic table on their back porch. Lyle was huffing and puffing and red in the face and, still struggling with his buttons, more than a little dissatisfied with Mac's basic reply.

"Well," said Little Mac. "I'm a teacher. You know that. I've taught both your children. But I don't have to teach anymore. At least not anyone but myself. So I'm just like the bear that went over the mountain to see what he could see."

"You're on private property!"

"Actually, I'm not. Your yard abuts the sea. I'm below high water mark. That puts me in public territory."

"I'll report you for a peeping tom!"

"You could. But it's not you I took a picture of. It was the honeysuckle on your trellis. I've never seen such a variety. So many different colours in the one blossoming. It's like fireworks, in a quiet, unobtrusive sort of way. As for you and Mrs. Jorgensen, I really hadn't noticed. And why would I? It's so common."

Flabbergasted, Lyle raised his hand as if to strike Little Mac. Whereupon his wife put a glass of iced tea in it. "Honey," she said, "have a drink and cool off. Mac is right. Nothing happened. And nothing will happen."

She had disappeared into the house. Now she was fully dressed, without a wrinkle in her clothing or a hair on her head out of place. There was a tray on the picnic table. There were two more glasses on the tray, and beside them a pitcher of tea.

She invited Little Mac to sit down and partake. Which he did. He showed them the photo of their honeysuckle on his camera monitor and promised to send them a copy. He shared some memories of his experiences with their children. Mrs. Jorgensen assured him there was no need to worry.

"You're just a wee bit eccentric, that's all. And aren't most of us? Who would live here at the end of the world if they weren't? Who wouldn't rather be in town," she went on, with a sharp look at her husband, "with city water and stores at hand and the symphony and theatres and not so much godawful wind and salt spray to corrode everything?"

His thirst appeased, Little Mac bowed and took his leave and continued his wanderings feeling very content. He was no longer a teacher, but it seemed his education had just begun. He had never felt so lucid in his life. And by the time he got home and was at the kitchen table showing his pictures to Big Bertha and Cousin Minnie, he had forgotten even whose yard it had been where he had come upon the magnificent honeysuckle.

"It doesn't matter anyway. Look at that," he said, indicating the flower. "That's what matters."

The two women exchanged knowing looks. Big Bertha took his hand and kissed it.

"You're all that matters," she said, "to me."

"And to me," said Cousin Minnie, embracing them. "The both of you."


20 July 2018
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca