The Rhapsody of Helena Marie

Hello Groovy People,

These stories that I keep posting are based on my life. I find some things in life so funny that they must absolutely be recorded. So here we go; enjoy!

Caught In The Act

The year was 1989 and I was fourteen years old. The annual carnival had made its appearance at St. Mary’s church. All evening long I worked dubiously at the Hoopla Game tent. The object was to throw a hoop around some cheesy item that you desired, and have the loop land flat on the table. Easy? Ha! More like hard as hell and damn near miraculous to achieve.

In the distance I could see the ominous Dunk Tank. On the front there was a sign that read:

To be in the Dunk Tank you must:

- Be wearing a clean bathing suit

-         Have a towel

-         And be clean yourself

Have a nice day!

            I was in that seat a few times, shivering as I perched on top of a precarious platform. Nervously yet darefully I’d antangonize the men folk, “Oh my God! What was that? We’re not playing toss the beanbag here; for Christ’s sake knock me down.” Man after so-called man would raise their hands and point at me, “Ooooh, I’m gonna get you.”

           On the other side of the lot, set off in the same corner every year, was The Zypher. For six tickets a ride, this coaster boasted of fun with loud music, a wild D.J and speed. I always considered it a convenient way to get plastered against your date with the G force.

            In the Hoopla tent, I would call out loudly all night “Hoopla, Hoopla, only three rings for a dollar. Here’s your chance to win a prize for your cutie.”

            On this particular night I was happy. This really cute guy I liked had won me four beautiful unicorn posters. I stashed them safely to the side, excited about how wonderful they would look on my bedroom wall at home.

            It was a beautiful summer night and as the evening drew to a close, I found myself filled with a sense of yearning, not wanting the night to end so soon. We closed down the Hoopla tent and I gathered up my posters. I noticed another rolled up poster sitting at the side. Wondering who’s it was, I reached for it and unrolled it to find the figure of a naked woman standing in front of a large window. Her breasts were barely distinguishable, but she was giving the camera a full moon. Immediately I knew who the poster belonged to. “Pesky” I muttered under my breath. He was a boy who got on my worst nerves. I always laughed to myself when I thought of his very obvious nickname. I had no idea what his real name was.

             I informed the youth group leader that I would hang onto his poster and give it to him when I bumped into him this evening. We headed outside the lot and around the corner towards the beer garden. On the way I bumped into Father O’ Conner.

             “Hello Father, how are you this evening?” I queried. “Very fine.” he answered. I excitedly told him about the posters my male friend had won for me.

“Well let’s see em,” he said. I handed him a poster and he unrolled it.

I knew I was in trouble when at that moment a parishoner walked by and said in a loud voice, “Whatcha looking at there Father?” I nervously chuckled and began to explain that, “NO that wasn’t my poster.” The priest just kind of stood there and smiled, blushing a little. I was saved by his humor and extraordinarily mellow soul; he just kind of chuckled when faced with the image of forbidden fruit.

I turned away and headed towards the beer garden. There I sat with friends; we all had a good laugh. Under the cheerful bright lights and in the sweet summer air, all the adults got tipsy while us youth were restricted to soda. It was just another one of life’s many bloopers. I thought of my mother’s descriptions of her childhood Catholic school, with her nun teachers and their infamous rulers and sterile personalities and thanked God that Father O’Conner was who he was; a mellow, detached soul.

Hello Dreamers, Movers and Shakers,

It’s that time again; the time I drop another line and continue this mad sweet Rhapsody. So here it is:

Peculiar things always happened in the pet store. This morning was no exception. I started the day just like any other day. My boss unlocked the front door and at the first flick of the store lights all the dogs for sale broke into song. Goldie the macaw began to screech, her deafening voice filling the whole expanse of the store and changing the atmosphere into a jungle. Bock-bock the mad, envious rooster crowed. He stood defiantly in his pen next to Waddles the duck; daring anyone to make his day. A couple of Siamese kittens began their wailing rhapsody, with tails in the air and paws clawing at the cage.

I began the tedious, smelly regime of cleaning all the dog cages. As I opened each one, their occupants would become overwhelmed with excitement. Their eyes and panting breath seemed to cry out “Pet me, feed me, love me”. Tails would wag like pendulums, beating against the walls of each unit.

Once a couple of days before Easter, while cleaning the cages, a little old lady walked up to the gate and exclaimed, “It’s Good Friday and you’re on your knees”. Such was the nature of this job; slow, smelly, tedious and humbling.

This place was listed in the telephone directory as a zoo, and that was not an exaggeration. Not only did this store sell pets and pet products, but it also housed a myriad of exotic animals that the owners would take on various shows. There was a white-throated capuchin monkey named Chico. It was rumored that he hated females, so only guys were allowed in his cage. It was also known that he liked to eat small animals such as escaped mice, birds, gerbils and hamsters. There was also a special, trained ferret named Rascal. He lived up to his name by escaping from his cage every so often to go gallivanting around the store. We had a splendid show turkey named Thomas. He would spread his tail feathers and gobble, gobble excitedly. Some of my co-workers jokingly told me that his next stop was the meat market. Up high, on the second level, there were two boa-constrictors, and two toucans. Along another wall, up above there was also Penelopae, the male peacock, and Harriet the great Indian horn-bill bird. Martha a red and green macaw, belonged to the owners. She sometimes sat on an overhanging perch behind the gate. One time I approached her, petted her sweet little head and said “Hello Martha”. She responded by sneezing in my face.

On this particular morning my boss decided to take the peacock out, to take him somewhere. They were getting ready to sell him to a private owner for $75.00. My supervisor Bethany climbed up the ladder with a broom. She opened Penelpae’s pen and began to shoo him out the door along the ledge. I looked over from where I was. Penelpae got very nervous and started running along the ledge. I didn’t have time to remove the canary cages that were sitting on top of the dog units. Along he came knocking each birdcage over with his large feet. I grabbed at the small escaping birds, trying to catch each one. One unfortunate canary was never seen again. Penelopae ended up on the floor near Goldie. The macaw had been sitting on the puppy food bucket munching away to her heart’s content. She squawked in indignation and flew over towards Chico’s cage. The small monkey was startled out of his silent ruminations. He dropped to the floor and backed away. One of my co-workers ran to fetch the offended macaw and put her back in her cage. I stood there grinning and shaking my head. Animals!

I could not silence my bubbling laughter at life’s strange mysteries. For years to come I would often think about that funny, little pet store, located on the West Side. I worked there for a year and a half as an Animal Technician. I would laugh to myself and ponder about how some of the women I knew were afraid of certain animals; rodents, reptiles, cats and birds to name a few. They would look at me and shake their heads as I came home with a bag of crickets to feed to my pet frog. I prided myself with being in close contact with God’s finest. It was in these moments that I was reminded that there was still a God even though I was on the edge of atheism. All I had to do was look into the eyes of my fellow inhabitants on our planet Earth to see a reflection of Him. I would gaze at the feathers of our resident blue and gold macaw, Goldie. “Who made you so perfect”? I would mentally inquire. And Goldie would stare back with sweet, little beige colored eyes and answer, “Hello”.