2008-05-09 - 2:43 p.m.
The package arrived in the mail. The packing slip told me that it had been sent by Jane Fonda which, at first, I assumed only to be a funny coincidence. But there was a little ziplock bag inside the package with a Chupa Chup in it that had a tiny handwritten note saying "Thanks For Your Business" attached to it with a thin pink ribbon, and that struck me as something that the real Jane Fonda might do, and that it was entirely possible that the package had, indeed, been sent by her.
The actual contents of the package - the contents that I'd been expecting - looked a lot like kitty litter. I remembered when the author of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius described his mother's cremated remains as looking like kitty litter and wondered if that was what I was looking at.
I still hadn't been particularly successful in making friends here (I blame Hachinohe, and not myself) and had decidedly that the time had come to get drastically proactive on the situation.
The instructions advised waiting to use the contents of my package during a full moon and, ideally, at high tide during a full moon. I wondered if magnets might have an influence too and decided that I would try some with my experiment.
At high tide during the next full moon I went to Chaucer's mausoleum which is, conveniently for me and surprising to many, located in Sendai. I arranged magnets that I'd taken from speakers abandoned at the old driving school course in Hachinohe around the mausoleum, sprinkled the kitty litter stuff around, and sprinkled the urine of ambidextrous, virgin twins (also supplied by Jane Fonda) over that.
I was also wearing my Sai Baba charm bracelet (which, I would like to mention, I'd found in a thrift store for two dollars). You know, just for good measure.
And then there was nothing to do but wait.
I decided to brush up my Middle English as I was waiting. It was upsetting to realize how much I'd forgotten, and that I probably should have taken the time to refresh my Middle English skills before starting this experiment.
Still waiting.
I wondered, for the first time, if Chaucer might be upset with me for doing this. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that that would be the case. For someone like Chaucer, living once was probably already plenty more than enough.
Now I could hear coughing coming from inside the mausoleum. They were good, robust coughs with plenty of force behind them. I should have been happy about this, because it was clear that my experiment had been a success, but I wasn't happy at all. Now I was more worried than ever.
I was bringing Chaucer back from the dead out of selfishness and boredom, and I had no right to be doing this.
The coughing stopped and was followed up with a long, exaggerated yawn. Chaucer was, appearently, getting up.
And, at this point, I made a choice that I have thought long and hard about since. It was, I think, wrong to do, but I know that if I still had the choice, I would do the same all over again.
I ran.
