It Starts with The Fixer and Ends with Two Horses

Part One - The Fixer

Okay, so here's a tale with two parts... and may or may not be true. (Though, as per usual, names have been changed in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty. Just sayin').

This is a story for anyone who has ever had a small, or large, fuzzy friend with a speech impediment. (No, I don't mean your cousin Denis. I'm talking about a pet, you n00b).

_________________________________________________________

So on Friday, I was sitting in the Literary Dungeon with Lockheed/Falcor and The Fixer, and this Wolverine-esque hero was resting on his heels (claws retracted for the moment).

He made an insightful comment.

This is something he is wont to do at various times, and leads me to believe that he is secretly (even to himself, no doubt) a Zen Master. This is entirely fitting since the greatest masters generally see themselves as silly and foolish, and as a result they absolutely refuse to take the world or themselves too seriously... And they have the most fun mocking all those people who walk around with 2x4's shoved firmly up their asses.

These wise people generally go about, teasing others and making them laugh out loud at both opportune and inopportune moments. (Naturally, if you were to make such a comment to The Fixer in person he would pantomime a rude activity, laugh, and walk away with an exaggerated swagger in order to cover his embarrassment over being called any such thing as "wise.")

The Fixer? Who is this Zen Master-like individual? I know you must be curious, since it is so unlike me to begin a story with myself as a subordinate character... Has the world gone mad??

No, no, not at all.

You see, I have recently gained employment at Professor Xavier's Saltmine for the Gifted, and The Fixer is on the "A" team (so to speak) of the facility. (I barely made the "B" team, and that's mostly because the coach felt bad for me... You'll see me at the games, sitting on the bench and drinking water, all suited up and no balls to throw--Ha ha... God I'm so juvenile, I still laugh when I hear the word "balls").

Anyway, I say this because I want you to get an accurate picture of the situation, and as you know, I'm all about characters and imagery. In this case, I was in a perfect position to see the reality of my new situation, because I entered the game so late in the year, when patterns had already been firmly established. I met The Fixer early on, and I recognized him immediately. If you'd been there, and been paying attention (as so few people do) you would've spotted him too. He's the guy that actually does all the stuff to make other people's grandiose ideas happen. Naturally, no one seems to appreciate this until he's not around for a few hours... At this point, generally at least 2 people will, at some point, say to someone else...

"I need __________. Where's The Fixer?"

You know the saying, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"? Well, it's a cliche for a reason, my friends.

Anyway, I digress. The real point is the comment he made, which will lead me into the second half of my tale.

I will do my best to quote him accurately, but if the statement comes out sounding slightly less profound than you are expecting after all this build up, believe me, the fault is entirely mine and in no way his.

He said (referring to Lockheed/Falcor), "She's the world's smallest therapist. Everyone needs that."

Simply stated, but true on so many levels.

This struck me as being both insightful and wise, and the words have run through my head at odd moments ever since, especially today.

Funny how the simplest truths are so often taken for granted, don't you think?

And here's the real point... The Fixer managed to say in less than 10 words what I am about to say to you with the entire second half of this story.

Perhaps someday I will be as good as that.

But I'm not holding my breath.




Part Two - The Horses


And now here's "the rest of the story" as a famous man once said.

My father is a caretaker for some very nice people who live in our part of the world. For the past three years, a large part of his responsibility has been to look after the care and feeding of two humongous black and white Clydesdales named, of all things, Ben and Bob.

Ben and Bob, for all their size and magesty, are aptly named. The two bonded instantly with my father, who had never been responsible for horses before. Whenever he arrived at the barn, they would come trotting out to him. If he was in their paddock, they would follow him around like two puppies, and he is the only human they would obey or take orders from. When Bob had colic, and the vet was afraid he would die of it, my father stayed up 24 hours a day with him for almost an entire week, laying on the barn floor, and keeping Bob from rolling and endangering himself.

Ben and Bob love my dad, and he loves them.

Imagine if you can two 3,000 lb., stunningly gorgeous and strong... well, puppies.

Over the course of the two years, I became quite close to those two boys also, and that's how this story comes as a result of The Fixer's comment.

You see, the boys left today.

I didn't cry when they got on their horse-trailer, headed for Wyoming... I was strong. I was me.

But after they left, I had a sudden need to go for an extended drive by myself.

I know... I know... You probably don't get it, so I'll explain further, but in order to do so I may have to tell you some things about myself that you haven't heard before... Please, once you've read it, destroy this communication. I don't want any ninjas to see it.

And don't let it ruin your image of me as a kick-ass, tough-as-cold-iron, heartlessly, ruthlessly evil bitch who doesn't need anyone or anything.

I am, and I don't.

So there.



Here's the deal:

Last April I received a tremendous blow. I found out, quite suddenly, that the Saltmine I was working in was going to be closing. I was absolutely devastated, though I think most people thought that I was fine at the time. Of course, they thought this pretty much because I didn't tell anyone.

No, I'm totally serious.

I told almost no one. You see, I own my house, but the property taxes on that house are almost 8,000 dollars per year, and while my parents pay half (they live on the other side of the duplex) they most definitely can not afford to take up the slack if I am without employment. Not to mention all the other assorted bills, etc. that I pay... oil, cell phone, electricity... You get the idea.

I couldn't tell them that I would be jobless.

I just couldn't.

And since I couldn't tell them... I pretty much couldn't tell anyone.

For two and a half months, I went about everywhere with a sense of dread pressing on me like a hand over a screaming mouth. I counted down the paychecks.

I ended by nearly making myself physically ill.

And I was absolutely lost. There was no one I could confide in. As you know... I walk alone.

I'm tough. I'm the one people rely on. I'm the "dependable" one; the one who does what she's told and doesn't complain. I keep a happy face and take care of other people. I blend in with the wall, and when I'm gone people don't really notice much.

I'm just... there.

Most of the time, I'm cool with this... But it can be hard.

I can handle it, but quite frankly... It absolutely sucks to be alone.

And I felt entirely alone, except for the boys.

On most days, when I left for school, I would leave extra early and drop by the barn.

Frequently I stopped in on my way home as well.

Ben and Bob were always happy to see me. I would walk up to their stalls, and they would come out and stand next to me. I could put my arms around their huge necks and just, rest. I told them everything... and I don't give a shit what anyone says about "not anthropomorphizing" animals... I know they listened. Just about the only time I could forget my abject terror was when I had my head pressed to Ben's or Bob's huge shoulder... Feeling their enormous heartbeats under my hands. That was the only time I could let go of control with no fear of being judged, told what to do, offered useless advice, or worst of all... Pitied.

I despise being pitied. I would rather be hated.

I would even rather be ignored completely... And I LOATHE being ignored.

Those two boys have part of my soul, and I gave it willingly.

Of course, considering the size of my small, dark, evil smelling soul... what they gave me was surely far more valuable.

Well... The story has a happy, yet bittersweet ending.

I managed to get another job exactly one week after school ended last year. On the day I was offered the job, I finally told my mother that I had lost my old one because the saltmine was closing... and as I anticipated, she totally lost her shit. Her question of course had merit. She said, "Were you EVER going to tell us?"

My response, "Only if I had to."

I mean really, what would have been the point? There was nothing anyone could, or would, do to help me. So why worry anyone else? I handled it myself, and it came out okay in the end. What more can anyone hope for?

See what I mean about the Lone Wolf thing? Yeah, I thought so.

Naturally... I utterly despised the new job from day one. But I took it, and I smiled, and I said "Thank you." Because it was what I had to do.

Luckily, some benevolent force in the universe finally took pity on me, and now I am working at Xavier's School for the Gifted.

Best. School. Ever.

It totally fucking ROCKS.

And, like the sands through the hourglass...time rolls on.



But today, Ben and Bob left for Wyoming, and a part of me that I can never have back goes with them.

What do I do without my large, sweet, funny smelling "therapists"?

I have no idea.

Good thing I'm so damn tough.

Afterall... The Pirate Queen rides alone, and to show sadness is to show weakness.

Weakness means death and mutiny.

So I smile and laugh.

And when I feel that empty place inside, I will try to fill it with the battle cry I use when I fall upon a ninja with sword and pistol.

And sometimes it will work.

It's the best I've got for now... and I'll take whatever I can get.



Good bye Ben. Good bye Bob. I love you.


Okay, it's time to wrap this sappy shit up before I drive you to an act of violence... Here goes:



If you, like The Fixer, understand the importance of "tiny therapists" my hat is off to you. You are wise, my friend, and I respect you enough to offer you a place on my ship when the inevitable zombie apocalypse threatens to drown us all in a tide of black bile and twitching body parts.

Thanks for everything.

Your loyal and fearless, (yet oddly clueless)


Pirate Queen