This is the first half of my Cupid chapter that I am hoping to get done by Valentine's Day, but knowing myself, I probably won't have it done by then. Because, well, I'm lazy. Simply put. In this chapter Cupid gets a sense of technology, as he plays hours of RPGs. But I didn't get to that yet. This is more of his secretary's story.
What is love? Can you describe it? May you put a picture in your head of what it looks like? Is love good or bad?
Well, I have news for you, because from now on, there will be no more of this emotion, no more love. And who’s to blame, you’re probably wondering, why, no one but the man in charge of love: Cupid. And the woman who brought him into the world: his mom. And this thing all happened because of a little misinterpretation.
Why is it that I know this? Do you think I stalk Cupid? If you said yes, you’re right; it’s my job because I am Harmony, his secretary. I’m here to tell you not to look forward to Valentine’s Day this year, not to write a love note to that special someone nor to let out any emotion at all. There will be no love, there will be no spark. I think I need to explain.
It all started back at Cupid Love Inc., our business in Fairysville, a town in the heavens of clouds. Last Valentine’s Day, after Cupid was finished with his rounds around the world, shooting love arrows at people meant to be, it happened. It was about ten at night when…
“Harmony, I’m going to a party,” Cupid said.
I quickly got excited. “Oh a party! Whose house? What for? Oh I just love parties! When are we going?”
“We, who said anything about we?”
“Then what am I going to do?”
The love angel crossed his arms. “You’re doing what secretaries do best.”
Five minutes later…
“Cupid’s office, please hold. Cupid’s office, can I take a message?” I did this for hours. I mean does Cupid have any common sense to have respect for me. I wanted to walk out right then and there, but then I thought, that would imply losing my job.
It was then that decided to do what I’d never and thought never to be done before. I was just so angry that I decided to go to the local tavern. I’d at least get my mind off of things.
I smashed the double doors to get in with my solid sneakers, pounding the floors with every step I took. The people sitting there were indeed shocked at me. I’d never been a daily visitor there nor did I ever come at all, but I made a lasting impression on everyone, I know it.
I approached the bartender behind the front counter. He was a humongous man, beefy and wide, someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. Squinting, I examined a tattoo on his bicep. It was a heart with the name Kelsi in it. “Kelsi,” I said. “That’s a strange name for a boy.”
He strangled my neck. “That ain’t my name, bub. It’s Ed. And I ain’t no sissy boy, neither, I’m a man.”
I was kind of nervous. I didn’t have much experience with men of his sort and it was like if I said something wrong, I set off a little alarm. Truthfully, I was scared. “Can you kind of let go of my neck…sir?”
The bartender was true to what I asked and let go of me. I was shocked. Scornfully, he said, “What’ll ya be havin’?”
I was oblivious to what they had there and I am strictly not an alcoholic. “I’ll have some chocolate milk.”
Everyone turned their head and stared at me. And I absolutely hate being stared at. Even Ed looked at me with the strangest face, like in a split second, he would die laughing. And he did, as well as everyone else watching this in the bar.
Ed gave me a pat on the back. “You must be a comedian, eh? What are you stand-up?”
“Actually, I’m not really a…”
“Guys, this kid’s a stand-up! We ain’t get much of these anymore. So tell me, what do they call you, kid?”
“Well, my name is Harmony, but….”
Ed cracked up. “This kid’s a riot! Harmony, what kind of a name is that? It sounds all sweet and lovey-dovey.”
"Well, what can I say, I’m Cupid’s secretary,” I replied.
“What?” said Ed, laughing like a hyena. “Cupid’s secretary? Kid, have I seen you on TV, or somethin’? ‘Cause you’re funny. Show us what you can do, alright? Tell us a joke.”
My hands became sweaty and I got nervous. Everyone stared at me with eyes that expected me to do something amazing. Truly, I had never been known for my humor, and if those guys thought I had bad material, it was the end of me.
The room was silent. I gulped. The people in the bar as well as Ed had high expectations, I could tell. “So did you hear the one about the guy who goes into the restroom to find an English man using a urinal?”
A drunken man in the back of the bar quickly blurted. “No!”
“Well, after the guy sees the English man using the urinal, he looks at him and says ‘European.’”
The entire tavern was quiet. But then, one person after another started laughing. I smiled. I mean, I guess I thought of something good on the spot. It was then that I thought that I could make a future of this, maybe audition for a cheap reality show where my talent can be discovered. For once in my life, I was proud.
Another man blurted out, “Man Bill, you really can cut the cheese good.” Everybody again cracked up.
I was concerned. “So, no one was laughing at my joke?”
“Oh that? That was horrible.”
Shamefully, I walked to the front doors. My hope was completely lost.
Ed held high a glass cup. “You still want the chocolate milk, kid?” But I exited the tavern before I could respond. But I didn’t want to anyway.
It was then that I figured out something, as I walked out. With a lousy job, where not even Cupid shows me any love, no girlfriend for Valentine’s Day, and not even being funny at all, I realized it. It’s really hard to say this, but at that point, I thought that my life was horrible.
It all started when I was three and all I ever wanted was a pony. I’d ask my parents, but they never even listened. I just wanted the feeling of riding in wide open space, but no, Harmony the stupid love secretary got socks instead.
Then I was seven and one half and…
“Oh my goodness, will you shut up, Harmony?” asked the author. “I told you, you emotional beast, no sob stories. You’re lucky that you get to tell the story, because, besides Gimel, you’re the only one who gets to tell your story. Hey, I mean not even Santa’s telling his own story and now I’m on his naughty list. What I’m trying to say here is that you have to make sacrifices, and your emotional pleas are something we can do without.”
“But, I didn’t mean to…”
“No buts, you will stop whining and continue the story. I am glad you’re doing this instead of me, but if you’re going to screw it up then it really doesn’t pay. Now does it?"
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1 comment:
very clever and funny indeed! i loved it.
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