Neurotica Page 2

At times, those things viewed from a distance don't appear the same under closer examination, particularly if expectations are high. This was the case during one of my many visits to the countryside.

  Strolling along an isolated gravel road, something caught my eye, far ahead, on the opposite side. There was a black umbrella and beneath it sat a young lady in matching dress - a stark contrast, set against the fields of golden wheat stretching into the distance. From what I could make out at such a distance, she had a very fair complexion, which explained the umbrella. She appeared to be reading something, pausing only to sip at some beverage that was at her side. It was quite a novel scene and I was intrigued, to say the least. Why had she chosen such an odd place to sit and read? Was she awaiting a ride? I made up my mind to speak to her when I drew close enough; after all, it would be rude not to, seeing that we were the only people around for miles.

  As I drew nearer, shyness overcame me. I found myself staring at the gravel, unfolding beneath my feet. When I figured I was close enough, I prepared myself to speak, looked up from the road and turned towards her. However, much to my dismay, the umbrella, and the young lady beneath it, turned out to be nothing more than a small turnip floating four feet off the ground. I was both puzzled and embarrassed, as I approached it. How could I make such an error in judgment? Perhaps I should have my eyes examined, I thought; but optometrists rarely test for this kind of thing.

  It was so obvious, now that the turnip was directly in front of me - sometimes hovering up to eye level. I nervously shot a glance up and down the road. How would I explain this, if someone was to pass-by and see me? I wanted to leave - to avoid undue scrutiny or further embarrassment - but at the same time I was unable to; this floating turnip had a strange magnetism. I was about to reach out and touch it, when I heard the roar of an engine behind me. Startled, I stepped away from the turnip, unable to think of a quick explanation for my being there. A large truck rumbled to a stop, and three men fell out. The truck seemed to be in better condition than they did, which wasn't saying much for the truck. One of the men carried a butterfly net; the other two had evil grins on their faces. I noticed that the back of the truck was full of turnips. No doubt, they had been all over the countryside, collecting. I quickly realized their intentions.

  I had been to many places, and experienced many things, so I knew this floating turnip was rather special. Reaching up to the top of my head, I discovered I was wearing a large bowler hat. I didn't question its presence; one shouldn't question such things if they are beneficial. I took off the hat and placed it over the suspended turnip. Grasping the brim, arm outstretched, I lead the turnip away, with the intentions of taking it home. The three men did not attempt to stop me; I gave them a serious look that convinced them the turnip and I were leaving together. They looked puzzled, and somewhat defeated, as I walked the turnip into the distance; never would I let it fall in to their hands.

  The long walk home proved to be tiresome, but amusing nonetheless. With my arm outstretched, carefully guiding the turnip hiding comfortably beneath my hat, I received many friendly responses from passers-by who thought I was tipping my hat to them. By the time I reached the small cottage I had rented, the entire countryside considered me the most cordial person alive, which wasn't entirely true.

  With the turnip inside, I began to doubt my intentions. How would I explain this to my parents? Mother told me recently to avoid turnips and concentrate on my work. However, that seemed hypocritical; when I was young, she told me turnips were good for me. Feeling quite proud of myself, nonetheless, I called a friend over.

  Coming in through the front door, he saw me seated, smiling, on the sofa, the turnip floating just above my right shoulder. He began to shake his head.

  “You're so predictable,” he said, bending down to untie his laces.

  He sat down directly across from me and lit a cigarette.

  “I suppose you're going to rub this in,” he spoke between puffs; “you've always had a strange kind of luck with things like this.”

  “It's funny,” I began, in an effort at relieving his envy, “I didn't know what to think at first,” I paused, glancing up at the turnip, “but it has an odd manner that appeals to me.”

  “You look good together,” he admitted.

  “The benefits go far beyond that,” I felt obliged to add; “I won't have to pay to get it into the theatre!”

  Submerged