The Little Weirdo

“The Lil Weirdo”

By Sheb Schebella

Moonlight on a frozen lake, peering into a hole in the ice waiting for a fish to bight, bobbing my bait hoping it will take. The temperature is only 8 degrees, if my dog farts it will hit the ground and shatter, trust me you wont smell it till spring. A shooting star passes by, just by luck I saw it with my good eye. My dog sits patiently but knows not why, in truth sometimes nor do I. Of all the places I could be its right here on the massive chunk of ice perched upon a 5 gallon bucket I choose to be, tis here I find an ounce of serenity. I pour myself a glass of Gnarly Head wine an old vine zin from Lodi California; How it found me here in Wisconsin, easy it was given to me by a friend because he said I always have ratty ass curly hair. Well perhaps I should invest in a brush, but I don’t want to look to handsome, I enjoy not being noticed, but remembered is a different thing, well at least for the right reasons. Some say I am oddly eccentric, but never boring. We all have eccentricities it makes us whom we are and some may think I am a Lil weirdo for sitting on a frozen lake gazing up at stars, but I do get my best thoughts in such a still empty place. Empty places I do enjoy there is so much room to fill with my mental toys. What my dog does not know that it is places such as this filled with such emptiness that opens a window showing me all the beautiful faces of the people I love best. And from my lips flows a silver tongue, creating stories aloud and telling my dog of the things I have done; whether good or bad, happy or sad its like a confession booth in the middle of the North fucking Pole and my dog is the priest and trust me for a warm biscuit from the inside of my left mitten he is very forgiving. A Lil Weirdo I may be sitting on the ice twisted in a dream, fairytales dancing in my head, frozen tears upon my cheeks happiness thus I seek. Upon a small Coleman cooker I shake Jiffy-Pop by my feet, my dog smells the butter melt and the corn begins to heat, soon we will be eating like kings and gulping more Gnarly Head wine. I stand and toast the Gods that listen while tossing popcorn into the air and the Gods shine down upon me; my reality is my own as my priest turns into a Hoover ice rolling popcorn eating machine. I break into a dance well more of a snow show shuffle, I hear the ice crystals jingle in my curly hair, like chimes they play. Everything goes to slow motion as I twirl; I lose my footing and collapse onto the ice, I sit up my dog lays his head into my lap, I pet him gently, he licks my nose, he is a Lil weirdo to and there’s always room for more. I notice I am smiling, tis my heart that keeps me warm. In the end the clouds begin to roll in quickly, the wine almost polished off, the popcorn long gone, and just two Lil Weirdoes sitting out on a frozen lake waiting on a storm.