Junior Taptap

    A patient in the paranoia ward reevaluated her entire situation. She concluded that her three sons, Randy, Marcus, and Errol, would come in, at any point shortly, and force her to swill liquid mercury out of a live frog’s jaw. After being drugged, with her permission, by men with blue clothes and black socks, she spent the afternoon taking a quiet rest. Her words exactly before passing to her dream state: “I don’t wish to remember. I wish to sing alongside Pavarotti.” The workers of the ward, mostly the unpaid interns and the low-paid interns, made a funny game—uncovering the catalyst of the lady’s imagination as someone who wasn’t barren. They went through the television feeds, and the back of the cereal boxes and the graffiti displayed outside her room. They uncovered paper notes that the woman wrote. They looked closely at the directions of her shampoo. Margaret noticed them searching under the cot of the dozing woman until Nurse Ob said to come along with the rest of the group.

    The long lemon hallway had natural light gushing in. A boy, no older than five, could be seen drawing his tilted thumb in the air over the edges of the ceiling’s quadrangular window tiles. Margaret could not make out his name tag. Everyone was given a name tag and a marker. They had to write their name, their favorite color, and the happiest moment of their life. Right now they were walking down at a bumbling pace, passing locked doors until it was time for entering. It was a pack of no more than twenty and no less than ten. They all signed up for the group check-in—a much less costly option. The nurse thought to herself, “They aren’t exceptionally ugly.” Then she shouted, “Miss Carson, your husband is in this room.”

     A busty woman came to the front, furling her toes further inward. Nurse Ob pointed her pinkie towards the door which had opened only a moment before. Miss Carson traveled in. The rest followed with.

     The husband’s shirt, pants, and scruffy beard were all in pure white cotton. He was sitting in the bed, looking at everybody. Margaret thought he had the faint glimpse of looking happy with his situation. “Have we noticed any life forms on Pluto yet?”

      “No,” Miss Carson answered. “They haven’t.”

      “Have you called the relatives? I wished to do it myself, but the kind lady said that it wasn’t allowed.”

       “Yes.” She came closer, sitting down close to his tiny knees. “I said that it was just a frenetic outburst—once in a lifetime.”

        “You should have said it was an accident,” he said.

        “Are they good to you here, honey?”

        “I like the food. And it could be worse.”

         Nurse Ob coughed into the air. “One minute. Please do not rush though.” She coughed again.

          Miss Carson tried to see if he kept his chin clean. He did. “Okay. Now give me a kiss.” He gave her a peck on her bottom lip. “Now give me a hug.” They both embraced, then she hissed into his ear, “Should I do something to enter in here?”

           “We wouldn’t see each other anymore,” he said. “I rarely see anybody in the other rooms. It is usually only the counselors certified in making me feel well.”

           “We’ll still be in the same building. I’ll imagine you in my arms. You can imagine me combing my hair. I was thinking about putting a knife up to one of my safari buddies.”

            “Very off, though.”

            “Of course I wouldn’t do anything. No head would be cut off.”

            “What if you get a sudden urge to kill?”

            “I am not exceedingly insane like you, honey.”

             The nameless boy hugged his aunt when it came to his turn. She was a little groggy after taking a beauty nap. While watching this, Margaret got a nudge on her shoulder blade. She turned around and saw a man clean-shaven and a few inches taller than her. He gave her a slip of paper. It read: HI! MY NAME IS WILSON. CALL ME AND I WILL PICK UP! It had his phone number neatly written at the bottom. Margaret put the paper in the pocket that wasn’t full of other things.

             Entering into her grandfather’s room, Margaret was immediately given a handmade paper duck with a bend in its bill. He asked if he could have it back only seconds later. His skin was button-mashed from taking an hour-long shower. He went on about tall skyscrapers being demolished and imploded in West Africa, many of them for safety and health concerns. Soon, however, he changed the subject to himself.

            “I think if I play my cards right, I can stay in here for the rest of my life. No birthdays, no Christmases, no pond hockey. They don’t suspect that I’m not actually crazy. Are you hearing me, Margaret?” He snapped his fingers once. “They have these devices attached to their heads. They examine the neurons floating somewhere inside my head. What I do is, I think very hard about astrophysics or complicated math systems or being in public, so they believe the neurons in my brain during the test are sufficient in declaring me positively decrepit.”

           “You are insane.”

           “No no no,” he said. “Oh, by the way, my Lunchman broke.” He pointed to the wired body with a pulse coming out of its neck. It stood upon a desk with a solid base made out of hard plastic. Colored wires came out every angle, sliding into the crevices and cracks of the made-up skeleton. When it traveled upwards the wires would slowly shorten and condense into a solid glob in the middle of the artificial skull. It was now making a small kischang noise that was amplified by an attached speaker where a mouth would be. Consistent mini sparks in the belly would shoot out, next to a dark red splotch. “I tried to turn the volume up and got tomato soup on the inner cord.”

              “One minute. No rush.”

              “How is Mr. Taptap doing?” he asked.

              “It could be worse,” Margaret said. “He didn’t take his pills this morning.”

              “I like him. I hope he’ll be alright. Do you remember when he. . . ?”

              Margaret waited for him to stop rambling about his appreciation for Mr. Taptap. Then she said, “I have to put him down later today.”

             “I remember now. Here.” He vicariously pulled the plug off of the Lunchman and handed it to her. It was surprisingly light. “Take it. They can give me a new one. It doesn’t sound like you anymore anyway.”

               “I don’t need one.”

               “But you need someone to eat with you. My doctor said so. Helps with mental health, with your emotional being. You can’t just go along the course.”

               “I know.”

               “You can’t just leave out these things, these materials, and act as if they aren’t there in front of you.”

               “I know.”

                “I’m not trying to be a sap, no. I’m trying to show you everyone needs it. That’s it, Margaret.”

               “I already have one.”

               “Wait—hold on.” He took out a certain wire off from where the heart was and stuck it close to where his neck was. He hummed. “Alright. It should be good. I’ll try to mimic the way you make noises, so then we can eat together. Eat cake at nine tonight with me, alright? Promise?”

              Margaret left the room of her grandfather that she would return to the next day. When she passed the lunchroom Miss Carson had a butter knife pointed straight at the kid. Nurse Ob said, “You’ll have to press it in a little further. There you go. I can get the paperwork. And I’ll get you a bandage, sweetie.”

. . .

           Margaret stirred a peppermint candy in her coffee mug. She would leave her flat in less than ten minutes. Mr. Taptap was spinning out of control, somehow knowing that he was going somewhere. This was the only thing that made him overly excited. Even the green droplets that she would rub on his nose did not affect this jubilance. His whines went along with the scratching of his ears. He did this all next to the Lunchman.

           Margaret stared at this thing that was in her kitchen. She had one somewhere in the box under her mattress. This was a more modern version—the fifth or sixth new issue. The speaker had a little pink in the center that made for inviting lips. Wires ran down like chimp arms. 

            The veterinarian spoke with a mild lisp as he retold the same information in the paper packet. He asked if she was comfortable. He asked if Mr. Taptap was alright and said that she should bring his favorite blanket. Margaret said goodbye and that she would see him shortly.

             She grabbed the Lunchman recording wire from Taptap’s slobbery mouth and began humming into it. The screen in the center turned on and listed saved numbers and letters for her sound. It listed fruits and starches and vegetables. The thing on the bottom said that it could guarantee 99.99% accuracy in mimicking the exact sounds. Margaret clicked on a bowl of Frosted Flakes. She turned it off after two seconds. The mixing sound of a human and dog was heard.

. . .

          “Truth.”

          “Are you smiling right now?”

          “Yes,” Margaret said. Mr. Taptap just received a sedative and was steadily lumping into a phlegmatic mass of body. The room she was in had the atypical smell of cow shit. “Truth or dare?”

          “Truth.”

          “Do you like to listen to music when you put away laundry?”

          “Yes, actually, I do.” A small noise came from Wilson’s side. “Sorry I was just setting down my drink and it hit the table too hard.” Margaret kept looking over to the vet to appear again. She didn’t know where he went off to. Taptap was puffing his cheeks.

          “Truth or dare?”

          “Truth.”

          “Where do you live? Maybe I can pick you up after my shift is over and we can go eat together, huh?”

          Margaret told him her address as the vet came back in with a small vial of blue liquid. He set the instrument down next to the razor that was used on Taptap’s arm. “Here we go. Right, Taptap? Here we go?” The vet gave two pats on his head.

            “Truth or dare?” said Margaret.

            “Truth.”

            “Hold on,” said Margaret. She watched the needle stick into the opening. The syringe collapsed down until it was back up again—empty. “Would you, if you had the choice, rather smell like gasoline or rain or old pictures? Or smell like nothing at all?” She didn’t hear his answer as Taptap began to lick the mat on the table. Then his tongue began to lose movement and rolled down weightless.

            “Truth or dare?”

            “Truth.” 

            “Are you ever lonely?”

            He bent over and urinated on the spot. The vet turned him on his side. “He’s gone now, I believe.” He put a machine on top of his head. Straight lines popped up. “Yep, there he goes.”

. . .

            “I tried doing it but it didn’t work at all. I only heard my own. It was loud and obnoxious.” He slid a little over to the other side. “I thought about it though. If it’s really this device playing tricks on me, or rather if it has some deep-seated power that I just noticed. . . It wasn’t like this when Gail left. And if you told me I could hear her munching on a piece of bread or sipping a glass of raspberry wine, I don’t know what I’d do. But it’s not worse. Oh, God no. Do you think it is, Margaret? And why do you turn your head away? Do you listen to me when you are eating, Margaret? Maybe you will when I leave you. Huh? I don’t know if they will let me out. Are you hearing, hey Margaret? They aren’t impressed with me, they say. They aren’t impressed. They want me out and I don’t know what to do afterward. I don’t know what to do.” He grabbed the device and made her hum into it. “There,” he said, setting it down carefully.

            Margaret left after the nurse told her there was one minute left. She stepped down the tunnel dressed in holiday lights. Waiting for the train, an inflatable pink flamingo held up a 30% off sale sign. The owner of the shop, a man-crafted hobo, stated that it had attracted business for this salon the past month. This was the last day the flamingo would be there, so maybe she should come and buy something. Margaret felt this was obviously pointless and got on the train immediately taking a backseat where the caterpillar lights ended.

           Once off, she saw a woman getting her purse stolen. The man walked away casually, with no scream or insult coming his way from the woman. She stood there watching her purse floating in a man’s physical strings. Margaret went over to her. The woman said, “I had my cards and my contacts in my purse. I suppose I can get another one. It is easy now to find new cards and new contacts. It could be worse, I guess. This has never happened to me before.”

           Margaret unlocked her door. The window coming from the bedroom made floating trapezoids over the blanketed rear of the sleeping man. His feet were dangling over the short bed. He had some of Margaret’s red lip gloss on his mouth. She went to the laundry room, then looked at the laundry detergent. She would need to get more as it was almost out. The electric cord was next to it but barely noticeable. It ran across to the kitchen. The kitchen’s carpet had a formidable outlook, and she was thinking of flipping it over to hide the sticky particles that were difficult to unloosen. On the carpet was the table with a small blue stain where the salt shaker was, and knife marks dotted the canvas. A bone laid right in the middle. 

          Margaret opened the fridge and found a dry chicken leg sitting on a white plate. She fiddled with the Lunchman. The sound of cracking pebble food and of a familiar breath and smacking came and filled the room. She grabbed a mop head and began to squeeze the fibers, peeling the meat away from the bone.