Hello dear fellows and sheilas of the Locals community. Here is a little story I've been working on called Barry Baxter and the Magical Pygmy Possums.
Please comment below so I know you've read it. If people are getting sick of these I'll stop.
Chapter 2
Z put his hand to his head like he was gonna faint. Said he needed some fresh air. Poor bugger. Guess it’s not everyday you find out your best friend has super powers. “Here’s what I propose,” I said. “We go for a walk up to the shops; get a pie; some lollies, you know? Some Farmer’s Union.” Z looked up at me as if everything now depended on that. That if he could only get a little Farmer’s Union Iced Coffee into him, everything would be okay. “Come on you little rascal,” I said, “let’s go.” Z stood up, went to grab his wallet then we headed out the door.
Now, up the road from Z’s place you’ve got two and only two options when it comes to shops—if you’re walking, that is. A small one attached to a sort of dress/fabric shop. It’s run by a little old woman named Mrs. Binne, somewhat new to our town, who you never wanted to catch in a bad mood. The second is a little bigger, bit more of a walk, and is run by this old fat balding bloke named Kevin. Insufferable bastard, he is. He has this annoying habit of telling you things that everybody already agrees with but in a tone that suggested it’s controversial and that he’s something of a non-conformist. But, pain in the arse though he was, his meat pies are spectacular, so that’s where we headed. Along the way Z had 101 questions for me. But he wouldn’t pause long enough to let me answer: “how long have you had your powers?” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Are you part of some sort of group?” “Do you have an arch-nemesis?” “Is Barry your real name?” “Why haven’t you imagined yourself having a girlfriend yet?” Eventually, not being able to get a word in edgeways I just stopped walking and stood there while Z continued on without noticing. Eventually he turns around, looks at me and asks if I’m okay. “Mate,” I said, “first of all, I only discovered I had these abilities this arvo at the comic book store. Secondly, I’m gonna need you to calm yourself. Can you do that? Can you bring it down a notch?” Z said he could and took a few deep breaths while shaking his hands to prove it. Kept saying, “I’m cool, I’m cool, I’m cool.” I’m like, “are you though?” and he’s like “yeah, I’m cool.” I’m like,” then do you think you can stop saying that you’re cool because it’s freaking me out.” Then he was all like, “oh, no worries, you turn my TV into a potato chip, my friggin lamp into a gherkin and I’m freaking you out.” Just knew he was gonna throw that in my face.
“Look, I said, how about we go in there, get the food, go back to your place and I’ll answer every question you’ve got, and we can figure out what’s going on.”
So, we go into the shop, get our stuff and bring it to Kevin at the counter. He was in bloody rare form that day. “Hey boys,” he says, “geeze, bloody hot enough out there for you?” Kevin is the king of banter. The champion of it. You could try to out banter him, but you would be unsuccessful. Your best bet was just to answer him as simply as possible and hope that he’d shut up and let you leave. “Yes, Kevin” I said, very matter of factly, “It is bloody hot enough out there for us.” “I always say,” he began, and I let out a groan, hoping he’d hear. “I always say, you can put stuff on to get warm but if it’s hot enough; doesn't matter how much you take off, you’re still bloody hot. You know what I’m saying?” That was the other thing he did that gave me the shits. After making some vacuous statement he’d raise his hands and ask if you knew what he was saying. And if you didn’t tell him that you did, he’d ask again. And again. Best just to get it over with. So I’m like, “Yes, Kevin” pointing to the food on the counter, hoping he’d start ringing us up, “we know what you’re saying.”
That’s when Z spoke up, “How’s business, Kev?” Nearly killed him. Should’ve! Kevin’s like, “doing quite well, thanks, Zachery … I always say, if you’re good to people, they’ll be good to you.” and then he held up his hands like someone was pointing a gun at him and said, “that’s just me.” I was all like, “nah, mate, I don’t think that’s just you. Pretty sure it’s every person who has ever lived.” Kevin looked at me for a moment, wondering whether he should be offended and then looked back at Z. “Anyway,” he said, “I think that’s why we’re doing better than Mrs Binnie up the road there, just quietly.” He was like, “people want to be treated fairly, you know? They want good quality products for a good price.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I said, “people want good quality products for a good price you think?” “Yeah, mate,” he said, “people want good quality … you know? … that’s … that’s just something I’ve always thought.” and he held up his hands again. I sucked my top lip trying to restrain myself but couldn’t. And that’s when I imagined him without ears. Now, you already know where this is going but let me just back up a little here. You may be wondering why on earth I imagined him without ears. Surely imagining him without a mouth would have made more sense. It’s bloody crazy how our subconscious thoughts string together, isn’t it? There are times when someone will ask you, “what are you thinking about?” And it’s something super random like … I don’t know … like, why are humans the only ones who wipe their bums when they poo. … Okay, well, dogs and that wipe their bums on the grass and … so that’s not a good example, maybe, but you get my point. You’re thinking of something super random and you’ve got no idea how the hell it was that you started thinking about that thing. It’s as if it popped into your mind without any cognitive history. But, if you think real hard you can trace that thought back to something that triggered it. So here’s what happened: I thought, “this bloke’s talking my bloody ears off.” Right? And then I thought, “hey, how crazy would it be if you could actually talk someone’s ears off.” What would that look like? Be pretty bloody weird, wouldn’t it? Anyway, then I imagined what Kevin would look like with no ears.
My bad.
Kevin winced as if he had a headache and then covered the sides of his head where his ears used to be, swore, and ran out the back. I put some money on the counter and called out to him, “keep the change” and off we went. Not sure if he heard me. I was pretty proud about that one, I have to say. “Keep the change,” I mean. Thought then that it might become my tagline, you know? Do something super cool and then be like, “keep the change.” Anyway, Z asked if we should help. I said no. He asked if I had anything to do with it. I said maybe, and told him to keep walking.
Back at Z’s house we sat out under his verandah and I told him everything I’ve told you up until now. About the bloody pigmy possum—which, by the by, he didn’t think was terribly remarkable—Said the same thing happened to him when he was a kid. And so he was highly doubtful that it was the pigmy possum that caused my super powers. I told him how I changed the colors of my shoes and how for some reason I couldn’t imagine into existence a scabbard for his replica of Sting. It was around that time that Z finished his iced coffee. He was like, “alright, mate. Put those powers to good use, will you, and imagine for me another Iced Coffee. I tried. I really did. I even put two fingers to my temples for effect and concentrated really hard. Nothing. I was a bit bummed about that, I have to say. Z was like, “alright well what about this Cherry Ripe, can you turn it into an Iced Coffee. I pretended I was a bit tired just in case it wasn’t going to work. But it did! His Cherry Ripe vanished and in the same moment a cold carton of Iced coffee appeared. Z gasped in amazement. He was like, “that’s amazing.” And I was like “mate, amazing’s my middle name.” Z was like, “I thought it was Terrance.” And I tried really hard not to imagine him without a face.
Anyway, so Z stands up and tells me to follow him into the lounge room where the chip and gherkin still lay. “It's a bit difficult to play Zelda on a chip, mate.” Z said. “Can you give me my lamp and telly back?” I was like, “child's play,” and winked at him. Within seconds the chip had turned back into a TV and the gherkin back into a lamp. They weren’t the same as before, however, which I remember thinking was weird. The TV was better, though, so there were no complaints.
After a quick spell playing Zelda, we spent the rest of that day trying out my new skills. Not just for fun, though it was pretty bloody fun. But to figure out all I could and couldn’t do. Z really tested my limits and we learnt a lot. At one point Z got all happy with himself and was like, “hey, I’m kinda like your coach. You should call me that. That can be my sidekick name, ‘coach’. Hey? What do you reckon?” I didn’t want to burst his bubble but I also didn’t want to lie to him. “Z,” I said. “I love you—not in gay way—but I love you and so I need you to know right now that I will never in a million years call you, coach.” Z stopped smiling.
