Truman’s Library

Truman, the inquisitive gopher, felt knobby upon arising, the probable consequence of too much after-six latte, a habit he’d fallen into as of late due, in part, to his association with Brenna. He still wasn’t sure whether she was his type, given her opinionated stances freely offered without so much as a veiled request, but she didn’t stink and presented a coquettish demeanor that he found quite disarming, thus her presence at the impromptu gatherings at Sadie’s became his sole reason for attendance.

Now, while all gophers are inquisitive to one degree or another, Truman distinguished himself among other members of the group with his intellect and discrimination. In fact, he was the only gopher in the hamlet that had read Trout Fishing In America, a reality lost on his peers but of considerable significance to himself… and Brenna. If they were to have a future past their coffeehouse meetings, certainly it would revolve around an arcane knowledge of Nelson Algren’s obscurity and a shared belief in the holistic powers of watermelon sugar.

Still fresh in his memory, he recalled parts of their conversation the evening previous. “Brenna, do you feel a sense of envy towards the humans, given their ability to construct libraries and whore houses?”

Brenna batted her eyes in a decidedly non-gopherly manner, commanding his attention with a protracted pause. At some point, she took pity upon him and offered, “Envy? No, not envy, exactly, although I wouldn’t mind spending a few days in St. Tropez at the mineral baths or perhaps feeling the exotic trade winds of Moorea or Papeete upon my face. I guess I wouldn’t mind a little privacy when I poop, either, without the intervention of others of my species that immediately run up behind me and sniff it to check its edibility. That would be nice… but I digress.”

“Rather a didactic expression of the inevitable, I suppose, but not without merit. One could certainly argue that the more unsavory of our habits, if considered in human terms, to be ‘undignified’ or ‘embarrassing’, however, to do so would risk dissociation with the majority of our colleagues who accept such things as naturally-occurring responses to stimuli. How human can we become before we lose ourselves?”

Again, she had paused, but this time a different comportment adorned her features. A newfound alacrity brightened her face and brought forth a gleaming quality any rodent would admire.

“Truman, honey…” she purred, “what do you say we continue this discussion at another time? I just felt the first twinges of impending estrous and I thought I might offer you exclusivity in its pursuit… that is, if you’d be willing to offer a girl a little watermelon sugar.”

There Truman’s memory of the evening stopped, the victim of hormonal activity so spectacular, so mind-blowing, so all-inclusive as to send all other memories to his subliminal graveyard of lost ideas.

And there they would rest in peace until such time as they, too, felt the biological urge of re-incarnation. Such is the way of ideas, be they gopher or human.

Bob Church © 2/3/07