apinkyandthebrainhomage by KZ Rochelle (of course)
When last we saw K and Z in episode y, Z lamented her lack of creative energy and therefore her lack of a plan to escape the confinement of these four walls and K danced with her overflow of energy in the face of Draft Day.
“You want me to stop dancing, Z?”
“Because I need a plan and I cannot think of a plan with all dastardly distraction drowning my creative drive.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” said K, who stood statue still.
Z contemplated her recent efforts. The plumbing debacle, the foiled delivery, the perished paperclip predicament. Her ideas were unique. They were soluble. They should have been successful. But K always managed to get in the way of things going right or well.
K’s statuesque pose began to crumble. “Hey, Z, it’s hard being a statue.” K barely finished speaking before she burst into laughter. “Ba hahaha! It’s hard. Being a statue! Hahaha. Get it, Z? Ha! Because statues are stone. Haha. So they’re hard. Ha. Ha.”
“Hardy har har.” Z did not laugh. She deigned to be annoyed.
“HARDy HARD HARD! Hahaha!” K could not control herself.
“It’s a solemn, solitary tune on a day I cannot cogitate to create a plan. No laughter, please.”
K’s laughter ceased.
“What will you do, Z?” asked K.
“I don’t know. I’m afraid I have no plan to escape.”
“No plan to escape!?”
“No, not really. And a doleful mood haunts my horizon. I have to have something joyful to look forward to in the paucity of escape. We must organize a virtual happy hour.”
K considered this. “Why must we be virtually happy when we can be reality happy? And why for only one hour? I think there are 28 hours in a day. Or is it 11?”
“No, K. You misunderstand, as usual. A virtual happy hour exists in a virtual shared space like Zoom or Remo or Google or Duo or Facetime.”
“Ohhhhhhh. Okay, Z. Is that how we plan to escape the confoundments of these four walls.”
“There’s no escaping these confounding misunderstandings, K. I throw in the towel.”
“That towel?” K pointed to the damp towel left on the floor from her pre-dawn shower.
“What’s the use, anymore? We will call a virtual happy hour and drink ourselves out of this blasted mindset.”
“So that’s how we’ll escape the confounds of these four walls,” said K, believing she was understanding. K continued toward the towel. “I don’t know what you need this towel for.” She reached for it. “But you seem sad so I’ll get it for you.”
As K’s arm extended from her torso, her foot tried to move forward. It tried only because it was caught on a taut hose, accessory to the wet/dry vac required to help tend to the water damage in the bathroom. The hose held across the floor like a finish line that did not give way with the first finisher. It caught K’s foot and sent K flying forward. She knocked her knee on the towel and her forehead on the floor.
Rochelle cackled in earnest.
“Not! Funny! Ro! Chelle!” said K, slowly pushing herself up to a seated position.
“I must agree, Rochelle. This is not funny. Are you okay, K?”
K turned toward the mirror to find Z. She smiled broadly and giggled because she was a broadly smiling braud. Even though she didn’t really like that word.
“Yeah. I’m okay. Thank you, Z.” She giggled some more.
“Come here, K.”
K’s fingers grabbed the counter and pulled her upright. She stood a moment then hunched her shoulders over the countertop, resting her face in her hands and her elbows on the counter. She smiled an idiot’s smile. Which was none too different than usual. But what was different than usual was the red flow falling from K’s right eyebrow.
“A laceration!” said Z.
“Incarceration?” asked K.
“Not anymore,” said Z. “I think you’ve stumbled into a solution and a plan in one fell swoop.”
“I fell and I stumbled and I swooped,” said K. “And I hit my head.” K was puzzled. “Didn’t you see it, Z? I thought you were here. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought? Or my thoughts are harder than my head? I think?”
“Unlikely,” said Z. “But we will have to take you to the doctor! A brilliant loophole!”
“Oh, geez, Z. Do I have to? I don’t like to go to the doctors. They give you shots there.”
“No shots today, K!” Z’s pep returned to her voice. “We are breaking out of the world enclosed by these four walls! Grab the toilet paper roll and head to the garage, K.”
“Are we going to get more toilet paper, Z? Is it back in the stores? No more hoarding?”
“K, we just went over this. We are going to the doctor.”
“But, Z. I don’t want to,” K said.
“Do you want to get out of these four walls?”
“Well. Yes. But.”
“No buts! We’re getting out! Grab the toilet paper. Take some and dab your eyebrow. You’ll drip on the floor.”
“Right-o,” K said. She slogged along, grabbing and dabbing and leaving the bathroom.
“K!!!!!” Z yelled.
K popped her bleeding head through the doorframe to the bathroom.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Z asked.
K held up the toilet paper. “Got the TP, Z.” She looked around the bathroom. She tried to remember if she was supposed to take the plumbing. Or was it the wet/dry vac? There was a towel on the floor. That didn’t seem like the place it should be. Maybe she was supposed to wrap herself in a towel. Was she supposed to stay fully clothed under the towel? That didn’t sound right. She was going to the doctor after all, the place she first attended in her birthday suit…
What will happen at the doctor’s office? Will K be kicked out for public exposure and indecency? Or will Z be able to set K straight before they arrive? Find out in the next installment of Days of Our Pandemic….