Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

by Donna Andrews

  “If I had two lives,“ I said aloud. “I could see spending one of them here. But I don't; and I need to get back to my real life.“

  Jack nodded with a wry smile, saluted me, and strolled out of the reception room.

  I wrote my name on the box, left it by the reception desk where, surely, someone would eventually remember to pick it up and drop it off at the Cave, and headed for the parking lot.

  So now I knew where everybody had gone.

  To my left, I saw Dr. Lorelei and the burly anger-management therapist talking intensely with Keisha and Rico. I drifted over to where I could eavesdrop.

  “I love it!“ Rico was saying. “Shrinks from Hell!“

  “It could be a very important therapeutic tool,“ Dr. Lorelei said.

  “Yes,“ Keisha said, nodding. “It's got to be authentic and genuine.“

  “And a hell of a lot of fun,“ the burly therapist said. “That's more important, if you ask me. Make it fun, so people will want to play.“

  Wonder of wonders, I thought. The Hatfield therapists and the McCoy programmers were learning to coexist.

  In another corner, I saw Dr. Brown talking to two programmers. They seemed to be discussing an Affirmation Bear that one of the programmers was holding. Oh, dear, I thought. I hoped my allowing the guys to play with the bears wasn't still causing trouble.

  As I strolled over to intervene and take the blame, I saw the programmer put the bear down on the asphalt. Surprisingly, it stood up, instead of flopping over the way the bears usually did. Then the programmer took out a small gizmo, like a television remote, and began pressing buttons.

  I heard a loud “urp!“ and saw, to my surprise, that the bear's mouth moved when it belched.

  “Excuse me,“ the bear said, and then giggled. He didn't sound particularly penitent to me, but maybe there were limits to how much emotion you could expect from a plush toy.

  The programmer pushed a few more buttons, and the bear began walking toward the therapist.

  “Oh, my goodness!“ she exclaimed as the bear reached out and hugged her ankle.

  “Hiya, babe! How's tricks?“ the bear said. And winked.

  “Oh, that's wonderful!“ Dr. Brown exclaimed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “That's absolutely wonderful!“

  “How about another brewski?“ the bear asked.

  I didn't stay to see if they'd taught him how to drink.

  I could see that most of the parking lot was filled with people doing some sort of vigorous leaping exercise. I strolled up to where Michael was watching them, with a bemused expression on his face.

  “So what are they doing now?“ I asked as two programmers and a therapist passed by, doing an involved step that looked as if they were trying to pedal miniature tricycles.

  “Don't you recognize it?“ Michael asked. The dancers had changed to some leaps that Baryshnikov might have executed, if he'd been born with more than the usual number of left feet.

  “Am I supposed to?“ I asked.

  “Your father said you'd taught him this kata,“ Michael said.

  “Kata?“

  Most of the crowd in the parking lot now appeared to be imitating a gorilla lifting barbells while ridding itself of a hairball. As I watched, they returned to pedaling tiny tricycles while flapping their arms up and down as if they hoped to achieve liftoff.

  “It's called The Buzzard Celebrates, according to your Dad,“ Michael said.

  Rob whirled by, doing a step obviously inspired by the cancan, and waved cheerfully.

  “It's certainly aerobic,“ I said.

  “I told Rob we were taking off now,“ Michael added. “He said thanks, and see you in a few weeks.“

  We watched for a few more minutes as the programmers and therapists leaped and cavorted together – if not in unison, then certainly in unprecedented harmony.

  “Ready to take off?“ Michael asked.

  “Way past ready,“ I said, heading for the car.

  As we drove carefully through the throng of Celebrating Buzzards to the road, I caught sight of Dad, whirling by with the rest, executing a particularly ridiculous maneuver that seemed to combine a standing broad jump with the hokey-pokey. He paused for a moment, winked at us, and then threw himself back into the fray.

  “I think Dad's got everything under control,“ I said. “Step on it. We have a plane to catch.“