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Put the Lime in the Coconut |
| Written by Nathan Weaver | |
| Thursday, 01 May 2008 | |
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Share it:      Ricardo woke up in his bed; it was positioned in a large field. It was sunny and nice. A little on the warm side, but not so bad one could complain. Ricardo noted under his breath that it was all very, “Strange.” The Doctor entered and shoved a syringe in Ricardo’s left arm, “Ouch,” Ricardo said. “You’ll live,” the Doctor said and whisked out of the hospital room. Ricardo looked to his right; the window was quickly replaced with a stage. On the stage was a foreign woman, fully dressed. All he could see was her eyes and her toes through her sandals. She danced to and fro. Nothing seductive, far from it. The razor on his head got his attention, it was a nurse shaving his head, “Gotta look proper, Ricardo,” she said. His bed was big enough that it left him little room on either side, he was afraid to get off because of this. Afraid he might slip off the dock and into the water. Ricardo was never much of a swimmer. Lucky for him, though, it was Shakespeare night. He had hoped they’d perform Macbeth at the edge of his bed; instead it was Romeo and Juliet. He was never a big fan of the latter. But when you’re in the state Ricardo is, you can’t complain. Ricardo had never had long hair before, but this was getting ridiculous. He could feel that it was halfway down his back. And his beard never ceased its itching. The tuxedo was nice, though, he noted. Though black was never his color, he was glad it was white. Mrs. Robinson shook her head at him and remarked, “You look ridiculous in that getup, Benjamin.” And she was right, he was a mess. He never considered himself high class, but overalls? That’s ridiculous. Benjamin knew he was in for a long night, because his mustache was constantly getting in his mouth and the milk he sipped. He hated his red hair, wished it was something darker like black. But it could have been worse, it could have been red. He was happy to be a blonde, even if it meant more jokes. Being a brunette never bothered him, though, he was just glad he was neither a blonde nor redhead. Those guys got it bad. He was satisfied with his black hair the way it was. Benjamin never even considered dying his blonde hair to escape the jokes, not even for a day. So, he looks like Raggedy Andy, who’s counting? Ricardo was never good at signing his signature, but he managed. He was just glad his name was something strong and sophisticated. He hated the name Ricardo; he’d always preferred the name Benjamin and was glad to wear it. Benjamin was named after his father, Ricardo White. And he was glad to wear that name; at least he didn’t have a flimsy name like Benjamin. A good name was important, so he gladly signed on that dotted line, “Benjamin Parker.” Putting a dog to sleep is a painful task, he noted. But sometimes, you have to do things that are ugly. Ricardo reached over the side of his bed with the revolver and placed the barrel against the dog’s snout, “This is what happens to bad dogs,” he explained. The dog just stared at him, then turned its head and signed a piece of paper. Benjamin took the pen back, “I’ll need this later.” Ricardo pocketed the pen into his shirt pocket, “I want to thank you for being so cooperative through all this, Ricardo,” Benjamin noted to his dog. The dog noted back, “Not a problem, Ricardo. I try to be as forthcoming as possible. It’s not my desire to be a burden.” The nurse cleaned up the mess, the doctor left with the revolver. Can’t have patients laying around with guns, what will their mothers think? THE END Copyright 2008 Nathan Weaver |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 01 May 2008 ) |
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