Iffish Mackenzie

You could say that Iffish Mackenzie was a red-headed, freckle-faced, roundish boy of some 14 years.  You could say that Iffish wandered into Twidlesburg like a dry oak leaf on the autumn wind; at least that was the way he described it.  You could also say that Iffish enjoyed eating a great deal.  I believe the first person to speak of Iffish's magnificent appetite was Mrs. Jitters, the Twidlesburg school marm.  She would often claim that Iffish was related, by blood, to a goat; for Iffish ate everything in sight: glue, pencils, soap, paper...  It was only a couple of months after Iffish had arrived in town when Mrs. Jitters sent Iffish home after he had made lunch out of the school's only box of chalk.  When Dr. Johnson checked in on the boy later that afternoon, the doctor shook his head as he hovered over the boy’s body, and announced, “This boy’s stomach is made of cast iron!”  It was one week of punishment later when Iffish returned to the classroom and a replacement box of chalk was located.  After the chalk-eating episode, there was always more than one box stored in Mrs. Jitters' desk, and a lock on the desk drawer, all of which you would be correct in the repeating.  I swear.

At any event, I first met Iffish Mackenzie at a pie eating contest, a few months after the classroom incident with the chalk.  I was too shy to join in the fun of my new community, so I merely observed the annual "Twidlesburg Great Pie Eating Contest."  I had never seen so many recently emptied pan pans in my whole life, and when all was done, I had never seen such a magnificent sight.  There he sat, Iffish Mackenzie, the one-boy, pie-wrecking crew, right in the middle of a pile of empty pie tins on a long, pan-filled table, sitting there with his arms flexed in "I am the Champion" pose, berry stains from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, and fruit shard spotted teeth.  Iffish MacKenzie was magnificent in his achievement; he was an inspiration.  The dead pie tin stack looked so impressive (surely had to surpass the height of the old Oak tree standing behind the table) but wobbly, so contest organizers tried to everyone back for fear of spectators' and other contests' safety, just in case the stack fell over.  But the spectators didn't move.  They just stood there, stunned and motionless, frozen stiff with shock, mouths open just wide enough to allow travelling insects a place to rest. This new boy had out eaten Tommy Jorgenson, the town's own, home-grown sugar fiend and super mouth.

However, even with the large number of pies long vanquished, and calling into mind the future of this contest, Iffish was not finished that afternoon.  No sir, he walked over to the table which held seven 100-pound watermelons brought into town of the summer picnic by Mr. Samuelson, and before anyone could sneeze or bat an eye, no doubt, before anyone could shake their empathetic nausea, Iffish Mackenzie finished one of those 100-pound watermelons.  After finishing all seven watermelons in a digestive nightmare for the entire town, Iffish guzzled 1 gallon each of Mrs. Dinesen's lemonade and limeade.  When Iffish concluded his gastronomic, environmental disaster, the town elders assembled, then approached Iffish's parents to say that Iffish was no longer be allowed, or asked, to partake of anyone's communal lunch.  However, on that day, I knew that I was destined to share many "communal" lunches with this human food vacuum.

As I have said, I was new in town and stood out like a sore thumb.  Though, there was something worse than being new to Twidlesburg that made me very uncomfortable; for you see, I was not feeling myself.  I was told that everything was fine, that I was a normal, growing boy, but I hated my appearance.  During the spring before I had arrived in Twidlesburg, my entire body developed a "softness," an unshakable pudginess.  This could not be my body!  I was taken over by a very cunning alien who now had total control of my once slender body.  I was destined to wear a rain barrel around my body, for, nothing else would fit.  My name would be known from far and wide as "Husky” or "Splinter Butt" for all the chairs that would be destroyed under my girth.  I would be the world's clown, laughed at for my shear awkwardness and lack of grace.  I would soon find comfort at the confectionary in Frandsen's Mercantile.

It was several days after the community picnic when I saw him standing in the doorway of the candy store.  He was watching me as I perused the wide selection of candies and other confections.  It was hard for me to believe that here in this new town would be a boy, a wonderfully roly-poly companion, who would not make fun of my dumpiness, the great winner of the most awesome pie-eating contest I had ever witnessed.  We were two coins shoved into the same slot in the same piggy bank.  Slowly, as if coaxed by a gigantic, invisible hand, he made his way to my side with a multitude of stops and starts, still wearing that big pie-eating smile.

"The nonpareils aren't bad, but, if you ask me, I'd have to say the chocolate-covered cherries are the best," Iffish said in a pre-adolescent, squeak-free voice.

After filling a small bag with the suggestion of my fellow sugar connoisseur, we exchanged names, and after paying for the wondrous trophies, we exchanged sugary delights.  I would no longer feel so different, so incapable, so hideous, nor so alone.

Our days, on that hot, but glorious summer, were filled with the business of young explorers and old philosophers.  When we were not eating, Iffish and I hiked, at a snail's pace, along Sorrow’s Creek which cut the edge of Twidlesburg as a child would cut bread.  We meandered next to the erosion gully which sliced Cutter's Ridge perfectly in half.  Then, we circled around Teepee Hill, the only place within a few hundred miles where cactus actually grew, and all the other sights that comprised Twidlesburg.  All the while, sharing details of who we were, what we thought, where we had been, and what we wanted to do in the future.  When we were eating, Iffish and I were always together, much to the chagrin of my mother; for, we always ate at my house.  I, too, was not sure of the arrangement.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I greatly liked the company, but I wanted something different than my mother's shoe-leather roast and the ever-present orange menace, carrots.  There must have been something hypnotic in the orange coloring of the carrots that kept my mother from trying any of the multitudes of vegetables the world had to offer.  When it came time for dinner, I felt trapped in my house.  I wanted to see the magnificent, Gothic castle that my friend claimed to occupy, look inside those thick, block walls.  I wanted to see its high peaks, massive turrets, and secret passages.  But most of all, I simply wanted to pierce the dark veil of secrecy, which held me always distant from Iffish's life.

After several weeks and a great deal of arm twisting, I managed to convince Iffish to take me to his "castle," and I soon found myself at the door of Uther Pendragon's fortress, a magnificent work of art and masonry.  My great grandfather could have done no less than the skilled hands who forced this mighty stack of stones into being.  It all looked so dark, heavy, and ancient; there could have been no wind in the entire world strong enough to tear down this potent citadel.  If you were to press your ear against the door, you surely would have heard great kings and mighty wizards casting war and dividing lands.  Though once inside the fortress with its door closed tightly, the place was a vast tomb which breathed the scent of mold, dampness, and stillness.  But with a good lamp in hand, it all became harmless.

With a tug on my shirt sleeve, the games began.  The two young banshees, Iffish and I, began screaming and running down the halls with the echoes of our voices bouncing off the highest vaulting in the ceilings and hurtling back at us.  For hours, we played, never seeing a soul, nor did we care, certainly not I who was happy to be deep in the heart of Camelot, tucked neatly in that dark veil of Iffish MacKenzie's life.  And then, in the middle of the tallest and darkest hall, we stopped.  All was quiet, except the sounds of our thin, painful exhaling and rapidly beating hearts.  There in the middle of the darkness, in the midst of a great pool of light, was a massive feast.  We smiled at one another, then pounced into the table like vultures to a feast.  We invited ourselves, and like expectant kings on a campaign, we shoveled in the food as fast as we could.

It was halfway through the feeding frenzy before a word was spoken.  I might not have been heard over the grinding of food and gnashing of teeth, if Iffish had not thrown a grape at me.  It was a simple word, but it took me by surprise.

"Leaving," said Iffish, inhaling a chicken leg.

"Excuse me?" I questioned, listening to the grape bounce on the floor.

"Leaving," said Iffish, plainly.

I thought for a moment.  The sneak!  He was trying to catch me off-guard, trying to foul my eating, so he could have more share of the food for himself.  It was word association.  We would play this game for hours.  So, to protect my plate, I tossed a word back to him.

"Voyage."

"Yes, very soon.  I'm told at the end of the week."

The words danced off his tongue so matter of fact, so mundanely that I did not catch the impact right away.

"End of the week?"

"Yes.  I'm no longer needed here."

"What?!"

A knife had found its way into my stomach; I stopped eating and stared.

"It's my parents, you see.  My father has work elsewhere, and we are to locate in our new town very soon."

The drumstick, which had been firmly gripped by my hand, bounced off the plate in an attempt for freedom, splashing dots of gravy all over my shirt.  Embarrassed by the freedom march of the food and betrayed by my only friend who I was sure would never leave me, I blindly bolted from the table, followed closely by the voice of my betrayer.  Tears welled up in my eyes, I could not see, and in the whir of emotion, I became lost.  Soon, after running like a chicken without my head, a dry, thin, painful rasp of my lungs wrenching any oxygen from the miserably damp air, ripped my chest open.  I collapsed in a heap in the middle of the dank hall way.  I did not notice the insidious, wet cold seep into my bones, as began to cry.

It probably no more than 15 minutes, but felt like hours, before Iffish found me, a soggy miserable pile of shaking bones.  He knelt beside me.

"If it were up to me, I would hang around, but it's not, you know?  It's just the way things are for me and my family.  We kinda end up in places; some times, I don't know where we're going until we get there.  Parents will do that to ya; they blame it on work or money to keep a roof over your head, food on the table.  My dad always says that it's our fate, to travel like circus people or gypsies.  We continue on a certain path until we find some lost traveler.  Something about guiding them back to their path."

With those words, he handed me a chocolate-covered cherry.

"What the heck's that s'pose ta mean?" I said, with a heavy, wet sniff.

"I don't know, my dad's kinda nuts.  The townsfolk think that anyway.  Hey, I got an idea.  Our secret code will be chocolate-covered cherries; so, any time you taste chocolate and cherry for no reason that will be me.  And you can use nonpareils, but if you ask me, the chocolate-covered cherries are the best."

"But what am I going to do without you?" I asked weakly.

"You don't need me.  Hell, you don't need anyone.  People, like us, we find ourselves in things, like the act of helping someone...or eating."

We giggled, just a bit.  And then, I nodded in agreement and popped the gooey mess that once a chocolate-covered cherry into my mouth.

It has been some time since Iffish Mackenzie and his family left Twidlesburg, and yes, I am happy to report that the pudginess, that alien softness, has officially left my body.  But before it did, a few friends came my way, all too happy to be a part of my life.

One day, I sat, thinking about stuff, splatters of happy times, aimless wanderings though memory.  Along the way, I stopped to remember that monstrous feast in Sir MacKenzie's castle, that silly pie-eating smile, lord of all...food.  I sat in that little oasis of faded time long enough to notice an itchy wetness developing in the corner of my eyes, which I fiercely rubbed away.  I was not able to dam up a salty little stream trickling down my cheek, so I went to my grandfather's desk and pieced together a small paper boat.  This was something my grandfather taught me to do when I needed chase away the sadness of time.  I checked the small paper boat a few times to make sure the craftsmanship was good and solid, just like Grandfather taught me.  I, then, opened the door and made my way to the meandering edge of Sorrow’s Creek which cut the edge of Twidlesburg like a child cuts bread.

Before setting the boat into the water, I placed into the tiny hull a few meager crumbs of a variety of food items, along with a handful of symbolic tokens, pictures, hand-carved things.  Then, with great ceremony, I placed that vessel of cares and worries, insecurities, fears, and expectations into the rippling water, and gently nudged the tiny craft on its merry way.  I watched after the boat for a while, watching it bob down the dancing creek, as if I was an Egyptian watching a dead relative, making sure that the boat at least made the trip beyond the town and my family's farm.  The little boat never once left the creek's main current.  Wishing it a safe voyage, I turned and walked away.  I decided I never "needed" anything again, not even my best friend, food.

Very infrequently, I hear from Iffish and his wondrous travels, but often, I get this craving for chocolate covered cherries.

Written -- 5 September 1996
edited – 13 December 2010
Re edited - 7 March 2017

The Sidekick

I do not know how much of this story has been told.  I do not know how much of the not-so-secret secret has remained.,.well, secret.  I had been given a title, a purpose; I was important.  I was chosen to accompany two knights, two great hunters on their quest.  But now...

You see, a couple months back, Sienna, Destroyer of Sticks and Jinxie, Retriever of Wayward Leaves, decided that it was not enough to go on a walk around the neighborhood.  Oh no, they needed a mission, a purpose; so, they decided, quite out of the blue, while enjoying a view of a giant Maple tree on a beautiful late summer day, that they would remove the Grey Menace, a scourge upon the land.  This would be a quest to serve all village-kind.  And I was the one person chosen to join them, maybe I could hone my writing skills in the process.

During the quest, on one particular day, Sienna, Destroyer of Sticks, and Jinxie, Retriever of Wayward Leaves, decided it was not enough that one person would be immediately aware of the accomplishments; no, all villagers needed to notice their good deeds.  So, fanfare was added to the activity.  That's right, very loud squeaks and high-pitched yelps were used when the Grey Menace appeared.

However, that proved to not be enough; so, I was pulled into the equation, literally.  When the beast was sighted and the fanfare would commence, I would be "pulled" into the trunk of the harboring tree.  Sienna and Jinxie would be the heroes in the midst of their duty; I would be full of bruises, head to toe.  I was now a visual effect.

This was the way of the quest until it was noticed, by the two hunters, that a neighbor was watching from a big picture window in their house.  Ah, confirmation of an audience.  So with fanfare and pulling, the hunt began.  Then, suddenly, there was a leaping into the tree.  That's right, there were earnest attempts to physically be in the tree, snapping for the beast's tail, dogs that actually climbed trees!  And perhaps a bite at the harboring tree to give up the gray beast.  Jinxie loved to perform.

Well, it all played to great effect as the villager did his part and told everyone he knew, which, in this case, was virtually everyone in the little hamlet.  So, when the fanfare of squeaks and high-pitched yelps commenced, the villagers now all came to their windows and saw the amazing sight.  "Good dogs!" They all shouted, and "Thank you!"  As for me?  Well, The sight of two forty-pound mongrels bouncing and yelping, pulling a fifty-year-old, nearly two-hundred-pound man into a tree trunk got me: "Out for a drag?" or "Who's walking who?"

And now, Sienna and Jinxie, roam the whole village, attacking the entire evil conspiracy...and receive applause.  The Grey Menace has become more than just tree climbers; it is tunnel makers and ground hoppers and garden eaters.  Sienna, Destroyer of Sticks, and Jinxie, Retriever of Wayward Leaves, will not rest until they have destroyed them all, the entire evil, including its mastermind.

All I wanted was to be something.  I was supposed to be important.  Now, I am just a punchline, or maybe, I'm simply a giant bruise.  I have become a sidekick.  I don't care what anyone says, I do not look good in tights.

Trying to Understand

I am truly trying to understand, but I don't know why things have come to this.  I don't know how we got here.  Did we not try?  Did we push too hard?  Are we relying on too many "other" people and not enough on ourselves?  Do we know what research is?  Or are we not thinking about the world around us, not trying to empathize, standing our ground too much?  I am trying to understand.

I have to admit that I hate Capitalism, everything is for sale, everything has a price, even love, survival, and yes, happiness.  I have never had the luck, understanding, or whatever it takes to stay on the good side of the Capitalistic cycle.  I have a certain skill set that makes me who I am, I have not been able to find the magic mixture that makes me stand out from the crowd.  And once you slip off the sweet spot, you get pushed further away.  It's all based on a need of humans to rank and sort and conquer through division.  Wealth is, by its nature, an abstract concept.  It is a thought exercise that we tried to make real.  How long can we go before the balloon goes BANG!?

I don't like guns, because I am incapable of picking up the metal thing and pose in a way as to demonstrate my willingness, if necessary, to erase....even a deer, or any vermin trying to eat my garden or dig into my home.  Again, I am INCAPABLE.  If you can do this, have at it.

I am not mechanical in mind.  I am unwilling to become adult if it means to become tired and worried and thus wrinkled.  I don't see things in black and white, male and female, democrat and republican, us versus them.  In short, there is no ONE side that I "fit" into.  And it's not for my lack of trying.

I look through Facebook and other social media.  I see anger, I hear fear, and I feel pain.  I see two sides hunkered down in deep, wet, cold trenches.  Each side feels wronged by the other side; each side feels right and righteous in their stand/their fight.

I look through in my small tidbit of history.  I feel that I am back in an emerald green bedroom, a time before 1984.  Each side in Facebook is now one of two voices from the bedroom across the hall.  Each side feel wronged; each side hanging on to resentments, trying too hard to do the right thing, but paying no attention to themselves.

In Facebook, how do we know when we win?   Is this truly a fight?  If someone does win, does someone lose?  From my bedroom, I would hear acquiescence, a giving in.  From my bedroom, I hear two people fighting for their will, pushing.  They entered into something they really should have not, but they gave into what society asks, nay demands.

In Facebook, I am talking two sides of the same coin, two sides of America.  From a dark, green bedroom, I listened to two sides of the same coin as well, my family, my parents.  My parents got divorced.  Is our country headed for a divorce?  The last time that was attempted we ended up in a Civil War.  The pockets still hang on to the "rebel" flag.  Today, would there be a North/South?  We are not debating anything; we are only shouting.  Let's debate; let's listen, so we can move forward instead of backward.  There is no empathy, only self.  Now what?