Long Live the King

If Mom fully understood my fixation with Googly Goose and Friends, I doubt she would have left me alone in the house so much.

Mom was a visiting home health nurse, and a single parent, which means I spent a lot of time alone in front of the television. I must have watched every episode of that puppet show.

Googly is Canadian. He lives in a town with twenty five other alliteratively named puppets, one for each letter of the alphabet. It has nothing to do with the Google website, except for a few in-jokes.

Mom overcompensated for my alone time with gifts, feeding my addiction to the program. For my tenth birthday, I got the complete storybook collection, which came in a green plastic bus, and a bunch of Viewmaster slides. Every time we went to McDonald's, she'd buy me one of the action figures. On Christmas I even got the video game for the Nintendo Switch. 

She would later regret getting me the `I-Googly-26.'

They modeled the toy after a real cel phone, but it lacked functionality. Basically just an app, hence the ultra low price tag. You couldn't call humans with it, it required the use of wifi, no flashlight, and the camera resolution sucked.

Still, I loved it. It activated secrets on the Switch, it had its own games, and it talked to you at random times of the day and night, even taking note of holidays and birthdays.

Other kids were learning new things about their own bodies, acting tougher around their classmates. You weren't supposed to watch Googly Goose anymore. I was the only one with the IG26.

It started small, with a Googlyphone-Call.

I lived in a red house along a steep hill near a park. The building was tall, but narrow, the interior beige with lime green carpeting. Kind of a seventies motif. I suppose it had a mold problem, because it always had a musty smell in parts. I couldn't tell around the back door because of Miss Kitty's litterbox, but it could have been there too. The living room tended to be drafty, requiring me to bundle up and use a space heater when I watched TV during colder months. We had a fireplace, but the flue didn't open. We never used it.

I always watched Googly before I caught the bus in the morning. Mom would already be off in her white pickup, seeing patients, so I'd sit in the stiff gold velour armchair, eating my cereal in front of the tube, periodically checking the IG26 for messages. Miss Kitty would doze on the green couch nearby, or scratch up the armrests.

The phone was...interesting. Sometimes I'd get texts or `Googly-Voice' recordings from the characters, giving me an update on life in Featherton, their world, or Googly would tell me he loved me. Naturally they would let me know about any and all new Googly tie-in products I could get mom to buy.

They generally came during the window of 8 AM to 8 PM, and only once a day unless you got parental consent - restrictive version of telemarketer guidelines. It also had some kind of advanced AI that asked you questions, remembered what you said, and came back with a clever response. Sometimes it really blew me away, like how Googly could understand my parents' divorce, and how I was a latchkey kid. Maybe someone got in there and manually typed in messages, I don't know.

The IG26 also knew when you were watching the show. A button would light up whenever a character picked up a telephone, or got near one. If you pushed it at just the right time, you got a surprise message from one of the characters. Some people even won prizes, but the only thing I got was an autographed copy of Willie Walrus Celebrates Kwanzaa, honestly not a great book.

Still, I enjoyed the calls and texts, which generally took place right before the commercials and PSA announcements...Well, until that one day, when the phone got a little extra.

"Michael," Googly asked me in a text. "Are you going to school when my show's over?"

Googly always had such a high regard for education that I only imagined one possible response. "Of course! School is where you grow!"

I got no response for a full minute. 

Sometimes the phone did that to make you sweat after saying something naughty. Sometimes it just paused because your router was down, or, as it said in some texts, they wanted to "Teach me a lesson about patience."

At last, though, I got a response. "There are other ways to grow, Michael. Stay home today."

I couldn't believe my toy would actually be saying this to me, but it also seemed kind of exciting. Did mom accidentally buy some rare defective product worth a million dollars? Still, I texted, "I can't. Mom will get mad."

The talk button started flashing. When I pushed it and held the earpiece to my head, I heard the bird's demented elf voice speaking. "Do you really think your mom will send you to a foster home if you don't do what she says?"

Mom had used that threat frequently when I misbehaved. "I...dunno. If she catches me, I'll still get in trouble. I got grounded for missing the bus and staying home last year."

The show came back on. I could see Googly at his black rotary phone in his nest, mouth moving to match the words I heard. Not too difficult a feat, the lips of puppets are stationary. "Just tell her you were off school because of a holiday."

"There isn't a holiday today."

"Then tell her they closed the school for teacher planning."

"You want me to lie to mom?"

Googly shrugged. "I'll make it worth your while. We'll have so much fun, you and I. Way much more than you'd have with your friends at school!"

I swallowed. "I don't have any friends at school."

The puppet on TV seemed to be looking right at me, its head tilted, as if nonverbally asking, `You see my point?'

"So I just tell her they let me out early?" I stammered.

Googly stepped behind his nest as Anthony Aardvark popped out and started talking about words and the use of contractions. I could still hear the bird through the phone, despite him being in the background. "If it makes you feel any better, you can hide under the porch for awhile, and we can talk. You did tell me you always wanted a clubhouse, didn't you?"

I gave him a nod. More than anything, I wanted that, and Googly Goose as my real friend. I packed up my things, books, papers and lunch, like I intended to go to school, but when departure time came, I slipped under the front porch to hide from the bus.

There was a hole in the latticework on the side of the porch where I sometimes dumped Miss Kitty's litterbox. This is where I got in.

I still had the phone, and wifi connectivity, maybe GPS, too because Googly texted me about it, suggesting we might hang up some curtains or blankets as a wind break against the cold.

The bus rolled to a stop in front of my house, flashing its lights. "All my friends have names that start with a letter in the alphabet, which means there can only be twenty six of us in town. But back in the old days, the alphabet used to have a lot more letters!"

"You're making that up, Googly," I muttered. 

"Am I?"

To be honest, I had no way of checking his statement for validity. The phone didn't go to regular websites. "I...don't know. That doesn't sound right to me. I thought I heard something about people in the bible not even having vowels."

The bus honked, the driver impatient for me to get out of the house and rush to the folding door. "Okay, okay. Maybe you're right about that, but there's other letters, like the shwa e. The point I'm trying to make, Michael, is we can find a place for you in Featherton. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Michael?"

The driver shut the bus doors, rolling on up the hill. "Y-yeah. I'd love that. What do I have to do?"

"Just keep listening."

I must have spent an hour sitting in cold dirt under that porch. I watched videos, played games, drew pictures of what my house in Featherton would be like.

I flinched when a rusty pickup pulled up in front of the house.

I saw a short figure emerge, curly hair, hornrims, nursing scrubs. I held my breath as she tromped up the white wooden steps. She didn't notice me.

I waited. Mom came out with some paperwork, got in her truck and drove away.

"Now let's have some real fun," the goose said.

With his help, and an instructional video on sewing machines, I transformed one of mom's fuzzy throw pillows and a hair beret into a fluffy pair of cat's ears, then used supplies from her crafts projects to make a blanket into a feathery mantle.

Googly's show came on twice a day, but I always missed the second one because of school. Some teachers would put the program on during class, but not mine, certainly not in middle school, so I just had to watch it.

During the commercial break, I got a text saying I'd won a prize.

I crafted a raccoon tail to hang off my belt, then played the Switch for awhile.

Googly Goose World is a complicated game. An internal clock makes the sky grow dark when it's dark in the real world, they have special events corresponding to real holidays - such as eight days of prizes for Hannukah and Cherry Blossom Day. You can design clothing for characters, do interior design, go bowling and play darts, plant trees, fish, and go searching for treasure in a cave. You can also unlock special rooms and mini-games with the IG26.

The most unique feature, though, was the use of children's books to access hidden storylines. Larry Lion Lounges About, for example, features several important clues that help you get into Riotous Raccoon's underground lair. Page four of the book shows a paw grabbing one of the lion's green socks, another page shows the raccoon behind Larry's house, and a phone number on the side of the garbage truck you can type into the IG26 for downloadable content.

It therefore didn't surprise me to hear Yosef Yak referencing Cathy Cow's Calamity.

What did surprise me was how the illustrations had changed. In a printed book. 

Although the first page still depicted the inside of Cathy's Coffee and Custard, her patrons had changed.

Instead of Andy Anteater and Bobby Bear in the corner table, I saw Morty Moose by himself, eating enough ice cream for two. Sammy Stork had replaced Helga Hamster at the window booth, and Davy Donkey stood at the counter with a steaming cup in his hoof (It's a drawing, okay? I don't know how a hooved animal could pick up anything).

If that wasn't weird enough, the glass front door swung open, and in stepped my friend the Canada goose.

He waddled past all the statue-like character illustrations, giving me a friendly wave with one wing.

"Googly!" I gasped. "How...?"

The bird just gave me a mischievous wink and slurped a cup of coffee.

The real front door on my house clanked noisily open, and in stepped Mom, catching me in the act. "What are you doing home!"

"We had a half day," I lied. "They sent me home early."

She scowled like she didn't believe me, then sighed, turning her attention to my craft project. "What did you do to my throw pillow?"

My mom, being big on self help books, restrained her temper, writing it off as an expression of my inner child.

When the school called and asked her where I was, however, she took away my video games. Well, except for the Atari we got from a garage sale - I rarely touched the thing anymore.

I don't think she understood how everything worked, because I got to keep the IG26. Guess she thought I'd learn something from it.

She didn't beat me or anything. I kinda wished she would, because I felt bad about it. I'd violated her trust, put an extra burden of responsibility on a woman who already had her hands full with her job.

The next day, she made sure I got on the bus.

As I stepped out on the porch, she stared at my homemade costume and asked, "Are you seriously going to wear that to school?"

I shrugged. Googly said I had to do it, to prove how much I wanted to live in Featherton.

Mom patted me on the back, saw me to the bus steps.

As my sneakers clomped down the hollow rubber and metal aisle, I tried to ignore classmates laughing and making fun of me, plopping down on a wrinkly vinyl seat near the back end.

"It's a little late for Halloween," someone mocked.

I took out my IG26, pretending not to hear.

The phone shouldn't have worked out of range, but somehow I still got a text. "Don't let them upset you. None of these children are worthy of Featherton. Only you are."

Someone grabbed my feathered cape, twirling it around, slapping me with it. I tried to get it back, but it ended up ripping, feathers everywhere.

"They're not worthy," Googly texted.

The bus arrived at the grassy lawn in front of my school. Everyone else got out, climbing the concrete steps to the red brick building.

"Quick," said my IG26. "Hurry out and run across the street to the graffiti tunnel." 

A little clip about looking both ways before crossing the street appeared on the screen.

I did what it asked, sneaking down the stairs and around the yellow bus. 

Nobody noticed what I was doing. In fact, the bus driver drove away.

Directly opposite the school lay a little yard strewn with beer bottles and cigarette butts, and beyond that a staircase leading to an underground tunnel, all spraypainted with gang signs and obscene writing. It smelled like piss, but I thought I heard someone calling for me, so I hurried in.

"Keep going. I'll tell you when to stop."

I frowned at the screen, but did what it asked, following the dimly lit, trash strewn tunnel for what felt like miles.

At the far end, I encountered a piece of chain link fencing, its other side covered in trash bags. When I got close to it, someone opened it up, revealing a damp and smelly underpass populated by camper shells, dome tents, and cardboard castles. All around me stood dirty people in shabby clothes, young and old, black and white.

The trash and chain link barrier rattled shut again, and the strangers drew closer. Upon closer examination, I saw that everyone had their own homemade goose costumes, just like mine.

A bony, skeleton eyed hobo with a shaved head and a tank top approached me, bearing a tinfoil crown and a Clorox Toilet Wand, minus scrubber. 

He dropped to one knee, placed the crown on my head, handed me the plastic scepter. "Your majesty."

The others likewise knelt before me. "Long may he rule Featherton."