My Mimic and Me
It is unfathomable, I say.
Chance, the village repeater, says, “UnFAM-IT-BLE!” and smiles at me.
Louder than I was, but with more feeling.
I cringe, pre-seeing how this village meeting might unfold.
“Incomprehensible!” I announce, watching for eye movements.
An avid proponent of psttacism, Chance yells,”com-Rad-Visible!”
“Which means?” I ask him. He shrugs, flashing a mouth full of teeth, except one.
“It is unconscionable!” I holler, wondering what he will do with this.
“YEAH!” he says, giving a fist pump.
I grin, seeing fist bump go swiftly into two thumbs up.
Chance is my biggest supporter, and coincidentally, the only
Villager who has attended my maybe-not-so-well-advertised press conference.
The reporter from Nothing-town says “Anything else?”
I shake my head, and thank him for coming.
“News was slow in No-town,” he replied. “No big deal.”
“Will we be on the news?” Chance asks.
He shakes his head. “Depends on whether or not my boss cares about
Opossum neutering,” he says. “It is hard to tell.”
Besties now, I invite Chance to lunch.
He is my biggest supporter, after all.
My favorite supporter.
The gift of psttacism was a happy unexpected bonus.
We both received postcards for years from people
Who could not stop laughing at us.
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