Alan Michael Parker
Report from the Committee on Town Happiness
We have been thinking about the pond in Maxwin’s Park. The park is re-closed, the fencing stalwart—and so, thinking about the pond requires thinking. And fidelity to our memories, which have no minutes to be re-read. To our faith in one another we must be faithful.
A pond may well have an identifiable source, spring-fed underground. But an underground spring might just as easily not be there. We have voted, 6-1, to recognize such a possibility. Who among us would go check? We looked around, surveyed each other for some hope—until V. Gurozcki laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. Even nervous laughter wasn’t really needed, especially when no one had volunteered. We voted by silent acclamation to table the request that someone check the pond.
A pond is recreational and decorative, habitat and tourist site. A pond is visible and primarily unseen. From the air, what does a pond resemble? If only we could ask the balloonist, N. Femiz. He used to wear those perfectly round glasses. We voted to award the pond a 3, contingent upon our investigation of what we couldn’t see. Were we sharing? Nodding in agreement isn’t “sharing,” really, nor is it “being on the same page.” For this reason, we voted to re-vote, to vote by raising hands instead of secret ballot. The vote to re-vote was defeated, 5-2.
We adjourned to donuts, refreshed by tiny paper cups of cider. The cups felt oddly waxen, or wax-coated. “Waxy” paper cups. Any pond that receives a 3 is a good pond—one that some day might be re-accessed, maybe, we agreed to say. Once more, we gathered to throw open the oaken doors of the Committee room, as ever, like opening our hearts. That’s what we would say, a 3 is better than a 2.
Our New Suspicions
We deliberated hours, the room sealed and vaguely smelling of the previous evening’s card game, a 7 of Clubs turned up between the cushions, a bowling alley worth of empties, a calendar drooping beneath a picture of a tractor, a ladies small windbreaker balled as though in rage. Everyone always knew who played. We weren’t having a session, it wasn’t quite a meeting, we hadn’t convened formally, we weren’t even there. That’s what we decided when we voted, 5-3, to destroy the minutes upon adjourning. “Do the minutes say destroy the minutes?” F. Czerniewicz was always such a funny man.
There had been glimpses, traffic signals poorly timed, a preponderance of radio-controlled devices on the pond, a flouting of the leash law near the treatment plant, the possibility that the man in the mackintosh from Local 112 was selling household wares once more from his trunk. Although that last bit might have been just a neighbor’s spite, resentful of “persecution.” Which is exactly why we had passed the Accidental Physical Contact by-law, for cases such as this. Sympathy, after all, is what one expects only from blood relations; it’s not a public good.
We voted, 7-1, to stink up our clothes with rum, so as to facilitate our alibis. Only the teetotaler, V. Raku, opposed. Although “alibis” might have been too strong a term; “explanations” would suffice.
We voted, 6-2, to take down the banners. We voted, 5-3, to replace the banners with laminated cards to be tucked in shoppers’ bags.
We voted inconclusively, 4-4, to extend the unwritten contracts of the teens we had long ago deputized. The videotapes were proving time-consuming to transcribe. “A tie means no,” said the Interim Secretary, L. Vanis, inscrutably. There were cigarette ashes in his coffee.
Cigarette ashes? We were in a room clearly marked No Smoking. There were no windows. There were cigarette ashes in his coffee. How was that possible?
One Step More
Guess the number of jelly beans and win a scooter. Buy a horse for a day, and the nag shall wear your company’s colors, running in the eighth at The Downs. Raffle tickets cost $100: only 100 will be sold, the winner taking home a mobile home donated by G. Garriston. Throw your check into the bowl; one lucky donor will be Master of the Mart on Spring Ding Fling. Hit the clown’s nose, win an extra round; donate the value to the shelter. Pay to play, give to own, secure a neighbor’s loan, eat out where the homeless work.
To be on the Committee, the Sub-Committee has determined, requires in-kind fund-raising of $1000 or its equivalent. To underwrite commitment, to be one with success. Happiness is meant to be seen, which we feel, when we are seen giving. Thank you all, our mothers would be proud.
For every meal, put one aside. For every breakfast, save a lunch. We, the Committee on Town Happiness, have endorsed the work of the One Step More Foundation (OSMF). Buy five tires for every four, thirteen eggs, an extra cream for every coffee; pay one more year upon a mortgage, purchase two of the same hats. Think of all the exercise: walk past your house an extra house, turn, and come back home. No one will bother you, if you wear your big orange button, One Step More.