Krister and Leslie

Krister and Leslie plot: A novelette about a parrot named Leslie who teaches English to a Dutch painter named Krister; a quirky guy from Cativa, Panama named Roberto; and Leena, a Danish witch who gets in a mess of trouble! Leslie belongs to the narrator Marla Highfield. The main theme is multiculturalism and the trouble it gets the characters into!

[ALL PERSONS FICTITIOUS DISCLAIMER: "Krister and Leslie" is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.]

Translations were deemed accurate at the time of writing. Author is not responsible for any incorrect translations.

"Cullie Decker logo" 

    

Hello. My name is Marla Nel Highfield. I have a story that I’d love to share with you. I am now in my late eighties, but the story I am about to tell you took place when I was about fifty-five. This story takes place around 1974. I know…I should’ve told this story sooner. As you will surely be able to tell, I still have a rather sharp memory up in this old head of mine!
    This story begins when I met this tall, lanky Dutch painter named Krister van Dijk [Sounds like DISHK] who had decided when he was twenty-years-old to leave his small and humble home in Rotterdam to explore another country. Krister had a very adventurous spirit that so many young people today seem to lack. I know that he got it from his mother because she was also an adventurer.
    Krister wanted to see new things, meet people with different cultures, taste new foods, and get inspiration for new artwork. He painted lots of pictures of boats and ships when he lived in Rotterdam. I guess it was his inspiration, and he probably got a little mild criticism in his old Rotterdam neighborhood for only painting boats and ships. He told me that people in his Dutch community were beginning to call him Boot Hoofd, which is Dutch for “Boat Head.”
    For some reason, he never painted another boat or ship once he moved to the US. It was the best thing that ever happened to his art portfolio.
    After he became a legal US citizen, he started painting all sorts of different things like cars, cattle, pelicans, quail, women with fishing poles, and he even had his own sunrise series, consisting of thirteen different paintings of the sun rising up over some small American farm or a big US city such as Chicago, IL or Greensboro, North Carolina. I remember taking him there for a little adventure. It was just the two of us. He stayed up all night on our last night there in order to see the sunrise. When we got back to Illinois, he had begun painting “Fierce Sunrise Over Downtown Greensboro, NC.” The small yellowy-orange sun peeking over a bunch of tall, seemingly metallic buildings was some sight on canvas. Most of his other sunrise paintings had Chicago locations.
    Well, anyway, Krister met me one day…I think we were in a restaurant. Now I remember…and we were both in line at a salad bar. I turned my head as I saw him give me a little smile. I suppose it was wrong to reject a complete stranger, but you never know for sure what’s going on in another person’s complex, alterable mind.
    Before I returned to my table, I could hear this young man speaking in another language. Well, this delighted and intrigued me because I love meeting people who speak a different language. I, myself, am multilingual. I speak English, Danish, Dutch, and Spanish. I know these languages pretty good. In fact, what I love doing more than anything is finding Danish, Dutch, and Spanish people and befriending them. I enjoy going to different countries, meeting someone new, and then see if I can get them to come to the U.S. with me. Of course, it can be a daunting task, and at times, I wonder why I enjoy it so much.  Multiculturalism is a major part of who I am. I guess sometimes I’d rather spend time with these foreigners than other people from America. I think some of it could be because they don’t seem to worship the media as much as America and that makes them seem like real people-not like little robots, selfishly designed to keep Hollywood rich.
    Anyway, I bring foreigners into my home, which has always been so exciting for me, and I have a parrot named Leslie who loves trying her hand…well, her feather at teaching English! Now, for my story about my good friends and my parrot.
     “Hello! Hello! I am Leslie! I am Leslie!” Leslie, the parrot, exclaimed.  I translated Leslie’s words for Krister one day after I had invited him over to my house to sit and talk and maybe have something to eat and drink.
     “Hello! Hello! I am Krister! I am Krister!” Krister said to Leslie in a serious manner and tone. I smiled at his charming accent, and when Leslie twirled around, Krister laughed.
     “Hello, Krister! Hello, Krister!” Leslie exclaimed.
     “Are you starting to learn English? Say ‘yes’ if you are, or ‘no’ if you are not.”  I said to Krister in Dutch.
     “Yes.”
    I turned to Leslie. Leslie lowered her head a little, as if to make eye contact with me.
     “Leslie, say ‘Dutch…Dutch…Dutch…Dutch.’” I said, smiling.
     “‘Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch!” Leslie mimicked.
    Krister and I laughed. I told Krister, in Dutch, that Leslie has made friends with people from other countries. I told Krister about a Danish woman named Leena Yager, and a young Spanish man named Roberto Varela. I told Krister that they, too, learned some English from Leslie.
     Without a prompt, Leslie began talking again. It seemed as if she was trying to teach Krister even more English. I stood and watched.
     “Math, math, math, math!” I translated Leslie’s words from English to Dutch and asked Krister to repeat it.
     “Math.” Krister repeated.
    “Life is a joke! Life is a joke!” I translated Leslie’s words into Dutch for Krister, and he laughed. Krister and I continued conversing in Dutch.
     “I’d like to meet Leena and Roberto sometime.”
     “No problem. They live in the city. I can call them, and tell them about you.”
     “I like the sound of that!”
    I called Leena and Roberto. Almost an hour went by before they arrived, but I was thrilled to see two of my longtime friends. Krister and I greeted Roberto and Leena at the door.
     “Hello, friends! It’s been so long since I’ve seen either of you!” I said to Roberto and Leena in English, and then translated it into Dutch for Krister.
    I grew up with a desire to learn different languages and cultures, and it’s something I have never regretted. My knowledge in other languages has allowed me to travel to other countries widely unfamiliar with English. It brought joy and a sense of freedom to be able to travel to so many places and do things that I’d probably not have the chance or longing to do otherwise. Not only did I travel to Danish-Dutch-and-Spanish-speaking countries, I have also traveled to a few English-speaking countries such as Canada and Australia.
     “Hello, Leena! Hello, Roberto!” Leslie said. I smiled and shook my head.
     “It’s amazing what your bird knows!” Leena said in English.
     “I know,” I began, “I taught Leslie several words and phrases in English just so she can teach people English. I am so proud of her!”
     “Where are Roberto and Leena from?” Krister asked me in Dutch.
     “Roberto Varela is from the Central America country, Panama. Leena Yager is from the Faeroe Islands, which is Danish territory near Iceland.” I continued talking to Krister in Dutch, and then translating everything for Leena in Danish and for Roberto in Spanish.
     “Is English the only language Leslie is familiar with?” Krister asked.
     “Yes, English is all that Leslie knows, which makes it interesting how she can teach English to others!” I replied.
     “How much English can birds learn?” Roberto asked in English.
     “Well, they aren’t experts at English, but Leslie, here, knows about thirty-eight, or so, words. Leslie is socially more advanced than most parrots.”
     The doorbell rang, and I briefly left my guests to answer the door. A quick stare through the peephole, and I opened the door.
     “Good afternoon, miss. Would you be interested in buying a crossbow made in China, but made affordable in Ireland? There’s no tax, no shipping fees, and every crossbow is brand new guaranteed!”
     “No thanks.” I quickly shut the door. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door right open.
    “Miss, I know you’ll love this crossbow. You really, truly will. Everybody I know is talking about this little baby. I want you to just tell me what you think.”
    “You want to know what I think? Okay. I think you’re a pushy, little schmuck with horrible breath and bad taste in clothes!”
    I slammed the door shut, locked it, looked through the peephole again, and felt compelled to report what I saw. I quietly picked up my phone and called my landlord.
     “Hello...it’s me…some guy was just here, trying to sell a crossbow from Ireland, and when I declined, I closed my door and saw him snipping the leaves off of the plant across the hall…an artificial tree…I think he’s either trying to scare me or there may be more to it…he was wearing an orange T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, and black shorts…he had on loafers…I didn’t say he was a classy guy…great…thanks…bye.” I went back into the living room with my company.
     “Marla, I think you should know that Leslie insulted Krister in English, and since you know Dutch, you should translate to Krister what Leslie said.” Roberto offered. I guess I blankly stared at Roberto. I glanced at Leena, who had an eyebrow raised. I was almost afraid to speak.
     “All right. Leslie, what did you say to Krister?” I asked.
     “Painters suck! Painters suck!” Leslie chanted and twirled around.
     “Well, I don’t think that’s very funny, Leslie.” I said with a stern tone.
     “Funny Leslie! Funny Leslie! Painters suck!” I translated this for Krister, who answered in Dutch.
     “I see nothing funny about it. I am a very successful painter in Rotterdam. My art is worth a lot of Dutch guilder.” Krister was referring to Dutch currency that was replaced by the euro in 2002. However, this story still takes place in 1974.
     “Well, I’m sure Leslie means no harm. Isn’t that right, Leslie?” I asked.
     “Math! Math! Math! Math!”
     “I wouldn’t worry about any insults coming from a parrot!” Leena said in Danish, which I understood. I translated Leena’s comment into Spanish for Roberto and Dutch for Krister. By now, I could see how awkward and confusing it had become for Leena, Roberto, and Krister. I wanted to be able to speak freely in Danish, Dutch, Spanish, and English. My friends, however, saw it quite differently.
     “I think it’s time for Krister to learn more English.” Roberto said in English.
     “I agree!” Leena said with a raised voice. I spoke with Krister in Dutch.
     “Roberto and Leena feel that you may be ready to learn more English. Does that sound good?”
     “I’d enjoy that.” Krister said flatly.
    I sighed and sat down with my guests in the kitchen. Once seated, I realized that I was a type of hostess, so I stood up and offered drinks and snacks. I gave Leslie fresh water before sitting down again.
    Four hours later, Krister had grasped the basics of English. With some assistance, he was eventually able to use small sentences in English.
     “I just want to apologize on Leslie’s behalf, Krister.” I said. I was speaking in Dutch again, ensuring that Krister knew what I was talking about.
     “It was wrong, Marla.”
     “I understand that Leslie was wrong. I just think-”
     “You do not understand, Marla. That was a dirty, vicious, loathsome, unforgivable insult that can never be forgotten. My entire family is comprised of painters, all right? I have had painters in my family since the eighth century. Paint is practically in my blood!”
    Krister was speaking in Dutch. I squinted at Krister, hoping to silence him. Roberto rolled his eyes because I had forgotten to translate our conversation.
     “Marla, what is Krister saying?” Leena asked.
     “Well, I’m not sure that even I can translate Krister’s words. I can say, however, that Krister says his family is comprised of painters and painting has been a significant art in his family since the eighth century.”
     “Krister, forget it!” Leena pleaded.
     “No forgetting!” Krister shot back.
     “At least he is learning English.” Leena said.
    My kitchen became silent. I was feeling responsible for every mixed emotion lingering in the room. My head was hurting, but I kept it to myself. Roberto deeply exhaled and said, “I think in time he will move on.”
     “I agree with Roberto.” Leena said. I nodded.
     I arose from my kitchen chair and walked to my phone. I stood in front of it. I swallowed, and picked up the phone.
     “Hello…what’s the latest on that guy I recently told you about…I’d appreciate it you’d find him…well, it means something to me…he snipped the leaves off of an artificial tree, and it’s not impossible for him to return to do something like that to my belongings…does the woman across the hall from me know about it yet…you don’t have any answers, do you…I have to go…no, I will not hold…bye.” I slammed the phone down.
     “What was that about?” Leena asked.
     “Some guy wanted to sell a crossbow, imported from Ireland. When I told him I was not interested, he went across the hall, pulled out a small pair of scissors, and cut about four leaves off of an artificial tree. I have no idea if he’ll try to do something like that to my stuff, and I just can’t risk it.”
     “Why didn’t you chase him?” Roberto asked.
     “As much fun as that would be, I didn’t think it was necessary for me to do something like that. I’m not a detective or a police officer or anything like that.” I answered with a deep sigh, which felt good.
     “So, is working with Leslie your job or something?” Leena asked.
     “I am Leslie! I am Leslie! I am Leslie!" Leslie chanted.
     “Good grief.” Krister whispered.
     “I go to different countries, and take photographs to make postcards and calendars and stuff. So, I’m a professional photographer. It’s very interesting.”
     “Where is your favorite country?” Roberto asked.
     “Believe or not, my favorite country is the U.S. I guess it’s because it’s just home. I am fond of this neighborhood, and while I enjoy traveling, I am always so relieved to return to the States.”
    “If you could live in a different country, would you move?” Roberto asked.
    “I don’t think so. I like my home. I’ve lived here since I was eighteen. I moved out of my parents’ crowded apartment when I was eighteen, and this has been my home ever since. It’s so familiar and cozy. I could never give it up; I couldn’t even give it up for another country. I’m proud to be a part of Chicago.”
     There was a knock at the door. I stood up and went to the door. I was a little nervous, but I hid my feelings well. Roberto stood up, but he stayed where he had been seated. Krister turned around to see who was at the front door.
     “Who are you?” I asked.
     “My name is Annie Harmer, and I’m the detective your landlord called. I need to know more about the crossbow seller.”
     “I told everything to my landlord. Didn’t he tell you much?”
     “Not in my opinion.”
     “Well, what more do you need to know? He was wearing an orange shirt with the sleeves cut out, and black shorts. He was also sporting a pair of unsightly loafers. He was short and thin, and his hair was a medium blonde…maybe an inch below his shoulders. He looked about thirty-two. Is that sufficient information, Annie?”
     “It should be enough. What is your name again?”
     “Marla Highfield.”
     “Well, I want to say thank you for your help. As soon as I get some answers, I’ll let you in on it.”
     “Thank you, Annie.”
     “Sure thing, Marla.”
    Annie left, and I noticed Roberto sit down.
     “Do you guys want to go out somewhere?” I asked.
     “Just going for a short drive sounds fine with me.” Leena said.
     “Krister?”
     “Let’s just get out.”
     “Roberto?”
     “Can’t we make a stop somewhere…anywhere?”
    “We haven’t even left the house yet.” I said.
     “Soup or salad! Soup or salad!” Leslie squawked.
     “Don’t listen to Leslie.” Leena said.
     “Math! Math! Math! I speak English!” Leslie said.
     “Leslie needs to be replaced.” Krister said.
     “Replace the Dutch painter! Replace the Dutch painter! Painters suck!”
     “Stop insulting my guests, Leslie!” I ordered. Leslie went to her water. Leena, Krister, Roberto, and I watched Leslie for a moment.
     “Your parrot knows more English than any other bird in the world.” Roberto said.
     “Too bad it never makes sense!” Krister said. I was not amused. I picked up my keys, and we left.
     After a twenty minute drive, we stopped at a small park. We got out of my car: a 1974 Renault [pronounced RUH-NO] 12, walked up to a picnic table, and sat down.
    There was a quiet breeze, but some leaves on the trees seemed to be blowing harder than the others. There was a tree next to the picnic table, and Krister noticed a caterpillar, motionless on the tree bark. He pointed at it, and I got up to take a closer look.
     “This place is too quiet!” Roberto said.
     “Leslie just has a big mouth.” Leena said.
    I said, “You mean ‘beak.’ Let’s just stop talking about my parrot, okay? Leslie never meant to insult Krister.”
     “Who’s that?” Roberto asked.
     “Leslie’s my parrot, Roberto. I’m sure you remember.”
     “No! I meant, who’s that guy over there?”
     “Now, why would that be my business?” I asked, and then turned around to look at him. “That guy is painting on the restroom doors. I’m sure it’s his job.”
     “But what if it isn’t?” Leena asked.
     “Then, I think the word is vandalism.”
     “See, Krister? Painting is vandalism!” Roberto said.
     “Only on public places, like buildings and stuff, where you aren’t supposed to do things like that.” I corrected.
     “So, it’s probably against the law.” Leena commented.
     “It’s almost as criminal as shoving a pocket knife up a cop’s nose!” I said, unaware of what I was encouraging Leena to do.
     The guy painting all over the restroom door began to walk away, but I stood up and stopped him. He dropped his paint brush in a paint can.
     “Can I help you?” The guy asked.
     “What were you doing over there?”
     “Oh, you know. Nothing.”
     “It must’ve been a very big nothing. I mean, you brought spray paint and everything to do…nothing. You should know that this is a public place and I have the right to look at what you were doing, which is simply nothing, right? I mean, if it’s nothing, you shouldn’t have a problem with me looking around, right?”
     “What? Are you wanting to bust me or something?”
     “That’d be pleasant…if necessary.”
     “Now, I can assure you that what I am doing is perfectly legal!”
     “I can see you’re a new breed of convicts. Now, get out of my way!”
     “You need to keep your chapped lips zipped, you glamour dyke!”
    Leena arose, and approached the unsuspecting vandal. She put one arm around his neck in a chokehold. With her other hand, she stabbed the man in his right eye with a fork and began speaking in Danish. With Krister and Roberto completely stunned and frozen in sheer horror, a daring Leena continued with her unstoppable act. I was hiding behind a spruce, trying to not be noisy. Suddenly, she stopped.
     “My eye! What did you do to my eye?” The vandal cried.
     “You broke the law, denied it, insulted my friend, challenged her instincts, disgraced this land, and now you must pay. You will pay. I have put a Danish curse on your right eye. For the next eighty years, a fork will protrude from your eyeball. You will die a lonely freak known as…‘Fork-Face!’ May your god be with you because mine won’t!”
    The man, who had lost his grip on the can of spray paint that he was holding during the battle, stumbled silently out of sight. Leena turned around.
     I said, “My God! Leena, that wasn’t justice. That was demonic torture! You’ll never catch an American officer putting a curse on a criminal!”
     “I don’t think there are many US officers who know Danish curses exit!” Leena snapped.
     “Exist, you prune brain! Not ‘exit!’ I thought I taught English better than that!” I said.
     “I cannot believe this,” Roberto began, “What you did was not civil, Leena! This sort of behavior goes against me and who I am. I’m an American. I am not Spanish-American. I am American! Krister is not Dutch-American. Krister is American! You, Leena, are not Danish-American. You are American! Curses of the Danish sort need to remain in Danemark!”
     “Denmark!” I corrected.
     “Take back the curse! Take it back! Take it back!” Roberto begged.
     “I cannot take a Danish curse back. I will not take a Danish curse back! That fool must pay for the crime he has confounded!” Leena said.
    “What’s ‘confounded?’” Krister asked.
    “Never mind. Leena meant to say, ‘that fool must pay for the crime he has committed.’ Committed, Leena. Not ‘confounded.’” I said, and then Leena stuck her tongue out at me.
     “Leena’s evil. Danish is evil. Krister, Dutch it up or something!” Roberto said.
    I said, “Now, Roberto. You need to watch what you say. Leena isn’t evil. Danish isn’t evil. Yes, it was wrong for Leena to put a Danish curse on that bum, but you have to understand that actions are evil, not people themselves, except for…maybe Frank Nitti.”
    “I still say Krister needs to Dutch it up or something. Come on, Krister!”
     “I can’t ‘Dutch it up.’ How am I going to turn a Danish curse Dutch, huh? Ram another fork into his other eye?”
     “For that, I’d give you a Danish blessing, Krister.” Leena whispered.
     “Get away from me! You scare me!” Krister shrieked.
     “I am afraid of everybody! Oh, my goodness. I need to be medicated!” Roberto shouted with wide eyes and taut shoulders.
     I sat back down at the picnic bench. I took out a bottle of eye drops, and put a drop into each eye. Roberto sat down beside me.
     “What does that feel like?” Roberto asked.
     “It doesn’t really feel like much, Roberto. They’re eye drops. Would you like to try it?”
     “Yes.”
    I handed the bottle to Roberto. Krister sat on the other side of me.
     “What about me?” He asked.
     “Sure!” I answered.
     “Can I try eye drops, too?” Leena asked.
     “That depends,” I began, “Are you sorry for what you did to that man, even though what he did was against the law? Are you? Leena, are you sorry?”
     “Leena, I think that’s your signal to answer!” Krister said. Roberto and I turned and looked at Krister. Krister simply shrugged his shoulders.
     “I, Leena, am sorry.”
     “I remember when I was sixteen-” I began.
     “Me, too.” Krister interrupted.
     “Let me finish my sentiment, Krister.” I firmly said.
     “Sorry.”
     “So, anyway. I lived across a park that was similar to this park. I’d walk up and down the sidewalks with my friends. Then one day, this old woman walked up to my friends and me and asked, with a dry and faint voice, ‘I do not mean to interrupt, but you have similar features to those of my triplets at home.’”
     “What does that have to do with eye drops?” Roberto asked.
     “Nothing.” I answered.
     “What does it have to do with Danish curses?” Krister asked.
     “Unless the woman was Danish, nothing.” I replied.
     “Was she Danish?” Leena asked.
     “I don’t think so.”
     “Then, what was the point of the story?” Krister asked.
     “I merely wanted to change the subject, and that generally shouldn’t be questioned.”
     “Can I change the subject?” Leena asked.
     “Anytime.” I answered.
     “Do U.S. officers know American curses?”
     “Stop asking about curses, please. I don’t want to hear about any kind of curse from any country ever again!” I said.
     “They’re a big part of my heritage.” Leena said.
     “Silence! Marla demands silence!” Krister shouted.
    “I’m sitting in a park, fighting with my best friends, and what is it going to get me? It’s going to get me a sixteen-hour headache!” I said.
     “That was rude, Marla.” Leena said.
    “I don’t care. I was merely being honest. There‘s never anything wrong with total honesty, unless you’re doing something such as honestly admitting that you eat paper!”
    “I would love to make you eat paper!” Leena said to me.
    “Is that something you intend to pursue, missy?”
     “You can’t scare me, Marla. I have more Danish curses than Americans have vitamins!”
     “Oh, really, Leena?” I asked.
     “I don’t want to hear one more word about curses!” Krister said.
     “Shut up, bro. She’ll put a Danish curse on us!” Roberto yelped.
     “So, is everyone hungry?” I asked.
     “I need something Danish.” Leena said.
     “Spanish for me.” Roberto said.
     “I like American food.” Krister said.
     “Can anyone else repeat what Krister just said?” I asked. Not one word came out of Leena or Roberto. I  remained silent while she we headed from the picnic bench to my car. After about eleven minutes of driving around town, Krister said, “Can I get some Dutch food?”
     “Wh-what?! Krister, I thought you said you like American food!” I said.
     “I do, but you know, I am Dutch. Dutch food is practically in my blood!”
     “Like paint!” Leena joked.
    Roberto laughed.
    I said, “All right, everybody. I’ll try to find a Danish-Dutch-Spanish-American restaurant. It’s almost 6:00 P.M. If I had multiple plane tickets, we could all be fed by 4:50 tomorrow morning So, do you guys like music? Never mind. Krister, you probably like Dutch music. Leena, I’m sure you like Danish music. Roberto, you probably like Spanish music. I don’t have any of that stuff, but I do have some Brazilian music. Can anybody tolerate Kentucky Fried Chicken and Brazilian music besides me?”
     “I’ve heard of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Um, nah, I don’t like that stuff.” Roberto said.
     “Thanks, Roberto. I appreciate your support.” I said.
    We finally agreed to go to Ingmar’s International Food Cuisine House. Everyone got out of the car, and walked up to the front door. They were greeted by a boy who looked about sixteen.
     “Hello. Hej. Bonjour. Hallo.

Γειά σου.

Ciao. Hola.

여보세요.”

[“Hello” in English, Danish, French, Dutch, Greek, Italian, Spanish, and Korean, respectively.]
    “Keep that up and we’ll be here for five days!” Roberto interrupted.
    “Right. Sorry. Well, welcome to Ingmar’s International Food Cuisine House. My name is Ingmar, and I am the door greeter. This restaurant was opened by my uncle’s great-grandfather, Ingmar J. White. Would you like a table?”
     “Please.” I said.
     “You talk a lot.” Roberto said.
     “Is ‘Ingmar’ a common name in your family?” Krister asked.
     “No. Just my uncle’s great-grandfather and myself. Why? Was that a joke?” Ingmar said as he led us to our table.
     “No. I was being very serious and sincere…and serious.”
     “There’s no need to repeat yourself, Krister.” I whispered in Krister’s ear.
     “I need some water.” Roberto said.
     “Your waitress will be right with you.” Ingmar said and left.
     “I love it here!” Leena exclaimed.
     “I’m glad you like it.” Krister said.
     “I said I love it!”
     “Perfect! Now keep it to yourself!”
    Roberto said, “Krister, what is with the hostility? Did I say that word right, Marla?” I closed my eyes and nodded. Roberto continued, “I mean, I kind of like it here, too. Do you want me to keep it to myself? Do you, Krister?”
     “Guys, guys, behave.” I said softly.
     “Hello, friends. My name is Lady, and I will be your waitress this evening. How is everyone?”
     “Why did your parents name you ‘Lady?’” I asked.
     “Oh! You see, I come from an excessively sexist family. However, that doesn’t make me sexist. My family’s a bunch of sexist and bitter pigs, but I am none of those things. So, how about some drinks?”
     “Water.” Roberto said.
     “Water.” Krister said.
     “Water.” Leena said.
     “I’ll have a large glass of chocolate milk.” I said.
     “You drink milk at this hour?” Roberto asked.
     “Hey, I usually have cherry pie and root beer for breakfast.”
     “What do you drink for breakfast?” Krister asked.
     “I just said root beer!”
     “Can you say it in Dutch for me so I know what it is?”
    I translated ‘root beer’ into Dutch for Krister. Lady returned with Krister, Leena, and Roberto’s water and my large chocolate milk.
     “Is everybody ready to order?”
     “I want Leverpostej [Danish: Pronounced LEH-WER-PO-STEL) on Danish dark rye and maybe some onions on top.” Leena ordered.
     “And what is that?” Krister asked.
     “Leverpostej is kind of a spreadable pork liver paste which is put on dark rye bread and herbs, salt, and pepper and stuff like that. It’s an open-faced sandwich oftentimes topped with corned beef. It’s excellent!”
     “I want smoked botillo, and I’d like beets, too.” Roberto said.
     “What’s that?” Leena asked.
     “Botillo is meat-stuffed pork intestine, and beets are a kind of vegetable.”
I rolled my eyes.
     “I think I’ll have haring and, I guess, some kidney beans.” Krister said.
     “What is ‘haring?’” Roberto asked.
     “Haring. It’s raw herring and raw onions. It’s a Dutch delicacy!”
     “I’ll just have an alpine burger and onion rings.” I said.
     “Sounds great!” Lady said and left.
     “An alpine burger is a cheeseburger with Swiss cheese and mushrooms,” I informed Krister, Roberto, and Leena. I then continued, “So, Leena is having Leverpostej, Roberto is having botillo, and haring for Krister. It all sounds so exotic!”
     Annie, the detective, saw us and walked up to our table.
     “Marla Highfield?”
     “Oh, hi, Annie! Pull up a chair.”
     “I think I found the guy.”
     “What guy?” Krister asked.
     “You’ll find out. So, Annie. What happened?”
     “I got his name, and then I checked his records. He does sell crossbows, but they really aren’t worth anything. The truth is, he destroys them before he sells them.”
     “But doesn’t he have the customer test them out first?” I asked.
     “He does if the customer asks, but then he does a little switch as soon as you turn away!”
     “How is that not impossible?”
     “Business. It’s what he does. Let me ask you something: Did he have a large black metal box?”
     “Yeah, I think he did.”
     “Inside you’d find two crossbows. One that works and one that does not because he damaged it.”
     “Why would he do something like that?” Roberto asked.
     “Let’s say he buys two crossbows and they each cost $95.00. Before tax, that’ll cost him $190.00. If he charges you $315.00 for one $95.00 crossbow that you don’t know has been intentionally damaged, he’s just made a load of money, and he’ll laugh all the way back to his 1969 van.”
    “Someone needs to smack that smug smirk off his sick face.” I mumbled.
     “That man’s crooked!” Leena said.
     “He certainly is. Now, if he sold as few as seven a month, he could afford a much newer van.” Annie replied.
     “Now that he’s been caught, what happens to him?” I asked.
     “Well, I found him and made him confess. It wasn’t easy, but I’m good at my work!”
     “Is he going to jail?” Roberto asked.
     “He’s managed to peddle seventy-nine damaged crossbows, so he’ll be in the slammer!”
    Lady walked up to the table.
     “Botillo and beets for you. An alpine burger with onion rings for you. Leverpostej with onions atop for you, and haring and kidney beans for you. Enjoy!” Lady said, smiled, and left.
     “What’s that stuff?” Annie asked Roberto.
     “Smoked botillo. It’s meat-stuffed pork intestine. You want a bite?”
     “I think I’ll pass…out!” Annie said and covered her mouth. Roberto frowned at the offense.
     “Well, we all have our own tastes and cuisine.” I offered.
     “Yep. I eat nothing but Pop Tarts.” Annie said.
     “What do you drink?” I asked.
     “Everything.”
     “What about turkey blood?” Leena asked.
     “Um, well, that’s a little too different for me. No offense. I have to get back to work. I just ate and I saw you on my way out, so that’s how this happened.”
     “How what happened?” Roberto asked.
     “The formation of the soul music group, The Miracles!” I joked.
     “Annie, never mind Roberto. He thinks different.” Krister said.
    Annie nodded and walked away.
     “Thanks, Krister. I appreciate that!”
     “I want to be honest!”
     “Well, whatever you want to do…don’t!”
     “So, how’s the food?” Lady asked on her way to the table.
     “Everything’s super!” I said. Leena, Krister, and Roberto nodded.
    Krister, Roberto, Leena, and I finished our meals and left the restaurant. It was nighttime, but the sky had midnight blue and mauve hues. Leena rubbed her eyes as we walked from my garage into the house.
     “It’s such a relief knowing that that jerk peddler is going to be locked up.” I said.
     Krister said, “I agree. He’s a…Marla, what’s a good American insult?”
     “You’re on your own, boy.” I said.
     “That’s perfect! I love it! ‘Boy!’ That’s what he is: just a boy.”
    Leena looked at me and asked, “What exactly makes ‘boy’ an insult?” I did not answer.
    Roberto kicked his shoes off, which sent them flying across my living room.
     “Stop with the shoe-kicking, Roberto. This is Marla’s home, and not yours. You know no respect!” Leena said.
     “Oh, it’s all right, Leena. I do it every day.” I insisted. Leena made a fist and gently shook it at Roberto.
     “I know respect, you queen of Danish magic!” Roberto snapped.
     “Queen of Danish magic! Queen of Danish magic!” Leslie squawked.
     “Put a cloth on that bird’s home!” Leena ordered.
     “I won’t do it with that tone!” I said.
    “Marla, will you please put a cloth on Leslie’s birdcage?”
    “Hey, Leena said every word in English correctly!” Krister said.
    I exhaled and asked, “So, who’d like to listen to some calypso music?”
    I sat and looked around at everyone. Krister, Roberto, and Leena stared at me. I clenched my teeth, trying not to cuss aloud even though so many words filled my head. I sat up straight, pulled my shoulders back, and then my back popped: “Aaaaahhhhh! God, my back!”
    Krister was so startled that he fell from his chair. He quickly got up and said, “I’m leaving. I do not want to hear any music, unless it has Dutch origins!” Krister slammed the front door behind him.
    “Well, I think that took care of my idea.” I said as I arose to get the TV remote control. Leena, Roberto, and I watched the 1966 movie, Seconds.

    Not long after Seconds ended and another movie was starting to air, I followed Roberto into the kitchen. Leena fell asleep on the couch.
    “What are you doing, Roberto?” I asked.
    “I’m frying some pickle loaf.”
    “With dirty hands?”
    “It’s for me and only me.”
    “It’s still gross!”
    “Just let me cook, Marla.”
    “I want you to throw that garbage in the trash and wash your hands! I know you, Roberto Varela. You are a clean man. You do not need to lower your standards merely because you aren’t cooking for anybody else.”
    “Get off my rear, mujer!” Roberto said with a loud, frustrated intonation. By the way, ‘mujer’ is Spanish for ‘woman.’
    “You are acting like a pig!” I said to Roberto.
    I had a 20-pound bag of potting soil in front of my back door. I know, those bags are usually 40 pounds, but I know of a place to get them cheaper and lighter.
    Roberto walked to the back door, opened the bag of potting soil, scooped some of it onto his hand, and walked to the stove.
    “What are you doing, Roberto?”
    “I’m destroying my pickle loaf. You think it’s dirty anyways because of my hands!”
    “Intellectuals don’t say ‘anyways.’ They say ‘anyway!’ Oh, God! What’re you doing now?”
    “I’m throwing my pickle loaf, and your skillet, in the trash!”
    “I never said it’s all right to throw out my skillet. What is wrong with you?”
    “I’m hungry, Marla!”
    Leena walked into the kitchen and asked, “What’re you flickering about?”
    “Bickering! Not ‘flickering!’” I yelled.
    “That does it, Marla Cryfield! I am tired of you correcting me all the time!”
    “Her last name is Highfield. Not ‘Cryfield!’” Roberto said. I smiled at him.
    “I know what her last name is. I should’ve stayed in my own country!” Leena shouted.
    “Aren’t we all best friends!” I said. I guess it wasn’t really a question.
    Leena and Roberto left the kitchen. I pulled my skillet out of the trash can, washed it, and snuck out the back door. I went for a fifty-minute walk. By the time I returned, my legs felt almost twice my age.

    A few days later, I was in the mood to bowl. I asked Krister, Leena, and Roberto if they were interested, and I was surprised to find out that they were interested.
    I said in a singsong voice, “Into the car we go, go, go!”
    “I’m so tired.” Krister said.
    I spoke in Dutch to make sure that Krister comprehended every word I said, “Krister, you slept for nine hours last night, and now you just woke up from a two-hour-and-forty-minute nap. It’s 4:47 P.M. You’ll probably be back in bed in about five hours from now. You need to wake up, get active, and get in the car. It’s time to go bowling!”     
    “How does this outfit look?” Leena asked me.
    “Um, I think you need to wear something under that extra-long parka.”
    Leena opened her parka. She had on a pink ribbed Tank Top and charcoal-colored pleated shorts with a big, fancy buckle.
    “I look great, huh?” Leena asked.
    “Well, when we get there, you’ll find out if wearing nearly nothing while bowling is a mistake!”
    Krister said, “Take that ugly parka off. What is this? Dress Stupid Day?”
    Instead of changing, Leena went to the car. I went looking for Roberto.
    “Leslie, you are a feathered little troublemaker. The way you insult Krister all the time. I heard you call him names this morning. You’re a bad, bad, bad, bad bird!”
    “I speak English! I speak English! Squawk!” Leslie answered.
    “Come on, Roberto. Everybody’s going bowling.” I said with a low and calm voice. I still startled him.
    “Can I wear this?”
    Roberto had on a maroon T-shirt, double-black colored jeans, and a thin, silver chain that I wish had been gold. He also had on running shoes that were yellow, brown, and black with gray shoelaces. He actually looked nice.
    “Sure, you can wear that. Leena is wearing much less, and I guess I have to let her wear what she’s wearing. I think you look nice. Have you ever bowled?”
    “Sometimes, every day!”
    “Roberto, what is bowling?”
    Roberto hesitated and said, “Uh…uh…gum.”
    “Trust me. You’ve never bowled. Put a watch on and get in the car.” I walked out of Roberto’s bedroom. Krister walked up to me, asking, “What happened to my paint?”
    “Krister, I don’t care about your paint right now. Your little bottles of paint could’ve magically turned into sego lilies, the state flower of Utah, and I wouldn’t care! Why does it have to be so hard trying to get you guys ready to go bowling?”
    Krister just walked away. I brought out my kitchen timer, and I put it on the floor. I made Leena, Krister, and Roberto come into the kitchen.
    “Well, here we are. What do you want now?” Roberto asked.
    “This kitchen timer on the floor will go off in ten minutes. When it dings, I want everybody in the car. Got that?”
    “Now, look, you walking headache-” Krister began, but before he went any farther, Roberto grabbed a gun that belonged to my grandfather and put two bullets in my kitchen timer. The gun had been hidden in a small closet in my hallway for since I moved in.
    “Mr. Mexico has a gun!” Leena screamed and quickly crawled under the kitchen table. Krister opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink, forced his body inside, and slammed the door shut. Roberto dropped the gun.
    “Gracias. Thank you for shooting my timer!” I said.
    “Me disculpo. I apologize.” Roberto said.
    “What you did was very dangerous. It made no sense. People don’t go around killing kitchen timers. I want to know what you’re doing with your hands on my grandfather’s gun.”
    “Making a mistake, I guess. I already told you I’m sorry, in Spanish and in English. Who else do you know can apologize in two languages? Never mind. I forgot. Your friends are all bilingual.”
    “Leena, get out from under the table. Krister, I know you can hear me. Now, get out from under the kitchen sink. Let’s get out of here.”
    Four minutes later, we were leaving my house. It unquestionably felt like I was doing something wrong. I was starting to feel like a selfish, controlling person. I wanted to be fair with my friends, but I also was accustomed to being active. I never do well when I’m just sitting around for too long, and I’m pretty sure my parents were oftentimes the same way.
    I lowered my car window and asked a guy who was standing outside, “Excuse me, kind sir. We’ve been trying to find the bowling alley. Isn’t it at 419 N. Roundhouse St.?”
    “Go there and you’ll miss it by about five blocks. The bowling alley is at 914 N. Roadhouse St. You just had the numbers backward.”
    “Oh. Thank you.”
    I put my window up and started driving away. I noticed that he was yelling at pointing. At the time, I didn’t understand why, and I didn’t want to find out. Later, I realized that I got confused, and was southbound instead of northbound.
    “Oh, man. This is 914 South Roundhouse St. We want 914 North. We’re at the high school.” Roberto said.
    I said, “Well, the lights are on and there are a lot of vehicles out here. I guess we could see what’s going on at the high school. I haven’t done that in about twenty-three years.”
    “What about bowling?” Krister asked.
    “It’s on the other side of town.” I said.
    “Roberto had a gun earlier. He could have killed us. He might have it with him now. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want a bullet in my hearth!” Leena said.
    “Heart, not ‘hearth!’” I corrected.
    Krister said, “Now, let’s be logical for a while. Leslie, the parrot, taught each of us English. I’m surprised we know what we know! Shouldn’t we all be chanting ‘Math! Math! Math!?’”
    “I have been working with each of you.” I said.
    “Let’s just get out of the car.” Roberto said.
    We got out, went inside, and followed the crowd to the gym. We had seen three huge signs saying, “1974 SPANISH/ENGLISH SPELLING BEE.” We found seats and sat down.
    “Welcome back to the 1974 Spanish/English Spelling Bee. I am the school principal, Mr. Cedric Frankie Alton. As you probably know, we have eight students left. I will call their name, he or she will approach the floor, I will say a word in English, and he or she will spell the word in Spanish. The student must correctly spell the word out in Spanish. Correctly spelling the word out in English will disqualify him or her. These students have been practicing for almost seven months. The third and final round will now begin. Amos, your word is…Inflection.”
    “I-n-f-l-e-x-i-ó-n.”
    “That is…correct. Pauline, your word is…Aspiring.”
    “A-s-p-i-r-i-n-g.”
    “That is incorrect. That was an English spelling, Pauline. Up next is Rod. Rod, your word is…Embark.”
    “E-m-b-a-r…Christ, I don’t know!”
    “Hmm. You’ve been disqualified, Rod. Please step down and report to your teacher’s room.”
    “Poor kid.” Roberto whispered to me.
    Principal Alton continued, “Victory is next. Victory, your word is…Undertake.”
    “E-m-p-r-e-n-d-a.”
    “That is…correct. Samuel, your word is…Initiate.”
    “I-n-i-c-i-a-d-o.”
    “That is…correct. Alexis, you word is…Misinformed.”
    “I-n-f-o-r-m-a-d-o…and then something.”
    “Very close, but incorrect. Brayden, it’s your turn. Your word is…Invigorate.”
    “I-n-v-e-g-o-r-i-e-a-t-a-e.” Brayden screamed the last letter. He must’ve known he was way off.
    “That’s neither English nor Spanish, Brayden. Brooke is next. Brooke, your word is…Procured.”
    “P-r-o-c-u-r-a-d-o.”
    “That is…correct.”
    “Something about this is getting old.” Krister whispered to me. Roberto heard him and curtly replied, “Well, what do you know? You’re from Rotterdam!”
    “You put bullets in kitchen timers, you big, ugly-”
    “Boys, stop it. We missed hearing Amos misspell ‘culture’ in Spanish.”
    Amos walked off the stage, and Victory went next. Her word was ‘fashion.’
    “M-a-n-e-r-a.” Victory spelled ‘fashion’ in Spanish.
    “That is…correct. Samuel, you’re up next. Your word is…Endemic.”
    “E-n-d-é-m-i-c-o.”
    “Samuel, that is…correct. Brooke, you turn again. Your word is…Taxonomy.”
    “T-a-x-o-n-o-m-í-a.”
    “That is…correct…”
    “I want to paint.” Krister whined in my ear.
    I replied, “Shut up, Krister, or I’ll force you and Leena to marry each other.”
    Principal Alton continued, “Victory, your word is…Fettle.”
    “D-e-s-b-o-r-r-e.”
    “That is…correct. Samuel, you’re next and your word is…Spur.”
    “E-s-t-í-m-u-l-o.”
    “Very good. Brooke, your next word is…Simulate.”
    “S-i-m-u-l-e.”
    “These kids are good.” Roberto whispered to me. I nodded. It felt good to witness this special event. To see kids learn and retain their knowledge…it was just one of the most exciting things for me. I have always loved learning. I touched Roberto’s hand. I did not let go. I touched Krister’s hand. I did not let go. With Roberto on my left, Krister on my right, and Leena on the other side of Roberto, I felt so good. Leena noticed the hand-holding, so she decided to hold Roberto’s hand. It was a wonderful moment.
    “Victory, your word is…Firepower.”
    “P-o-t-e-n-c-i-a- d-e f-u-e-g-o.”
    “Correct. Samuel, your word is…Tailplane.”
    “Um…something, something, cola?”
    “Partly right, Samuel, but not good enough. The answer we were looking for is P-l-a-n-o d-e c-o-l-a. Now, it’s between Brooke and Victory. Brooke, you are next and your word is…Execution.”
    “E-x-”
    “Sorry, that is incorrecto. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner: Victory Dubeck! Victory, you have won the 1974 Spanish/English Spelling Bee Trophy and a scholarship to the Universidad Veracruzana, or as said in English, the University of Veracruz, in Veracruz - a state in Mexico. Congratulations, Victory! I’d like to thank everyone for coming to the 1974 Spanish/English Spelling Bee. Drive safely. Buenas noches. Good night!”

    “I don’t see my car. The stupid thing is lost!” I said.
    “I smell food!” Roberto said.
    A guy walked up to us and stood right in front of Krister. He said to Krister, “You look like hell. Do you know why you look like hell? You look like hell because you feel like hell.”
    “Big revelation!” Krister replied.
    “Do you know why you feel like hell? It’s because you are living in sin! That’s right, you sad, little sinner. So, just give me $33.00 and I will pray for your soul. This is a limited time offer, so please act now!”
    Krister picked up a rock and threw it at the guy. The guy caught it and said, “The good Lord forgives you. He is smiling right now because-”
    “He’s laughing right now, so shut up and take your hoax elsewhere, you filthy sinner!”
    “Very good English, Krister.” I said to Krister as we continued searching for the car. The guy had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. The entire thing had me baffled.
  An Asian-looking woman who I think was about twenty-six was standing in the parking lot. She had with her a baby in a blue and silver stroller. A guy walked past her and spit on the baby’s head.
    “Hey, you punk! You spit on my baby, you walking scum! Get back here! So help me, God in Heaven!” The Asian woman yelled.
    Leena caught up with the guy and said, “You have a lot of nerve, doing a thing like that! Why did you do it, and if you run away, I will put a Danish curse on you that’ll brow you away!”
    “Look at them! They’re Asian!”
    “You spit on a baby because he’s Asian?” Krister asked.
    Leena whipped a fork out from somewhere and jammed it into his eye. Leena yelled something in Danish. I’m not sure about everything she said, but I think most of it was, “Danish curse! Danish curse! Do your worst! Make this fork impossible to remove from this man’s eyeball! Justice is right now! Forever the immense pain thrashes! May the pain and grief burn like forty quintillion ashes!” I translated into English what I heard Leena say in Danish
    The man screamed, shrieked, and ran away with a fork caught in his eye. We stood and watched him run right into a tree. He crashed to the ground, landing on his back. He was completely knocked out with the fork still sticking out from his eye. The man’s face and hair were covered in blood. He wasn't moving. Roberto screamed and ran away. The Asian woman also ran off screaming. It certainly was an afflictive moment.
    “I want you to stop carrying around forks, Leena. I don’t care how much you love those stupid Danish curses. They are wrong and they’re simply inhuman. Now stop the madness!” I said.
    “What happened to Roberto?” Krister asked.
    “Oh, God. I have no idea. I hope he decides to come back here.” I said.
    Roberto walked up to us and said, “I found the car. Let’s scram before the cops show up.”
    Roberto walked us to my car. I got in the driver’ seat, Leena got in the other front seat, and the guys got in the back.
    “Leena, you are the most extreme soul I’ve ever seen!” Krister said.
    “I want to know what you did that for, Leena. Roberto said.
    “Roberto, I want to know where you ran off to.” I said.
    “I didn’t go anywhere. I just had to get out of sight. Leena scares me with her tricks and magic and demons!”
    Leena quietly accepted everything Roberto said. She didn’t even seem to mind. I got the feeling that she knew she had been wrong.
    “Can you please remove the curse from that guy?” I asked.
    Leena did not answer. I looked in the mirror. Roberto and Krister both had tears in their eyes. My heart was racing.
    “I avocado justice!” Leena said.
    This time, I did not correct her. I knew she meant to say, ‘I advocate justice.’ I turned left onto West Bradley Street to take Leena home first.
    “You know what I can’t believe?” Roberto asked.
    “That the sun is not a light bulb.” I said.
    “No. I read somewhere that only eight percent of America doesn’t believe.”
    “Believe in God?” Krister asked.
    “Believe that manila hemp doesn’t come from cat dander! Of course in God, you Dutch painter!”
    “Nice insult, Roberto.” I said.
    “Well, I don’t believe in God.” Leena said.
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “What is there to believe? I mean, some old, stiff guy above the clouds? It’s all a fairy tale. I tell you, Hagar the Horrible is more real than God!”
    “Don’t listen to her. She’s swallowed a lot of eggshells in her time!” I said.
    “Why are you so rude, Marla?” Leena asked.
    “It’s American tradition!”
    I dropped Leena off at her house. I took Krister and Roberto back to my house. I drove the car into the garage, which actually wasn’t added to my house until 1970. My house was built for my uncle Porter-that was his first name-in 1919. Uncle Porter went on vacation to New London, Connecticut in 1970. He loved New London more than any other place in Connecticut, and the proof is in the fact that he went there to get married. He could’ve been married here in Illinois, but he just had to go to New London, Connecticut. He told his wife that he wanted to spend the next three years living New London.
    Well, after being married for only about three months, he was shot and killed outside of Ocean Pizza Restaurant - a restaurant in New London. He was on his way inside when some guy pulled out a handgun and fired one bullet that nearly ripped his jaw off. Uncle Porter didn’t have a chance, and so, his four sons and two daughters built a garage in his honor. It was intended to be his Christmas present for 1970, which he never saw. A star-shaped sign which says “IN MEMORY OF PORTER CRAIG JOHNSTON 1909-1970” hangs above the garage door. Uncle Porter was a father of six by the time he was married. Not really a moral man, but he did have a warm heart. The thing I remember most about him was, he always dressed as a priest for Halloween. No one thought it was funny, except for him.
    Krister asked, “So, Marla. Why do you love helping Leslie teach English to people so much?”
    “I think English is an important language to learn, and I love helping others with the three R’s.”
    “Yeah - reading, writing, and racketeering.” Roberto said.
    “Well, not so much that last one!” I said.
    “So, Krister. Do you…um, have…you know?” Roberto asked. Well, I guess he sort of asked.
    “What? A lantern collection?”
    “A girlfriend, amigo!” Roberto said.
    I said, “Let’s change the subject. Krister, what’s on your mind?”
    “Cooked vegetables taste and smell better than raw vegetables.”
    “I think my supply of patience has run out. I’ll be in the kitchen.” I said and left for the kitchen. I assumed that somebody would follow me,  but when I turned around, I realized that I was by myself in the kitchen. I poured a glass of tomato juice and sat at the table.
    I tossed about fourteen blackberries into a blender, blended it for seven seconds, and then I dumped it into my tomato juice. I had one swallow and dumped the rest out. My parents always told me to experiment with food. I guess I was always just a little too quick to try something new.
    Krister and Roberto walked into the kitchen. Krister looked a little distressed. I stood up, and I did not sit back down until they were both seated.
    Krister began, “I had a very troubling dream last night.”
    “What happened, Krister?” I asked.
    “I woke up!”
    “I mean, what happened in the dream?”
    Roberto resisted a laugh.
    “Oh! Right...the dream. Well, I had this dream that I was flying a kite. I remember pulling the kite back down, and then I stuffed it into my mouth! I ate that kite quicker than I can eat one helping of chestnut sponge cake. I had a different crazy dream one night last week. I was trying to paint a picture of plant sexuality, but I don’t have any idea what that’d look like! Last week, I was painting the intimate side of plants, this week I ate a kite.”
    “Maybe next week, you’ll play tennis with a cave cricket!” Roberto said and laughed. Krister looked humiliated, and although I didn’t see the reason, I still felt sympathy for him. Roberto left the kitchen, and I patted Krister on the head.
    “Why did you do that, Marla?”
    “What? Pat you on your head? I did it because I think you’re cute.”
    “Well, I’m not!”
    “You just keep getting cuter!”
    “I’m sick!” Krister said and ran out of the kitchen.
    I just laughed.

    About four days later, I had Leena and the others back at my place for a visit. I had been giving myself a manicure in the bathroom. I returned to the living room just in time to hear Roberto tell a tale about a type of dog with a double nose.
    “Not too long ago,” Roberto began, “there lived this man who owned a type of dog known as the Old Spanish Pointer. Now, this type of dog is known for having a double nose-”
    “Why?” Krister interrupted.
    “Please - no questions until the end of the story. So anyway, one Spanish man who owned one of these strange-looking dogs was Hernan Lugado. Hernan named his dog Tactic because he wanted that name to catch on. Hernan and Tactic were accomplished hunters. Tactic would find their prey and Hernan would use a blowpipe to blow poisonous darts into their victims. One day while hunting, Tactic sniffed out a deer, a snake, and three rabbits. Hernan wondered how Tactic was able to do so much. He put his dog to the test. Tactic was not allowed food until he found two deer, two snakes, and six rabbits. Tactic hunted and hunted for hours. Hernan stayed out of Tactic’s sight. After five hours, Tactic found two deer, two snakes, and six rabbits. Hernan was feeling especially close to Tactic. He ran up to Tactic, put his arms around Tactic, and brought him home. They both ate deer meat, and Hernan told Tactic that he wished dogs could talk.”
    Leena was the first to speak: “Wouldn’t it be great to be able to talk to animals? I’d love to use my superpowers to allow animals to speak!”
    “Uh, Marla. Can I talk to you a minute?”
    “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
    “In the hallway!”
    Roberto and I went into the hall. I put my hands in my pockets. Roberto leaned against the wall. I think he did that to keep an eye on Leena.
    “What’s the big secret, Roberto?”
    “I am tired of Leena and her Danish curses. If you are going to be her friend, I’m out of here. I’ll move back to Panama. It’s either me or Leena!”
    “I don’t know what to say. I-I…uh, I mean-”
    Before I could get my thoughts straight, Krister ran up to us with Leslie on his right shoulder.
    “Leena’s going to Hell! Leena’s going to Hell!” Leslie said.
    “I just taught Leslie to say that! Leslie is so smart!” Krister exclaimed.
    “I heard that bird!” Leena yelled as she ran up to us. I suddenly became a bit afraid.
    “Now, I’m sure you all know that Leslie doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s just a parrot.”
    “I say it’s time to hang Krister and Leslie!”
    “Leena! Oh, God! You cannot hang Krister or Leslie! You should just make up.”
    “You should just blow it out your schnoz!” Leena snapped.
    My jaw dropped. Krister took two steps back.
    “How would you hang them?” I asked.
    “I have rope!”
    “Well, it’s not going to happen. Not in this house. You guys can have your differences, but you cannot hang each other…and the Danish curses have to stop now. I can’t believe I have to talk like this. I need to sit down.”
    “I think I’ll be…away from you-know-who.”
    “We are family,” I began as Krister put Leslie back in her cage and walked away, “We need to make this family work. I know we are all different. We’re individuals. Just because someone is different, doesn’t mean it’s okay to hurt that person or make that person feel bad.”
    “I have family. My parents are in the Faeroe Islands.” Leena said.
    “So, you don’t see us as family?” I asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “To be honest, I have never thought of us as family, either.” Roberto said.
    “Oh, all right. I’ll make up with Krister.”
    “I’m proud of you, Leena.” I said.
    “Me, too.” Roberto said.
   
    Well, that’s my story. Krister and I dated for about ten months, and then decided to just stay close friends because I was in my fifties while he was in his twenties. Krister is now in his fifties. Roberto briefly returned to Panama, and then decided to move back to the U.S. He became a baseball coach for fifth graders when he came back to the U.S. He did that for three years and then he opened a pet store six miles from my house. He retired a few years ago. Leena moved back to the Faeroe Islands. We send each other letters in the mail. We write our letters in Danish. She told me that her family put a Danish curse on her. She doesn’t have a job because the curse she’s now under hasn’t let her sleep at all in fifteen months.
    I guess it’s not the happiest ending in the world, but I am alive and well. I hope you have a nice, safe, happy, carefree, curse-free life!

THE END

Story word count: 10,078