The Buzz Of Destiny (1)

            Some prepare to answer the buzz of destiny throughout their entire lives. Some hear it unprepared, yet still answer the call. Some think they hear the buzz of destiny, but it’s later diagnosed as tinnitus. Some hear the buzz of destiny and mistake it for 70’s electronic rock. Or, with some bands, vise-versa.

            I heard the buzz of destiny one lazy Saturday morning, just after I’d watched the top of the news, then turned it off after the show switched quickly to ‘human interest’. I intended to mow the lawn. I intended to mow the lawn later that morning.

            I am trusted with that task. I have been mowing the lawn on the property where I live for the past eighteen years. I don’t have to be told when to do it. I am trusted to determine when the lawn needs mowing, and mow it. So, you can imagine what a shock it was when someone said- “Mow the lawn.”

            I answered before I realized that the voice was disembodied.

            “I’m going to mow the lawn.”

            I couldn’t say exactly where the voice was coming from. I had just shut off the television, and was pondering one of the many 8x10 glossy, framed photographs of particularly beautiful actors that I have about the room. This one was on a little shelf above the TV.

            “Why would you care why I mow the lawn or not. And, why are you talking through a photograph?”

            “What photograph?” the buzz asked.

            “The one I’m looking at.”

            “Oh! You thought I was Lauren Graham? That’s funny. I’m the flea in your right ear.”

            “Well, you didn’t announce yourself! What. Was I supposed to know who you were right away? And! Get out of my ear!”

            “Not until you mow the lawn.”

            “Okay,” I said. “You’ve convinced me. I’m going to mow the lawn. Thank you for reminding me to do something that I was already going to do. You can get out of my ear now.”

            “That’s not how a flea in your ear works. I have to stay until the task is done. You know Yuri Gagarin?”

            …

            “Yes, I know about Yuri Gagarin,” I told the flea.

            “That was me,” the flea said. “I got into his ear, and said: ‘Go into orbit.’ Later, he did. Just if you doubt my resolve.”

            “Well,” I told the flea, now pushing my lips toward my left ear like I was making an aside before a house of five-hundred, “my task is simple, compared to that.”

            The flea stayed quiet.

            “So…” I continued, “…I’d better get to that lawn.”

            “That’s the spirit!” the flea cried, treble, like the speaker on an eighties-model Casio Deluxe.

           I dressed in my grungies, closed up the apartment, and went to the shed in the small backyard to retrieve the mower. Then, I told the flea, quietly,

            “You can get out of my ear, now.”

            “When the task is done. Like I said,” Flea said. “You have a nice ear. I can wait a very long time. Have you ever found a flea in the foyer in midwinter? I’m sure you have. That’s another example of how long we can hold out.”

            I considered that as I unlocked the shed door and rolled out the mower. (An electric one that I call ‘Mellow Yellow’.)

            “As a matter of fact, I found a flea in the foyer! This February!”

            “That’s Harvey. He somehow thinks he has to be invited in, and waits there. Harvey’s especially polite.”

            I started the mower with the push of a button and began to mow the small backyard. The mower ran quiet and true, heading north. As I guided it on a perfectly straight course, it cut and mulched the grass well. The mown grass beneath my feet gave off chlorophyll, which stung my nose pleasantly. Hemingway would have been proud, except for the bit about having a flea in my ear. With that, Papa would have been disappointed.

            I turned and started mowing one of the two large patches on the lawn proper. The day was bright, and I took off my cap and wiped my brow with the sleeve of my Big Lebowski T-shirt. Turkey vultures began to circle overhead as I mowed line by line, sweating. But, the turkey vultures were just being turkey vultures and were circling just because.

           Ok, if you’re gonna pry it out of me, I just didn’t think this piece rated eagles, or even hawks.

           I quickly finished one section of the two-section front yard, and found myself bored. The lawn is along a busy street, but the mower was running whisper quiet. I asked the flea in my ear if he could tell me any more about his time with Yuri Gagarin.

            “Did Yuri like you being in his ear all that time?”

            “Actually,” Flea said, “he did like me there. He appreciated the motivation. He said that it was part of his ‘conditioning’. Of course, he didn’t tell a soul about me.”

            “Of course. Then, you went with him through the, whatever… preparation, and left him in the rocket?”

            “Yes, but after the flight.”

            “You went up?”

            “Of course I did. I stayed until the task is finished. I’m the first flea to go into orbit. Perhaps the only.”

            In his quiet, but assertive buzzy voice, Flea told me more things that I probably would have to be debriefed for. If anyone else knew about the conversation.

            I got to a shady part in front of the house, and mowed it appreciatively. Of course there were sparrows in bushes nearby. The extras of the bird world. You can hire them by the dozen, and they don’t ask for much in payment, as long as you don’t look directly at them. So, as I mowed, I could see dozens (2) of sparrows on the grass and in the bushes about, from the corner of my eye. I was all, like, ‘Go Sparrows!’ I mean, I think this is a nice piece despite not having many large birds in it. Raptors would have cost more, and would have brought a particular tone that I don’t think would have worked.

            I asked Flea if Yuri ever thanked him.

            “Well,” Flea told me, “in his way. But, he didn’t have time to say it outright. I fell out with the first bounce of the bounce-down. That one’s a doozy.”

            “Onto the steppe?”

            “No. Into his helmet. Then, it was on to Moscow.”

            Sadly, at that point, a car drove loudly past. With music blaring and power-steering belt screeching. I wanted to tell the person driving: “Oh! I love you and your loud music with its Doppler Effect. I either want you or want to be like you, or both!”

            Of course, I’m kidding. I couldn’t hear Flea! I mean, he was a bastard from hell, but as bastards from hell go, he was quite fascinating.

            And, did I mention that there were birds? There was also a robin about, hopping around in the spots which had been mowed, finding worms and snatching them up. But, you see, that particular robin isn’t officially in this piece. When I asked him for clearance, he only made scoldy noises and hop-fluttered off. Which is robin for: ‘I sign nothing’. So, forget I mentioned him.

            Flea was told me that after that historic flight, he got a wild hair, and thought he should promote cultural exchange. But, it didn’t work out. Instead, he spent his time hopping around Red Square, circa ’61, asking everyone where the Kremlin was, in his American accent. He admitted that he was young, then. The day was hot and bright with vultures circling overhead, signifying nothing.  Flea ran out of story.

            So, as I continued my tedious task, Flea, in my ear, began to sing.

            I’m riding in an ear again.

            When I switch, I don’t know when.

            Clinging to the velvet, breathing the wax.

            In your ear, administrating, that’s what I do.

            (It was quite good, and somehow jibed with the rhythm of my step as I mowed.)

            In an ear again.

            Make sure things get done, and then,

            leap upon the ground, there must be another ear around.

            If they have an ear, I motivate. That’s what I do.