{"id":18482,"date":"2018-09-01T01:10:26","date_gmt":"2018-09-01T06:10:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=19057"},"modified":"2018-09-01T00:48:27","modified_gmt":"2018-09-01T05:48:27","slug":"short-story-poke","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2018\/09\/01\/short-story-poke\/","title":{"rendered":"Short Story: Poke"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt was a sunny day.<\/b><\/span><\/span> I turned the left rear corner of a white wooden garage and pushed between bushes on my right and the garage wall. Reaching the front corner, I saw a small backyard lawn and the rear of an arrow-flight house. Immediately in front of me were two wooden lawn chairs, as white as the garage, with vertical and oblique slats in a fan-pattern for backs. A little boy, not yet four years old, was playing in a dirt pile with two yellow metal trucks; one a toy steam shovel, the other a dump truck. He looked up as I came around the lawn chair onto the grass. He had a light olive complexion and thick brown curly hair. He was dressed in green overalls. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe smiled at me and said his name was Buster. I said I was Poke. I knew that wasn\u2019t my name, but I had just poked my way through the bushes and said the first thing that came into my head. As I gave my name, I looked at myself. I was three or four years older than the boy, and had sandy hair. \u201cWant to play?\u201d he asked, and I nodded and played in the dirt with him for an hour or so. We didn\u2019t talk. He filled the dump truck with dirt and I drove it away, just a few feet to the other side of the little pit at the right rear corner of his grandfather\u2019s house.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is an arrow-flight house? They are quite common in Queens. They are long and tall, with a basement, ground and upstairs floors, and an attic. But they are very narrow, hence the name arrow-flight.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAfter an hour or so someone from inside the house called Buster. I waved good-bye and went back around the lawn chair and pushed through the bushes to the rear corner of the garage. After I turned the corner, I took three more steps and woke up.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The therapist stopped the recorder. \u201cWas this a recurring dream?\u201d he asked. \u201cI don\u2019t mean recurring exactly. I mean, have you had similar dreams?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The patient, a lean man of about forty, partly unshaven with an ear-ring in his left ear, nodded. \u201cThat was the first dream. There have been others. They are entirely consistent. I seem to visit the little boy every few days. We never say anything except hi and bye. We just play together.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen something new happened. Better switch on the recorder again. This was the third or fourth dream. \u201c<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Dr. Anders turned the recorder on again and spoke into it: \u201cThird or fourth dream.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe boy was there as usual, but there was a woman with him, a stout older woman, hanging up the wash on a clothesline. He handed her the clothes-pins as she hung the clothes. She showed him how some of the pins were the old stiff wooden kind, while others were the new spring-action variety. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBuster looked around and saw me. She looked too, and she looked right through me. She didn\u2019t see me. She went on hanging up the clothes, and he kept helping her. When she was finished, she hugged him and went inside with the laundry basket and the smaller basket holding the clothes-pins. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen he said hi and we played together as usual. He asked me where I lived, and I pointed back along the side of the garage. \u2018I live back there,\u2019 I said. After a while we said bye and I went back as before.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A week went by before the patient was back with some more dreams.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLast night\u2019s dream, no one was in the yard, so I pushed past the ladder that had been set up as a barrier in the driveway, and was just in time to see him come out the front door with a very tall man. Buster was dressed in finer clothes now and wore a sort of French beret. The very tall man held his hand and they headed to the right, up the street a block and a half to Hillside Avenue. They disappeared to the right around the corner. The boy seemed uncomfortable with the beret and kept plucking at it, but the man wouldn\u2019t let him take it off.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/a> \u201cAs they headed up 204<\/span><\/span>th<\/span><\/span><\/sup> Street, a young, vivacious woman came out and watched them walk away. She was smirking. No one saw me, as usual.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI stayed in the path between the bushes and garage and waited for them to return. For some reason I felt shy about staying in the backyard, even though I knew I was invisible. Time passed slowly, with nothing much happening, and I remember thinking at the time this was unusual for a dream. Then suddenly I knew this was a dream, and from then on I knew I was dreaming.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAfter some time had passed, Buster and the very tall man, whom I suddenly knew was his father, returned and went into the house. A little later, the boy emerged in his play clothes. He looked around for me and I emerged from the bushes.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you call him \u2018Buster\u2019 sometimes, and sometimes just \u2018the boy?\u2019\u201d interrupted the therapist. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBecause sometimes he seems more impersonal to me, and at other times I think of his name, obviously his nickname. No one is named Buster.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPlease continue.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen we were done playing as usual, Buster pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was the beret. He asked me to take it.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Aunt Dothy says I look like a girl in it,\u2019 he said with an angry catch at his throat. I said nothing but took it and we said bye. I pushed past the bushes and went around the rear corner of the garage. Then I noticed the beret had disappeared. After two or three more steps I woke up. That was the latest dream.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Dr. Anders stopped the recorder. \u201cWhat do you think these dreams mean? I mean, what do they tell you here and now?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d said his patient, \u201cI can tell you one thing they mean to me. It came to me as I took the beret and went back into the bushes. It was as though I had just woken up, but the dream was still there. I recognized the boy. He was me. I remembered my early childhood nickname of Buster.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow I remember the beret. I remember my father questioning me about where it was. But this is a different sort of memory, it\u2019s fresh. You know how old memories fade and get dusty from much use? I remember how upset my father was with me, but it seems to have happened just last week.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho is Aunt Dothy? I suppose her name was Dorothy?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, that was her name. She was married to my mother\u2019s brother. We were all crowded into my grandparents\u2019 home, right after the war. She teased me about the beret. But that is not all.\u201d The patient squirmed and looked embarrassed.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it? Tell me.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t remember it very clearly. But I think I was playing with myself, and she caught me at it. She said she would tell my father. That\u2019s all I remember about that.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen you took the beret, this was a new action, wasn\u2019t it? You say now you know you are dreaming in these dreams, so this was a conscious action on your part, interfering with the normal course of the dream. Is that your impression?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt must be. It seems so fresh, so much more real than the rest of the dream. And as soon as I took the beret, the dream became much more vivid. I was afraid I would wake up at that point and I really, really wanted to take away the beret. So I said bye fast and went back into the bushes. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Dr. Anders took up his appointment book. \u201cI\u2019d like to see you the same time next week,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I\u2019d like you to take special notice of these moments when you seem to be interfering with the dreams.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019ll be easy,\u201d said his patient. \u201cAnd the funny thing is, now that I have interfered, I seem to know what is coming next.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, don\u2019t tell me,\u201d said Dr. Anders. \u201cSave it for next Friday.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The patient left. Dr. Anders wrote in his notes \u201cPatient seems to be gradually getting into touch with his childhood abuse.\u201d Then he put out the lights and sat for some time thinking in the dark.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

On an impulse, he phoned his patient the morning of the appointment and reminded him to come in. The patient seemed surprised to hear from him, but showed up on time.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He looked like a different person. His movements and gestures before had been somewhat over-refined, almost effeminate. This had changed. The ear-ring was gone also, and the therapist noted with surprise that there was no mark where it had been. He also seemed stockier, more solid. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHave you been working out?\u201d he asked his patient.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo more than usual. I play basketball with some friends on the weekends.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Dr. Anders reached for the recorder on his desk. \u201cAny more dreams?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust one. They seem to have stopped.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The therapist turned on the recorder. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI came out from the bushes. Buster wasn\u2019t there, just like last week. I edged past the ladder in the driveway and waited by the left front corner of the arrow-flight house. Moments later, he came out the front door with his \u2013 my \u2013 father. I noticed with some satisfaction that he wasn\u2019t wearing the beret. Apparently it hadn\u2019t been found.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey walked hand in hand up the street again, towards Hillside Avenue. I knew they were going to a little caf\u00e9 to get a coke for Buster from \u2018the large-a coke man,\u2019 a vendor with an Italian accent. I was right behind them as they turned the corner. Buster saw me, and the tall man stopped.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI knew what was coming so well I could have written the lines myself. \u2018I understand you\u2019ve been playing with yourself down there,\u2019 the tall man said. \u2019Better stop, or you\u2019ll turn into a girl.\u2019 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018That can\u2019t happen,\u2019 I blurted out, just as the boy was starting to feel excited. At my words his excitement turned into anger. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Poke says that can\u2019t happen,\u2019 he said to the tall man. The man was taken aback. \u2019Who the hell, uh, heck is Poke?\u2019 he asked.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Poke is my friend. He plays with me. He comes out of the bushes.\u2019<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Out of the bushes?\u2019 the man laughed. They went up to the little caf\u00e9 and I guess bought a large-a coke.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen they came back, I waved to Buster before going back into the bushes. I knew it was the last dream, and told him I had to go away now, but I would always be his friend. He looked sad but waved and we said bye. I went around the rear corner of the garage. The beret was there. I picked it up and took two more steps, then woke up.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAny fresh memories?\u201d Dr. Anders asked. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s hard to say. I have a few old ones. I remember my mother talking to me and asking me about my imaginary playmate. She asked his name, and I told her it was Poke. She said, \u2018You know, Bus, Poke isn\u2019t real. It\u2019s just your imagination, like when you dream at night. You have lots of real friends now. You don\u2019t have to play with Poke anymore.\u2019<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI said Poke went away, and she seemed relieved. That is an old memory, one I had before the dreams started. But almost everything else has changed. My other memories are nearly all fresh now. My father stopped taking me to the large-a coke man. I didn\u2019t see him so much after that. My uncle and Aunt \u2018Dothy\u2019 moved out to Cambria Heights with my cousins. My grandfather died, an old memory. My father and mother built a little Cape Cod bungalow out in Nassau County. A few years later they divorced, and we moved back to the city. I went to a rough school and got sort of rough myself. And here I am.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd here you are,\u201d said Dr. Anders, but without believing it, because this was not quite the same man who had been coming for therapy for the past two or three months. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think I feel all right now. I think the dreams are over and done with,\u201d said his patient. \u201cThanks for being here for me, Doc.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The patient left. Dr. Anders looked at the closed door. Then he looked down at the patient\u2019s chair. In it was a child\u2019s beret.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt was a sunny day. I turned the left rear corner of a white wooden garage and pushed between bushes on my right and the garage wall. Reaching the front corner, I saw a small backyard lawn and the rear of an arrow-flight house. Immediately in front of me were two wooden lawn chairs, as white as the garage, with vertical and oblique slats in a fan-pattern for backs. A little boy, not yet four years old, was playing in a dirt pile with two yellow metal trucks; one a toy steam shovel, the other a dump truck. He looked up as I came around the lawn chair onto the grass. He had a light olive complexion and thick brown curly hair. He was dressed in green overalls. \u201cHe smiled at me and said his name was Buster. I said I was Poke. I knew that wasn\u2019t my name, but I had just poked my way through the bushes and said the first thing that came into my head. As I gave my name, I looked at myself. I was three or four years older than the boy, and had sandy hair. \u201cWant to play?\u201d he asked, and I nodded and played in the dirt with him for an hour or so. We didn\u2019t talk. He filled the dump truck with dirt and I drove it away, just a few feet to the other side of the little pit at the right rear corner of his grandfather\u2019s house. \u201cWhat is an arrow-flight house? They are quite common in Queens. They are long and tall, with a basement, ground and upstairs floors, and an attic. But they are very narrow, hence the name arrow-flight. \u201cAfter an hour or so someone from inside the house called Buster. I waved good-bye and went back around the lawn chair and pushed through the bushes to the rear corner of the garage. After I turned the corner, I took three more steps and woke up. The therapist stopped the recorder. \u201cWas this a recurring dream?\u201d he asked. \u201cI don\u2019t mean recurring exactly. I mean, have you had similar dreams?\u201d The patient, a lean man of about forty, partly unshaven with an ear-ring in his left ear, nodded. \u201cThat was the first dream. There have been others. They are entirely consistent. I seem to visit the little boy every few days. We never say anything except hi and bye. We just play together.\u201d \u201cThen something new happened. Better switch on the recorder again. This was the third or fourth dream. \u201c Dr. Anders turned the recorder on again and spoke into it: \u201cThird or fourth dream.\u201d \u201cThe boy was there as usual, but there was a woman with him, a stout older woman, hanging up the wash on a clothesline. He handed her the clothes-pins as she hung the clothes. She showed him how some of the pins were the old stiff wooden kind, while others were the new spring-action variety. \u201cBuster looked around and saw me. She looked too, and she looked right through me. She didn\u2019t see me. She went on hanging up the clothes, and he kept helping her. When she was finished, she hugged him and went inside with the laundry basket and the smaller basket holding the clothes-pins. \u201cThen he said hi and we played together as usual. He asked me where I lived, and I pointed back along the side of the garage. \u2018I live back there,\u2019 I said. After a while we said bye and I went back as before.\u201d A week went by before the patient was back with some more dreams. \u201cLast night\u2019s dream, no one was in the yard, so I pushed past the ladder that had been set up as a barrier in the driveway, and was just in time to see him come out the front door with a very tall man. Buster was dressed in finer clothes now and wore a sort of French beret. The very tall man held his hand and they headed to the right, up the street a block and a half to Hillside Avenue. They disappeared to the right around the corner. The boy seemed uncomfortable with the beret and kept plucking at it, but the man wouldn\u2019t let him take it off. \u201cAs they headed up 204th Street, a young, vivacious woman came out and watched them walk away. She was smirking. No one saw me, as usual. \u201cI stayed in the path between the bushes and garage and waited for them to return. For some reason I felt shy about staying in the backyard, even though I knew I was invisible. Time passed slowly, with nothing much happening, and I remember thinking at the time this was unusual for a dream. Then suddenly I knew this was a dream, and from then on I knew I was dreaming. \u201cAfter some time had passed, Buster and the very tall man, whom I suddenly knew was his father, returned and went into the house. A little later, the boy emerged in his play clothes. He looked around for me and I emerged from the bushes.\u201d \u201cWhy do you call him \u2018Buster\u2019 sometimes, and sometimes just \u2018the boy?\u2019\u201d interrupted the therapist. \u201cBecause sometimes he seems more impersonal to me, and at other times I think of his name, obviously his nickname. No one is named Buster.\u201d \u201cPlease continue.\u201d \u201cWhen we were done playing as usual, Buster pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was the beret. He asked me to take it. \u201c\u2019Aunt Dothy says I look like a girl in it,\u2019 he said with an angry catch at his throat. I said nothing but took it and we said bye. I pushed past the bushes and went around the rear corner of the garage. Then I noticed the beret had disappeared. After two or three more steps I woke up. That was the latest dream.\u201d Dr. Anders stopped the recorder. \u201cWhat do you think these dreams mean? I mean, what do they tell you here and now?\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d said his patient, \u201cI can tell you one thing they mean to me. It came to me as I took the beret and went back into the bushes. It was as though I had just woken up, but the dream was still there. I recognized the boy. He was me. I remembered my early childhood nickname of Buster. \u201cNow I remember the beret. I remember my father questioning me about where it was. But this is a different sort of memory, it\u2019s fresh. You know how old memories fade and get dusty from much use? I remember how upset my father was with me, but it seems to have happened just last week.\u201d \u201cWho is Aunt Dothy? I suppose her name was Dorothy?\u201d \u201cYes, that was her name. She was married to my mother\u2019s brother. We were all crowded into my grandparents\u2019 home, right after the war. She teased me about the beret. But that is not all.\u201d The patient squirmed and looked embarrassed. \u201cWhat is it? Tell me.\u201d \u201cI can\u2019t remember it very clearly. But I think I was playing with myself, and she caught me at it. She said she would tell my father. That\u2019s all I remember about that.\u201d \u201cWhen you took the beret, this was a new action, wasn\u2019t it? You say now you know you are dreaming in these dreams, so this was a conscious action on your part, interfering with the normal course of the dream. Is that your impression?\u201d \u201cIt must be. It seems so fresh, so much more real than the rest of the dream. And as soon as I took the beret, the dream became much more vivid. I was afraid I would wake up at that point and I really, really wanted to take away the beret. So I said bye fast and went back into the bushes. Dr. Anders took up his appointment book. \u201cI\u2019d like to see you the same time next week,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I\u2019d like you to take special notice of these moments when you seem to be interfering with the dreams.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019ll be easy,\u201d said his patient. \u201cAnd the funny thing is, now that I have interfered, I seem to know what is coming next.\u201d \u201cWell, don\u2019t tell me,\u201d said Dr. Anders. \u201cSave it for next Friday.\u201d The patient left. Dr. Anders wrote in his notes \u201cPatient seems to be gradually getting into touch with his childhood abuse.\u201d Then he put out the lights and sat for some time thinking in the dark. On an impulse, he phoned his patient the morning of the appointment and reminded him to come in. The patient seemed surprised to hear from him, but showed up on time. He looked like a different person. His movements and gestures before had been somewhat over-refined, almost effeminate. This had changed. The ear-ring was gone also, and the therapist noted with surprise that there was no mark where it had been. He also seemed stockier, more solid. \u201cHave you been working out?\u201d he asked his patient. \u201cNo more than usual. I play basketball with some friends on the weekends.\u201d Dr. Anders reached for the recorder on his desk. \u201cAny more dreams?\u201d \u201cJust one. They seem to have stopped.\u201d The therapist turned on the recorder. \u201cI came out from the bushes. Buster wasn\u2019t there, just like last week. I edged past the ladder in the driveway and waited by the left front corner of the arrow-flight house. Moments later, he came out the front door with his \u2013 my \u2013 father. I noticed with some satisfaction that he wasn\u2019t wearing the beret. Apparently it hadn\u2019t been found.\u201d \u201cThey walked hand in hand up the street again, towards Hillside Avenue. I knew they were going to a little caf\u00e9 to get a coke for Buster from \u2018the large-a coke man,\u2019 a vendor with an Italian accent. I was right behind them as they turned the corner. Buster saw me, and the tall man stopped. \u201cI knew what was coming so well I could have written the lines myself. \u2018I understand you\u2019ve been playing with yourself down there,\u2019 the tall man said. \u2019Better stop, or you\u2019ll turn into a girl.\u2019 \u201c\u2018That can\u2019t happen,\u2019 I blurted out, just as the boy was starting to feel excited. At my words his excitement turned into anger. \u201c\u2019Poke says that can\u2019t happen,\u2019 he said to the tall man. The man was taken aback. \u2019Who the hell, uh, heck is Poke?\u2019 he asked. \u201c\u2019Poke is my friend. He plays with me. He comes out of the bushes.\u2019 \u201c\u2019Out of the bushes?\u2019 the man laughed. They went up to the little caf\u00e9 and I guess bought a large-a coke. \u201cWhen they came back, I waved to Buster before going back into the bushes. I knew it was the last dream, and told him I had to go away now, but I would always be his friend. He looked sad but waved and we said bye. I went around the rear corner of the garage. The beret was there. I picked it up and took two more steps, then woke up. \u201cAny fresh memories?\u201d Dr. Anders asked. \u201cIt\u2019s hard to say. I have a few old ones. I remember my mother talking to me and asking me about my imaginary playmate. She asked his name, and I told her it was Poke. She said, \u2018You know, Bus, Poke isn\u2019t real. It\u2019s just your imagination, like when you dream at night. You have lots of real friends now. You don\u2019t have to play with Poke anymore.\u2019 \u201cI said Poke went away, and she seemed relieved. That is an old memory, one I had before the dreams started. But almost everything else has changed. My other memories are nearly all fresh now. My father stopped taking me to the large-a coke man. I didn\u2019t see him so much after that. My uncle and Aunt \u2018Dothy\u2019 moved out to…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":105,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18482","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18482","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/105"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18482"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18482\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18482"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18482"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18482"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}