Duck, Duck, Goose
by James V. Emanuel
The slouched figure saunters slowly down the street, pushing a
banged-up shopping cart before him. He wears tattered
clothing and carries with him a bit of stench from each of
the garbage cans he's rummaged through. Leonard is his name.
He's 35 years old. He looks 65.
Every day he scours the same route, searching for tidbits and
treasures. And every few minutes he's inspired to proclaim,
"I hate milk!" He shouts it out as loud as he can in a
gravelly voice, cracking with emotion. "I hate it!" He looks
around suspiciously. "Don't gimme no milk!" he concludes.
He steps off the curb without watching for traffic. The cars
always stop. On the other side of the street, he spots an
empty bottle he can return to the store for the two cent
deposit. As he places the bottle in the cart, it slips and
shatters on the sidewalk. "Shit!" he shouts. He turns to see
if anyone's around. A group of school boys are walking his
way. "Shit!" he repeats.
"Hey Leonard," calls one of the boys, snickering. "You're the
shit."
Leonard's nostrils flare in anger. "I hate milk!" he reminds
the boys. They laugh and run past him. From a safe distance,
another one of the group turns and throws a stone at him. It
misses, landing harmlessly on a nearby lawn.
Muttering, Leonard continues on his usual route through the
park. The pleasant spring day has brought plenty of people
out. He follows the path a ways, gradually calming himself
from the encounter with the boys.
In a large clearing, a group of children sit in a circle. One
of them skips around the circle, tapping each of her
playmates on the head in turn. She calls out "Duck" with each
tap.
Leonard stops and watches.
"Duck...duck...duck..." shouts the little girl. Leonard
tries to guess which child will be the goose. He decides
it'll be the next one.
"Duck..." says the girl.
Under his breath, Leonard grumbles, "Shit."
He keeps guessing. He keeps being wrong. The little girl goes
almost all the way around the circle, when finally, as she
taps a boy with light, wavy hair, she shouts, "Goose!"
Both children squeal in delight. The boy leaps to his feet.
He starts chasing the girl around the circle, but doesn't
catch her before she's able to take his place. Now it's the
boy's turn to go around tapping the others till he picks the
next goose.
Leonard continues to watch.
Once upon a time, little Lenny had played in a circle like
that. Miss McGinty had told the others to let him join in.
Margie Loudermilk was "it." She was so pretty with her long
dark curls. Little Lenny wanted her to pick him as the goose.
He wanted to make her notice him.
"You're a retard, Margie," he'd called to her, giggling.
Margie had stopped and stared at him. She looked like she was
going to cry. "You're the retard, Lenny!" she had shouted
before running off to Miss McGinty.
Leonard sighs and blinks away the memory.
Off to the side, not far from the game, pretty ladies sit on
benches and watch their children play. Leonard likes pretty
ladies. He ambles toward them.
One of the ladies has long dark curls. She holds an infant
that suckles at the nipple of a baby bottle. Leonard wants
the lady to notice him. He clears his throat and speaks in a
low, steady voice.
"I hate milk," he says evenly, pointing to the bottle. He
tries not to smile so she won't see his missing teeth.
The lady looks up, sees him, then looks away again. She
huddles the infant closer to her body.
Leonard tries again.
Pointing to the children, he says, "Duck, duck, goose!" This
time, he can't help smiling. "It's fun," he says. "Duck,
duck, goose!"
The lady turns to him again. She starts to say something, but
instead she stands and moves to a bench farther away. He
watches her. She's so pretty.
Leonard has pictures of pretty ladies in their underwear at
home. He finds the pictures in catalogs and magazine ads. He
wonders what the lady in the park looks like in her
underwear. As he imagines it, he begins to breathe heavily.
There's a sudden rush of feelings inside him. Little
pinpricks seem to tingle all over his body. He feels
lightheaded.
He returns to his cart and heads quickly for home.
Mama's still at work when he gets there. He leaves his cart
in the front yard and rushes upstairs to his room. Crouching
to reach under his bed, he retrieves a shoebox.
He sits on the edge of the bed and rummages through the box.
It's full of his pictures of pretty ladies in their
underwear. He finds the one he wants. The lady in the picture
looks like the lady at the park. They both look like Margie.
He sets the picture on the floor, takes off his pants and
lies face down on the bed. As he stares over the edge of the
mattress at the picture, he gathers up the sheet, makes a
bundle of it, and pushes it under him, toward his legs. As he
stares at the picture, he begins to thrust his hips against
the rolled-up sheet. As he stares at the picture, he talks to
Margie, tells her how pretty she is. He begins to make little
grunting noises.
He closes his eyes when he feels himself spasm. It feels so
good, he shudders all over. He opens his eyes again and looks
at Margie. As he rolls away from the puddle of sticky warmth,
he picks up the picture and holds it close.
The sound of the door slamming downstairs startles him.
"Lenny! Are you home?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Come down and drink your milk!"
"I hate milk!" he screams.
"Don't give me that shit," shouts Mama.
He sits up and pulls on his pants. He puts the picture back
in the box. Then, before tucking it back under the bed, he
taps himself on the head and whispers, "Goose."
©2001 by James V. Emanuel
James V. Emanuel, also known as Rod Harden,
lives in Ohio with his wife, two sons, and three cats. He began writing on a whim in
1998, concentrating on erotica. His stories have appeared on
the Web at Erotica Readers Association, Mind Caviar, and
others, including his own Web site. Two collections of his
short stories have been published by Renaissance E-Books.
