Morning's Call

Though no one will ever read my novel, the pitiful saga continues . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
CHAPTER 2--MORNING’S CALL



Self-luminous, fixed, yet known as moving
in the secret cavity of the heart,
That is the great support. Herein abides all
that moves and breathes and winks.
--Mundaka Upanishad 2.2.1.

Peggy scooped up hearty, steaming pieces of scrambled egg and deposited each
forkful onto a thick slice of stone-ground wheat toast lathered with white butter. She
poured hazel nut cream into her coffee, stirred it in, added a splash more till it reached just
the right shade of tan, and blew small ripples on the surface before slurping up a mouthful,
and swallowing. The sweet liquid heat coated her throat and sparked her brain. I am not
in a state of crisis, she thought, and slurped again. The butter turned clear beneath the
bed of eggs and drizzled off the toast’s edges.
Beside her table setting, textbooks for the day’s classes were stacked: Freud’s
Civilization and Its Discontents; Jung’s The Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious;
and a new tome written by professor Naystein, Abraham Maslow--Tyranny of the
Pyramid. Peggy lifted the open-faced delicacy to her nostrils, closed her eyes, smelled it,
tore into a corner with her teeth, and chewed with gusto. Grumpy ol’ naysayer’s got it all
wrong. She gobbled and gorged, swigged and guzzled. One cannot climb the summit of
self-actualization on an empty stomach--fasting mystics be damned.
Clanking music of metal and glass behind her. Splashes. Another’s hum.
“Oh hey Brook, you’re home,” Peggy said, turning. “I’ll do that.”
The spindly, small-breasted blond spun around with a scouring pad in her hand.
Wearing flip flops, loose black sweat pants and a grey sports’ bra, Brook smiled and broke
into a shuddering dance. “Oh Peggy, Peggy!” she said, mimicking ecstasy by tilting
her head back and letting her mouth go slack and fully open. “Rob was a fuckin’ stud last
night. I saw stars, and now I’m gonna fuckin’ clean everything.”
“You being careful, Brook?” Peggy lit a cigarette; her brown eyes went pitch.
“Last morning-after you had to fish around for the rubber.”
Brook giggled in twittering songbird soprano. “Oh sweetie. We kept to wine last
night.” She thrust out three bony fingers above her head. “Three rides! Three rubbers!
And ah,” she scrunched her face and squealed. “Three times the stars!” Brook did a
spasmodic jig to the table, sat down and seized both of Peggy’s hands into hers. “But you
poor dear. You look so serious. You really need to let loose, honey. Why don’t
you come to one of my Phi Beta parties? Those frat boys’ll bust their nuts for your
attention. Really Peg, you’re a hot little Tinkerbell.”
Peggy caressed the bangs out of Brook’s wide happy eyes. “I know you’re trying
to help, and I appreciate that. I just wanna hold out for a good man, someone noble and
real, ya know?” Brook batted her yellow curled lashes. Peggy sipped her coffee, looking
away. “I’m glad you saw stars.”
“It’s indescribable Peggy,” Brook said, her eyes glittering and moist. “It’s ocean
rushing through you. And there’s music. Rainbows. I wish you knew.”
“I will if fate permits.”
“Fuck fate, sweetie. Do yourself a favor and give it up before you’re twenty-two.
That gives you.” Brook slowly mouthed the numbers.
Daddy stole my choice and made it his.
“Six! Six months to daydream about your perfect gentleman. Six months to get
that candy land idealism out of your system. Then trust me honey. Find a choice, beefy
stud, get drunk, and do it already. Then you’ll know and trust me, you’ll be hooked.”
She’d never understand. “I’m sure you’re right Brook. You’ll be the first to
know. We’ll um, celebrate.”
“You know you can talk to me, sweetie, don’t you?”
Peggy glanced at her textbooks. “Yes, I know.”
“Hey Peg.” Brook eyed her wristwatch. “You’ve missed your Freud seminar.”
“Oh yeah,” Peggy yawned. “I can get notes from Cathy. Last night was rough.”
She crossed her arms and rested her head upon them. “I think I need a personal day.”
“We all do these days,” Brook said nodding, and went back to the dishes.
Peggy poured another coffee, black this time, and turned on the radio. A motherly
voice, soothing, saccharine. Feeling stressed? Losing vitality and sleep? Experiencing
bleak bouts of hopelessness? Then you need to enroll in my hypnosis program. I’m
Valerie Stardust, and I’ve helped thousands of men and women just like.
Peggy groaned and jerked the dial to the left. A man’s voice, measured, bureau-
cratic. The apparent, anomalous dolphin offensive has been normalized. Homeland
Security has coordinated an investigation with all relevant intelligence and law enforce-
ment agencies. The citizenry is advised to remain diligent. The President has been
briefed and will address the nation in one hour. Once again, law and order have
triumphed. The dolphins are at bay.
Peggy switched to FM, and settled upon the classical music station.
“Peggy!” Brook called over clanks and splashes. “Are the Miami Dolphins in
some kind of trouble? Rob would be crushed.”
“I don’t follow sports, Brook,” Peggy said, opening the latest edition of the
Portland Mercury. “Maybe it’s a sex scandal.”
“Well, why’s Homeland Security involved then?”
“Maybe they wanna secure our disorderly genitals.”
“Oh no! That’s the only way I like them.”
Peggy flipped the pages without much interest. Despairing articles. Iraqi babies
born with extra eyes. More surveillance cameras for Portland street corners. Homeless
encampments burned to ashes by gangs of upper-class high school kids. Even the
alternative rag is full of bad news. I should take a shower and get the fuck--
“Peggy?”
“I don’t know Brook!” Peggy snapped. “Enjoy the genital anarchy while you can.”
“Chill out Peg. I just wanted to ask if you were up for a walk before it rains.”
“I’m sorry Brook. I’d rather be alone.”
Brook turned off the faucet, hugged Peggy and kissed her forehead, then
whistled down the hallway. Peggy halfheartedly scanned a parody piece called The State
of our Clownocracy before turning to the ads on the back page. Last chance for laughs,
Peggy thought, lighting another smoke. Let’s see. Sell ovaries for twenty grand a
month? Mmm? Penis enlargement guaranteed? Not applicable. Suddhayami’s Karmic
Balance and Incarnation Control Center for Holistic Health--free colonic with coupon?
Not yet ready for Bedlam. Maybe tomorrow. Peggy exhaled blue trails to the ceiling fan
then glanced back to the page. Just at the point of giving up, she halted, amazed to find,
finally, words that resonated truth. Craving Connection in a Society of Sleep-Walkers?
Yeah.
Pissed off at Pointless Routine? Shallow Hypocrisy? Overwhelming Ennui?
Fuck Yeah!
Join us at 2 today at SW Park and Main. Peggy gasped. Right outside my door!
We’re the Northwest Green Anarchists. Together let’s re-animate ourselves,
let’s wake the world. Peggy’s heart went hot, acidic, alive. Ok then. Might be kooky but
maybe I’ll meet some real people. She danced to the shower and stripped. And maybe,
just maybe, a nice guy.