I find Lennon's work gorgeous and find it invigorating that he lives in the area. He is a wonderful satirist, cutting, yet never sardonic. You don't need to take a step back and say, "Well, he is being satirical, right there," with Lennon. It all just makes sense.
Anyway, I mentioned Lennon, because the following piece is something in the spirit of Pieces for the Left Hand. Just a quick little anecdote that could be a part of something big. I don't have the patience for writing full lenght fiction. I just realized that. But maybe I can whip up a nice little chap book with a dozen or so interconnected stories. Here is my story in the same vein as Pieces and with a little of those quick George Saunders sentences. I just finished In Persuasion Nation. Amazing book, and another amazing local resource.
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After Vacation
By Garik Charneco
After Vacation
By Garik Charneco
I saw it in the paper after we got home. The lobster story. In the "Odds and Ends" section. I was in the kitchen catching up on all the back papers the delivery boy had stacked on our porch. I gave Ryan, my son, the little subscription hold slip to drop off before we left. I enjoyed a nice week at the beach, knowing all the stove elements were off, the windows were locked, and the paper wouldn't come. But, the papers came.
I found it fun. To read through all those papers and catch up on the past week's news. I stacked them into a neat little pile on the kitchen table, a little dossier for me on our town.
And there was the story. The lobster story.
The headline read, "Park officials baffled by lobster release."
I had seen the exodus! I had seen the story! Ryan and I were throwing around the Frisbee and he heaved it over the dune grass. My first fears were that it landed in the water or bonked some poor person laying behind the grass. However, I heard no splashes or curses.
"Hey," I said to the boy. "Go get it. The one that lost it has to get it!" Those were the rules between me and my father and they would be the same between Ryan and I. But, Ryan, just shrugged.
"You got get it," he said pulling his cap down over his eyes. "You're closer."
I should had said something. I should have made a lecture, right there. About responsibility and Frisbee tradition, hut, it was vacation. I let it slide, and what a wonderful thing, because I had seen the news!
Ryan had heaved the Frisbee well beyond the dune grass and almost to the edge of a low cliff! There I saw it, the story. Below the cliff, I saw a dozen people squatting in the water next to boxes. All the boxes looked like coolers, made of styrofoam and thick. And there were some beach towels thrown around the sheltered beach. Looked like a picnic to me, at first. But, then, I saw all those lobsters coming out! I almost dropped the Frisbee, I was so surprised. Even from up on the cliff, I made out the lobsters. They looked black and mottled, especially in the shallows, but their spindly legs still kicked. The people there lured them out of the boxes. I heard lots of "C'mon's!" and "Yay's!" I didn't know what to make of the whole thing, so I just left.
I must had left before the lifeguards got there, accompanied by a ranger. The paper read, "When initially confronted, the liberators, as they referred to themselves, all produced receipts indicating they had bought the lobsters from local markets and restaurants."
Then a quote from a meat counter man and another from a restaurant manager. All their lobsters had disappeared into the sea.
The paper went on. "Dozens of live lobsters milled around the shallows at the east end, exploring the warm waters with their antennas. Park officials felt the freed lobsters would have a good chance at surviving in the wild due to existing fishing spots in the area. However, they discouraged others from copying the liberators actions, citing safety concerns."
I had only seen, maybe, seven black shapes in the water when I got the Frisbee. But the paper said over forty lobsters were freed. I imagined all those lobsters, pouring over one another in the same waters my family splashed. All their legs and eyes whirring through the sand and out into the sea. I should have gone down. Called Ryan and Marie, and even the baby for it would be irresponsible to leave her in her beach travel crib. Would have made even more of the vacation.
I found it fun. To read through all those papers and catch up on the past week's news. I stacked them into a neat little pile on the kitchen table, a little dossier for me on our town.
And there was the story. The lobster story.
The headline read, "Park officials baffled by lobster release."
I had seen the exodus! I had seen the story! Ryan and I were throwing around the Frisbee and he heaved it over the dune grass. My first fears were that it landed in the water or bonked some poor person laying behind the grass. However, I heard no splashes or curses.
"Hey," I said to the boy. "Go get it. The one that lost it has to get it!" Those were the rules between me and my father and they would be the same between Ryan and I. But, Ryan, just shrugged.
"You got get it," he said pulling his cap down over his eyes. "You're closer."
I should had said something. I should have made a lecture, right there. About responsibility and Frisbee tradition, hut, it was vacation. I let it slide, and what a wonderful thing, because I had seen the news!
Ryan had heaved the Frisbee well beyond the dune grass and almost to the edge of a low cliff! There I saw it, the story. Below the cliff, I saw a dozen people squatting in the water next to boxes. All the boxes looked like coolers, made of styrofoam and thick. And there were some beach towels thrown around the sheltered beach. Looked like a picnic to me, at first. But, then, I saw all those lobsters coming out! I almost dropped the Frisbee, I was so surprised. Even from up on the cliff, I made out the lobsters. They looked black and mottled, especially in the shallows, but their spindly legs still kicked. The people there lured them out of the boxes. I heard lots of "C'mon's!" and "Yay's!" I didn't know what to make of the whole thing, so I just left.
I must had left before the lifeguards got there, accompanied by a ranger. The paper read, "When initially confronted, the liberators, as they referred to themselves, all produced receipts indicating they had bought the lobsters from local markets and restaurants."
Then a quote from a meat counter man and another from a restaurant manager. All their lobsters had disappeared into the sea.
The paper went on. "Dozens of live lobsters milled around the shallows at the east end, exploring the warm waters with their antennas. Park officials felt the freed lobsters would have a good chance at surviving in the wild due to existing fishing spots in the area. However, they discouraged others from copying the liberators actions, citing safety concerns."
I had only seen, maybe, seven black shapes in the water when I got the Frisbee. But the paper said over forty lobsters were freed. I imagined all those lobsters, pouring over one another in the same waters my family splashed. All their legs and eyes whirring through the sand and out into the sea. I should have gone down. Called Ryan and Marie, and even the baby for it would be irresponsible to leave her in her beach travel crib. Would have made even more of the vacation.
_______________________________
Any thoughts? I find the image of a dozen freed lobsters just clawing their way out to sea very moving and colorful**. I would be much more comfortable with it through a creative non-fiction lens. You know, pretend I am actually there. I'll try that for a final piece. Peace!
* Unfortunately, Pieces for the Left Hand, is only for sale in the UK. Makes no friggin' sense. If interested, you can buy it through Amazon UK or, if you live in Ithaca, can snag a copy at the Bookery 2 book store.
** While the ethics of freeing lobsters that one legally purchased are pretty clear, I am still fuzzy about how the animals will really take it. Releasing a domesticated cow into the wild, might not be the smartest thing, because that animal is no wild bovine. No bison, yak, or musk ox. I might not know anything but the feed lot! However, can a lobster go back to the wild? Some folks think so. In any case, makes for fascinating imagery, no? And for a crazy fish tale. Might try it sometime, if I lived by the sea.
* Unfortunately, Pieces for the Left Hand, is only for sale in the UK. Makes no friggin' sense. If interested, you can buy it through Amazon UK or, if you live in Ithaca, can snag a copy at the Bookery 2 book store.
** While the ethics of freeing lobsters that one legally purchased are pretty clear, I am still fuzzy about how the animals will really take it. Releasing a domesticated cow into the wild, might not be the smartest thing, because that animal is no wild bovine. No bison, yak, or musk ox. I might not know anything but the feed lot! However, can a lobster go back to the wild? Some folks think so. In any case, makes for fascinating imagery, no? And for a crazy fish tale. Might try it sometime, if I lived by the sea.
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