My Friend Googly

Whenever people ask why me and Brian are so close, I tell them we're brothers. It's not a gay thing, I swear.

What brings us together is a big bird, and a toy compass.

The Goose Compass came in select boxes of Googly Goose Cereal. Like every other TV tie-in, the cereal didn't taste good, and my parents said it was too expensive to keep buying. Mom actually bought my compass from the thrift store.

Best gift she ever got me.

I was obsessed with Googly Goose. Caught it on TV every time Dad didn't try to break my fingers for changing the channel away from his westerns.

When I couldn't watch, I begged Mom for as many books in the series as she could afford, the others from the library I kept way overdue.

Googly lived in a town with twenty five other animal friends, each with an alliterative name, one for every letter of the alphabet.

The compass didn't look that special, just a silver plastic triangle with a water bubble for the directional piece. The promotion offered twenty six different embossed designs. The lucky ones who found Googly already received their vacation to Universal Studios.

My compass only bore the image of Perky Porcupine, but that's okay. Universal Studios couldn't make Dad stop hitting me.

The glowing of Compass 16, however...

It started small enough. Each book had a map of Googly's hometown, Walnut Crest, on the back, and I noticed a peculiar glint whenever the compass hovered over a building. This led me to read specific books, then I found myself spelling out messages.

For example, the day Dad got laid off from his construction job, he and his work buddies had "Miller Time" before coming home. On that very same day, Compass 16 pointed to an illustration of a paranoid Andy Anteater hiding inside a kitchen cabinet.

It turned out the compass had the right idea. I only wished I'd stayed inside the cabinet longer.

The day of the blizzard, our furnace chose to go out. We had to make do with the big kerosene heater in the living room, and the reservoir emptied after sundown.

Why is this important? Because Dad told me to refill the reservoir out on the porch, in the cold.

That, in and of itself, wouldn't have been so bad, but the moment I had the metal container filled to the brim, Dad decided it would be funny to take the tank inside, shove me backwards into the snow, and slam the door in my face when I tried to get back in.

The deadbolt turned in the lock. I heard laughter.

It felt like an eternity had passed with my shivering in my Googly Goose pajamas.

This had been the second time Dad had pulled this particular stunt. The last time, he teasingly cracked the door open, and when I tried to squeeze by him and get into the house, he kept shoving me back.

Worse, when I at last made it past him, he rewarded me with a beating.

As I considered once more enduring Father's abuse, I noticed my compass glowing in a direction away from the house. 

"You...really think I should?" I whispered.

The compass blinked in seeming response.

Honestly, I didn't know where it would take me.

I also didn't know it would take time for Dad to start wondering why I'd gotten so quiet.

My Goose compass led me down a few blocks to a cemetery.

I stepped through the gate, checking my toy compass for guidance. Its unnatural glowing had led me this far, and I didn't want to go back, no matter how cold it got.

The snow swelled into a full fledged blizzard, the wind howling, visibility reduced to zero. Snow devils and eddies danced around the tombstones, suggesting humanlike forms, or things demonic.

Frostbite was setting in, a sub-zero wind chill cutting through my thin pajamas like knives.

When I saw the bird, I thought it to be nothing but another wind illusion, but the dark shape did not evaporate in the presence of contrary wind gusts.

A statue, perhaps?

My fingers and toes had gone numb. I couldn't feel my feet anymore. Still, the flash of the compass drove me onward.

I needed this, more than life itself.

A frozen lake lay at center of this abode of the dead, the square object behind it a mausoleum (presumably - there was so much snow).

As I drew closer to the winged object, my heart started pounding, the numbness in my hands and feet seeming to melt away, or, at the very least, become unimportant.

This was no statue. My eyes beheld Mr. Googly himself, a fictional character somehow brought into living, breathing reality.

The Canada goose stood at the height of an adult man, the span of its wings twice as long. The bird's beady black eyes seemed to gaze directly into my soul.

It was like it could see all my pain, all the abuses I suffered at the hands of my father.

That Sunday morning when Dad beat me because I couldn't find my church shoes.

The time I was doing dishes and he practiced a sleeper hold on me, and when I passed out on the floor, he grabbed me around the throat and growled, "Get back up, you pussy."

That time I broke a plate, and he thought I did it on purpose, so he hit me in the face. I ended up eating supper with sore teeth, puffy cheeks and tears in my eyes.

The bird bowed its long neck in sympathy. "Hoooonk." Its great wings arched toward me, inviting a hug.

Crying, I shuffled closer, barely noticing the presence of a second child approach the bird from its other side.

The feathered appendages came down, enfolding the both of us against its warm bosom.

The other kid cried and whimpered something. I tried my best to ignore him, pretending I was the only one the goose cared about. "You're real! You're actually real!"

"I love you," said the other boy.

Swallowing, I said the same thing, but included the bird's name.

The bird let out a purring, deep chested honk in reply.

"Googly Goose, can you take us someplace warm? Like Walnut Crest?"

"Us?" The sound rose in my throat and got stuck there. Who was this boy, and why did he give a damn about me? I didn't care about him! "Wait...Walnut Crest? Are you serious?"

Could human children actually exist in a pastel colored cartoon world? Would there be food, or air, or bathrooms, for that matter? Or would we be taken to the puppet show's television studio, where we'd just get grabbed by police and sent back to our abusive parents?

Was Walnut Crest more real than that? If so, could we grow to adulthood in that world? Where would we get our food? Would we be stealing from seagulls like the J.M. Barrie's Lost Boys? 

"It's cold, Googly. Please take us somewhere!"

The goose spoke to us in the deep, nasal tonality we were so familiar with, but with a godlike edge. "Children...If I take you from here, you can never go back. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Googly."

I agreed with my companion, but I think the bird sensed reluctance. "Sam...What is the matter?"

I sighed. "I'm going to miss Mom."

"Yes, but she loves your father, and doesn't believe that he beats you."

Swallowing, I gave the bird a nod. "I'm ready."

Our fantasies got dashed when the great bird spread its wings again, and I found myself standing in an abandoned Hypermart, illuminated by nothing but candles, flashlights, and camping lanterns.

Nothing special or magical, just a big run down retail store, with empty shelves and busted up registers. A second of the floor had been cleared to make room for a collection of sleeping bags and (sigh) kerosene space heaters.

Other children sat in this area, huddled together for warmth, some asleep, others chowing down on chips and Ding-Dongs. I would get to know them all eventually, though we never gained the emotional skills necessary to form normal relationships.

At any rate, I got my first good look at the other kid.

My companion was narrow, blonde, with blue eyes, standing roughly a foot taller than me. It appeared as if, like me, he also got his wardrobe from the thrift store.

I would have introduced myself, but the moment I opened my mouth, something jumped out and scared the shit out of me.

It was a guy. 

Twenty years old, shaved head, mouthful of crooked teeth. Sunken skull eyes peered at me from beneath an ape-like eyebrow ridge. He dressed like a wannabe rapper, bony white body wrapped in a sports hoodie, jewelry, and saggy pants.

Upon seeing us, he spread his arms like wings and gave a princely bow. "Sky Chickies! `Cuz I got the coke and the bitches, my homies jumped the gun..." he said in a sing-song tone, as if attempting to rap. "My nose in a manhole cover my undercover brother, the FBI got the drugs, man, fuck the police."

"Who are you!" I cried. "What is this place!"

Instead of a coherent answer, the stranger replied, "A-zoom-a-zigaziga?"

"This is Michael," said the bird. "He's here to bring you the things you need, and distract any police that may come by."

"Uh-huh." The stranger didn't seem to care what Googly was saying, he was muttering something to an invisible homeboy. He only nodded to humor our friend.

Michael snapped his fingers, pointing to me. "...Kevin, right? We used to hang in your old neighborhood, remember?"

I furrowed my brow. What he said was total bullshit.

To Brian, Michael said, "Antoine! How's your big sister Ray-Ray? You know, me and her? We used to be tiiight!...Still are tight, actually..."

"That's not my name."

The creepy man smacked his head. "Shit. Sorry, dawg. I meant, `Steve.' You're Steve, right?"

Brian was going to say no, but the man just showed us a little plastic tube, like it were something important, squeezing an itty bitty little diamond out one end. "Hey, check this out. Found it along a highway. Twelve karat!" 

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's worth about twelve grand! Dig? I collect shit like this all day long. See, me an' Roddie got this little side business goin'. We gonna open a recording studio and pimp my new album!" He pantomimed scratching turn tables. "Fuck yeah!"

By his feet, I spotted a little black bag with orange capped hypodermic needles poking out...and the red painted muzzle of what appeared to be a handgun (real or fake, I wasn't sure).

I stared uncomfortably at Brian. I think we were asking ourselves the same question: Is this what we're going to end up like if we stayed there?

"Please tell me we're in the wrong place," Brian hissed.

I glanced back and found the goose had vanished.