A Haphazardly Presented Fictional Series – Episode Six – Hard Boiled Eggs
(Previous episodes can be viewed here, for those truly bored – when I’ve lost my wits end of the insanity of the modern era…I post fiction, that is both insipid and altogether strange – for what else is there to write about)
When we last left Beckett, his mind was awash with ill-conceived thoughts…
The perplexing thought that annoyed his senses, that continued to stay with him; that continued to mess with what he considered to be the highest of orders, that being his mind, was, where was Elizabeth and why was she not as enthralled with him as much as he was with himself.
“Did you know that if you take a hard boiled egg, and want to get the shell off easily, that you just put a bit of water in a glass container of sorts, drop the egg in, tighten the lid and then shake it up for a spell, that the shell will then come off crisp and clean?”
Beckett looked at the “keeper of health”, as he referred to the elderly vitamin store worker, wondering why on earth would she think he was even remotely interested in the peeling of hard boiled eggs.
“I did not know that but will file it away in my noggin’ for reference at the appropriate time” Beckett said, casting a glance toward some hideous type of earth sandals she was wearing, appalled that she wasn’t wearing socks to cover the onslaught to his visual senses from the sight of her gnarly feet.
“Did you also know that just a few drops of collodial silver will, in many cases, take away the sting of eyes that burn and also take care of pink eye?” she asked.
“Batty, I say you are, but lovable beyond belief. And I’ll put one your way. Did you know that just listening to Bach increases your IQ considerably? In fact, I rather think you should put it to your management types here to play Bach continuously, rather than the hideous vanilla extract musical offerings that, like an annoying fly, irritate one to no end. I rather think it would increase sales dramatically.”
“Bach? Is he like that Mozart guy?”
“Gwen… dear, keeper of health – he is nothing of the sort. He is the supreme genius of all composers. Mozart, and all the other pretenders that came after Bach could never compose a piece that had a hint of the genius of this man…thus, they were all inferior and quite frankly, should only be listened to in order to hear mediocrities so as to allow and even deeper understand and appreciation of this god.”
“We have the brand of vitamin C you like on sale if you need it.”
Beckett smiled, offered his thanks and turned toward the check-out stand, hoping he wouldn’t encounter too long of wait so that he could quickly escape the onslaught of disarrayed musical notes, strung together with deplorable phrasing that was giving him a headache.
Ten minutes later he was at his brother’s restaurant, a necessary yet particularly dreadful errand that he had to attend to.
“Ah, Beck,” his brother yelled as he walked into the restaurant. “You’ve disappeared for a few days. Last we saw you, you were being trashed by an attractive brunette.”
“Jesus Christ, Melvin, don’t you have a meal to ruin somewhere in this shit-hole you call a restaurant?”
“Stupid brother…if you’ve dropped by looking for the brunette who had the good sense to dump your advancements onto the floor, don’t bother. She was here last night and told me to tell you that she finds you deplorable. Wonderful taste, she has.”
“What…are we back in high school, sending notes across the aisle? Hmm, I seem to remember the notes you received back in high school were that you were nothing more than a loud-mouthed, rotund tub of lard. And why look at yourself, Melvin…you still are!”
“Why are you here?” Melvin asked. “You hate the food, can’t stand the decor, are foul to those who work here…basically, the usual pain in the ass you are to everyone.”
“Dear brother…you do not serve food here, only slop that may have once been considered food, with an over abundance of spices dumped on each dish to mask its’ putridness…and as for the decor, everything in sight is an assault to one’s senses. Walking in here is like walking into a third world country, except in a third world country, they typically can produce food that doesn’t send one to the toilet upon consuming.”
“Fuck off, Beck”.
“I’m in search of a shred of information,” Beckett continued on. “Obviously, you know Elizabeth. And just as obvious is that she is under some sort of mental spell, brought on by an assault upon her olfactory sense from the stench of this outhouse, rendering her incapable of rational thought. I want to know where she lives, that’s all.”
“Beck, you’re toast,” Melvin laughed. You won’t ever see her again, won’t ever hear her voice again, with the only memory left that yet another sensible woman got rid of you.
“Ah, dear brother, with your IQ that hovers near room temperature, you cannot fathom that like the peeling of the hard boiled egg, once the shell is cracked, well then you have it.”
“Have what, you imbecile?”
“I will share it with you this one time, and this one time only – the curve of her legs, the scent behind her ear, her furrowed brow, the arch of her foot, her manicured fingers, the tilt of her head, the blueness of her eyes, the softness of her skin on either side of her belly, the brilliance of her mind, the tenderness of her heart, and the other-worldly delights of her, and just her alone – this is the magic of life. When you have found her, latch onto to her, never let her go, and love her as you have no other. If you pass on this, you have passed life’s beauty, life’s brilliance, life’s mysteries of mysteries…why, it would be like passing on playing Bach.”
Bach: Concerto for 4 pianos – BWV 1065 III – Allegro (David Fray, J. Rouvier, E. Christien, A. Vigoureux)
Photo credit (front page): http://www.unsplash.com/@brucemars